Michael E.'s Mindfull o Blogging

Aunt Judy.

mebaldon — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 01:29:58 +0000

I remember telling my Spanish teacher why I would be out of town for a few days.

I remember the hotel and playing Hide-n-Go-Seek with my cousins.

I remember my cousin, Jiant.

I remember my cousin who is the youngest and only male sibling (like me) in his family; tall and lanky.

I remember my cousin saying she looked like she had been punched.

I remember standing outside and politely laughing at crude remarks while thinking to myself that his behavior was really inappropriate.

Uncle Hay-Bale. His sweet, peach face red and wet with love. I remember sitting in the room with the box for only a short time before going outside with others.

I remember riding to her grave. I remember the big trees all around. I took pictures of a stone memorial, maybe it was a new/better headstone, that Uncle Hay-Bale had bought for her and promising to send the photos to him and never doing it.

I remember her voice; it was warm and rounded with femininity and bent with silliness for children and it was traced with grooves that made it creak like a vibrating string or an old door being opened . She has the voice that all my father’s sisters have. You can listen to them talk and laugh and hear her voice. But I guess you can’t hear her singing by listening to others’ voices.

You can’t hear her playing a piano (which I remember hearing constantly at Uncle Senior’s while us kids played in every room but the one with the singing in it).

And you can’t feel her misshapen back that produced asymmetrical hugs, one arm bending out further than the other.

She was a gem. She was of our family, of our curses and mistakes and weaknesses, and yet she was beautiful because of what she was not of and had sought out. She was beaten down and sculpted into something better than her bearers and blood.

Protected: Levez vos, Comme to.

mebaldon — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 17:30:13 +0000

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Friday 02/25/2011, 7:57 AM.

mebaldon — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 13:59:52 +0000

Right now I’m thinking about listening to Album of the Year all day long and letting it shape my mood and opinion on the topics it discusses. I’m really trying to keep my skull and chest from bursting open, releasing the vine-like appendages that thrash about looking for something to rely on. Tapping on injured bones with a hammer isn’t the best thing to do…

I really want to sit down and talk with someone who has (at least somewhat) recently read East of Eden. I can’t keep all of my thoughts to myself. I’m craving feedback and a sounding board.

Dr Diphenhydramine

mebaldon — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 09:27:05 +0000

This book is terrifying me. The subjects it explains and the accuracy with which it explores the depths of these subjects gives me chills. Multiple geese have walked over my grave since yesterday. I walked from my room to the bathroom and the pits of shadow that are the guest rooms gaped on either side of me and my mind couldn’t shake the cold vulnerability from my back and shoulders. I’m afraid of looking at the windows whose blinds haven’t been let down all the way; I can see clearly a pale human face looking in at me from the night. It chills me, chills my entire torso, to even think of it. (I know this is partly due to the decrease between my synapses but that drains none of the color from the words of this book.)

You said, “good riddance.”

mebaldon — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 22:16:44 +0000

“Hi! I like you.” I like you, too! “I’m glad that you like me!” I’m glad that YOU like ME! “We’re friends now; remember how much we like each other?” Yes I do! Such good friends!! “What can you give me?” I like this band. I think you’d like it, too. We’re good friends (remember?); we like the same music! “Thank you! Remember what great friends we are, you and I? We’re SUCH good friends! Oh I love this band! WE ARE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS!!”

Jokes.

mebaldon — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 04:05:55 +0000

I now know 3 jokes!!! Three! This is big stuff because for whatever reason I have forgotten any jokes I once knew and have thus been unable to tell jokes when it comes up in conversations and other social situations. It kinda sucks for everyone to be like, “Oh hahah, JOKES!!!” and then having to say, “yeah… I don’t really know any jokes actually.” Pretty lame.

Anyway, I want to write them here but that would mean that I couldn’t use them in conversation, and other social situations, with you and other people! I must wait.

Overunderstanding

mebaldon — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 04:15:02 +0000

I am a little bit OCD; I don’t know if I’m not as obsessive or not as compulsive as a true-OCD person but whatever. Probably mostly O, semi C, full-on D. The point is, I understand things to death. I analyze and obsess over _______ (fill in blank). It wouldn’t be so bad if this obsession and analyzing led me to a solution. But it doesn’t. This time the solution is a big mixture of things. I need to get over what’s gone on, you need to _______ (fill in blank), and I need to forgive, and I don’t know what else needs to happen on your end.

I want you to know that I’m aware that you’re trying to fix things.

Employee Evaluation.

mebaldon — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 18:24:06 +0000

Taking people at their word is very difficult the more you surround yourself with people who don’t genuinely care about you or only care for you a small amount. Trust is basically faith. Trust is largely based on past experiences with a person that showed that they cared about you.

But everyone is different and statements like the above have exceptions. So even when someone has shown that they care about you there is the possibility that something will change, whether you notice it or not, and eventually your reasons for trusting the person will no longer matter. In such a case the person will eventually they will show that they do not care about you. The longer it takes for you to react accordingly the longer you will suffer.

“The man that presents himself, that plays moral to the people around him but is actually immoral will be favored by the group. The man that appears to be immoral to the people around him but is actually moral will be shunned by the group. Is it not then better to act moral, than to be moral?” And Hypothalamus spoke, ‘You’re a bastard, Socrates. A bastard and a coward who never answers but replies with another question. Fuck.’

The citizen that comes to the aid of those in need deserves to be recognized among his peers for the aid. ‘even the most humble man is proud of his humility.’ Especially in a group as liberal as yours. A group that professes to work for change, creation, and acceptance. ‘Will not a city at war with itself have difficulty waging war with another city?” As was his custom Hominidae whispered with quiet rage, “I fucking hate you, Socrates. You blasted conjurer of cheap tricks!”

What can it mean when you feel more mature, that you’re acting your age, and like others of your age, simply because you feel like you’re being harsh to someone else? Like you’re being cold in a situation with someone. Does that register in your mind? Does it show you what He’s trying to say?

From where He stands he sees You, all of you, speaking to the whole with only one eye forward; the other selectively strikes down those You, all of you, feel superior. You, all of you, are not so open.

Times like these Thought.

mebaldon — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 08:04:05 +0000

These are the times that make me realize that I can’t really ever contact you. Even just conversations lead into other things. And when you don’t reciprocate (I assume because you have more control/don’t want anything more atm) I keep going until suddenly I stop, realize how much I’ve tried to convince you of something, and feel foolish and desperate, and hate myself for buying in again.

And your words don’t comfort me very much. You know the reason this is. They don’t really deny anything. It’s like giving a pitying glance at someone you’re about to walk away from even though they just told you they were about to die.

Twenty Somethings.

mebaldon — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 13:18:36 +0000

So there’s this game you can play with your vehicle. I’m sure many of you are familiar with it. Whenever your car’s low-fuel light comes on you hit your trip odometer and start measuring how many miles you drive. Then you see how long you can go without filling up with gas and, most importantly, actually running out of gas (“True Empty”).

That’s the gist of stage one. Stage two begins when you give up and make your way to a gas station to fill up. Except you DON’T ACTUALLY FILL UP. Fuck yes, this is the game. Instead of putting in enough gas to squelch your worries you put in NO MORE than $5.00. You reset your trip odometer and start the process over again.

Winning is only achieved by never running out of gas until whenever… . My favorite end is getting enough money to actually fill up my tank; it feels so fucking good to go from constantly worrying about driving anywhere to forgetting that you actually have to put gas in your car again because it’s so, damn, fulllll.

Losing happens at any point in the game if/when your car hits empty and shudders to a halt. The worst way to lose is shuddering to a halt on a busy road in view of loads of other drives; rush hour on the highway, middle lane is seriously embarrassing.

This morning I took a friend home around 5:30 AM and while on my way home definitely fucking lost. meh