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WHAT THE FUCK?? [Aug. 31st, 2004|11:11 am]
name
[assigned terror level |infuriatedinfuriated]

Okay. Today has been REALLY shitty so far. I feel like a disgusting scum-bucket because I haven't showered, though I did last night... but still. Why didn't I? I could NOT get my ass up this morning. Sleep had a strong hold on me. Then I was rushing around to get all my shit together, but as I was walking to class I thought of about a million things I forgot. I finally get to the shuttle bus stop (which I take because my first class is in the fucking boonies), say goodbye to Lisa while feeling guilty for being crappy to her all morning, and sit down to wait. And wait. And wait. About 5 minutes until my class starts it finally arrives. Yeah... definitely late to my class. Normally I'd deal with it, but this class is really important to me. Anyway, I get into class and my professor repeats everything they had been talking about just for me (which was nice but it made me feel like an ass). Then he asks us to get out our novels that we are discussing. I shuffle through my bookbag and find that it is NOT THERE. I remembered all of my goddamn books, even bringing my Spanish workbook 'just in case', but I forgot the only one I really NEEDED today.

EDIT: Oh yeah... and I just remembered that I also forgot to bring my brother's birthday card to mail while I was walking to campus. His birthday was 3 days ago. Yep. Feel like an ass.

***************************


But what I REALLY want to talk about was this... someone in my class decided to make a comparison between the Holocaust and 9/11, and then the class started to discuss this topic. HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU COMPARE THE HOLOCAUST AND 9/11????? The two are in no way comparable. I'm not trying to marginalize the pain that 9/11 victims and their families went through, but looking at the big picture... I think that such a comparison rather marginalizes the pain of the Holocaust. 9/11 victims were not starved and beaten in concentration camps for years before actually dying. My family was not scattered throughout the world as a result of 9/11. Someone made the comparison between the pride of the 'Jewish Nation' as the people chosen by God to the pride of Americans... okay, that may be slightly valid if it weren't MASSIVELY OUT OF PROPORTION. Did the 'Jewish Nation' possess and abuse a power like that of the current world's only super-power?? Are Americans having to deal with constant discrimination from terrorist store owners? Are we required to have little American flags sewn onto our clothes so that when we are rounded up by SS terrorists we can easily be separated from the rest? So that when we go into a store we can be turned away because of the little patch on our jacket? Compare: 2 thousand to 4 fucking MILLION.

EDIT: That "4 fucking MILLION" is just the estimated number of people who died in Auschwitz. That does not include all of the OTHER concentration camps, or those who were simply shot in Jewish ghettos, etc. It also does not include those who SURVIVED but still endured so many horrors.

Why do people feel the need to make comparisons like that? Does it make them feel better knowing that they have some kind of pain under their belt? Like they can almost relate to Holocaust survivors? What the fuck?

Seriously though, I guess you could make a few really... really... stretched... comparisons. Like oh... people died. There's a comparison. But the differences totally outweigh the similarities, and comparisons like the one made in class today are just really fucking offensive.
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I'm the "third wheel" of binary gender. [Jul. 6th, 2004|04:58 pm]
name
[assigned terror level |frustratedfrustrated]
[phat beats |David Bowie - The Man Who Sold the World]

I hate the way I feel so out of place around a bunch of girls talking about girly things. I can't talk about "oh I really need to shave... my hair is getting so long" because I don't shave. I can't talk about plucking my eyebrows because I've stopped shaping them altogether. I just sit there and listen for the most part... wishing we were talking about something else. But hey, I CAN talk about my period, though still it just feels WRONG. Like I'm some guy talking about his period. It's wierd... like I don't belong in the conversation. Lately I've either been around gay boys or other genderqueers the most. I'm comfortable there. It's home.

I hate my breasts. I'd be happy if I just had these tiny little A-cups that were easy to cover up. But I have these lovely C's that can only be hidden through binding. But when it's this hot and humid out it aggravates my respiratory problems and I can't breathe. I hate that I have to bind at all. I just feel wierd out in public when my breasts are visible. It's kinda like "psst, hey! Your fly is down."

Double mastectomy.

I want it.

But I still don't think I want to go on T. It'd be nice to grow some facial hair, but I wish I could do it without the hormones. I like my "genderqueerness." I just hate my tits. That's all.

Let see, what else...

I hate women's restrooms. I hate feeling the eyes on me, telling me that I don't belong there. Sometimes I really think that I'd rather pee in the bushes off of I-69 than go in there. But the fact is... I still have to sit down to pee. I could go in to a men's stall and pretend I'm just a guy that needs to take a shit, but really I don't want to creep any guys out if they see my BOOBS. Unless I'm binding, I don't think that people look at me and see a guy. So what do I do? I creep people out in the women's restroom, I creep people out in the men's restroom.

I'll just pee on the floor.


deftly boundCollapse )
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Today [Feb. 20th, 2004|10:58 am]
name
[assigned terror level |thoughtfulthoughtful]

If my father was still living, today would be his birthday.

I'd like to think that I miss him since he WAS my father, but I never knew the guy. I was only a month and a half old when he died. All I can do is wonder how things would be different had he lived.

I wonder if it would help with the current situation with my mother. Like, maybe things would be better with two parents that can "discuss" together, calm each other down, etc. But somehow I doubt it would be like that. My dad was liberal in his youth, as in SEX DRUGS AND ROCK AND ROLL... but queers? Don't know about that one. The truth is, this situation could have been better OR worse with him still in the picture.

But this situation aside, I wonder if I actually wish things were different growing up. I like who I am now, so I wonder if having a father growing up would have changed that.

I dunno... the "what ifs" seem to be the hardest things for me to handle. I'm great at dealing with what IS... but its all that "how would things have been different if..." stuff that seems to make me so emotional.

What if I had not gone to Ball State?
What if Lisa had hooked up with... someone else?
What if she had gone to another school?
What if I had a father?
What if my mother had reacted differently?... What if I had never told her?

Yeah... I'm done with this now.

I'm going to see Chad tonight... poor kid. I love that boy.

Lata.
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Friends only. [Dec. 22nd, 2003|07:50 pm]
name


This journal is now entirely friends only.

If you want to read it, just comment and I'll probably add you.

AMENDMENT: If you ask me to add you, please add me back. I show you mine, you show me yours. Get it?

AMENDMENT #2: This journal is now defunct. If you want to add me, head on over to 50ft_eyesores and comment there.
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Beauty with your eyes closed... [Dec. 1st, 2003|06:55 am]
name
[assigned terror level |contentcontent]

...I watch you sleep.

I love watching you sleep in your state of perfection. It is the only time when the evils of the world can't bother you, you're in perfect peace.

Your eyes flicker about underneith your eyelids, you're dreaming- perhaps about something almost as beautiful as you.

My eyes wander down the length of your body and I slide my hand along the skin of your belly. It's cold, so I pull up the covers around your shoulders so that all I can see are the heavenly features of your face. Your big eyes, one of my favorite features, are lightly closed in happy slumber, and I lean down to lay a soft kiss on each of your eyelids causing you to stir and moan, pulling your lips into a full pout.

I stifle a laugh.

You wrap your arms around me like a child would a teddy bear. I stay for a while, knowing that I would have to leave soon, so that I can carry with me the image of your sleeping form, lasting me through the long hours of the night.

I wish that I would never need to sleep again so that I could watch you at the end of each cycle of day.

My very own, sleeping beauty.
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