have you ever turned into a person you hate, just so you won't hate them anymore?

my job doesn't give a fuck about my opinions.

that's right. my job doesn't give a fuck about my opinions. not even the little ones. not even the opinions about, say, how the day is. nothing. people ask me how i am as an obligation and don't wait to hear the answer. and i wonder why i think i deserve this. i wonder why i am so fucking surprised. well, isn't that the american dream? that everyone be heard? isn't that what we are brought up with, that everyone counts and everyone is a person? we live in a democracy where everybody has a say, or at least it feels like that and maybe it only feels like that to me because i am a priveleged, white, middle class female, but whatever the case, i can't get fucking beyond this whole idea of not including me and not recognizing me as a worthwhile person. i was brought up in a place where everybody got to talk and share but not at my job. the boss is the only person who gets to talk, everybody else gets to talk thru him or for him and that is it. bullshit.

once you master something it sort of sits in your mind like you have perpetually mastered it but in reality it constantly and repeatedly needs mastering to be mastered. just because you mastered something doesn't mean that you'll be able to master it again tomorrow or really ever again, it will constantly change and you will too and it doesn't mean that you or it will ever match up the same again, the moment has past and that is that. if you want to maintain mastership than you must continue to master, time and time again.

so with that said everyday is new and different and much more complex than you ever think it'll be. you don't know what will happen, you never could. you can try to predict. go ahead. try. i bet you'd've never guessed everything though. not every last detail. no. it just doesn't ever happen like that. it never has and it never will. no matter how masterfully you have mastered a day, the next will slap you in the face from the opposite side then you could have ever imagined.

carl thought he knew it all. and it all became very mundane. it was all the same to this man. day in and out. he lived everyday and same as well. said hi to the same people in the same manner as the day before and smiled the same. carl managed to smile the same, not less so, like some, who, over time would accumulate stuff and over time smiles would fad into jaded, curled lips. no. carl smiled the same and everyone assumed that day in and day out carl was well taken care of. that carl didn't need more love at all, that carl was just fine as is but what everyone else didn't know was that carl did need something. he needed love and friendship. carl was like a plant. he liked when people talked to him and breathed on him and said things. even things like, "gosh, it's a nice day out." to some that statement might seem like filler but for carl he appreciated the simplicity and liked thinking the thought. 'yes,' he thought, 'it is a nice day, isn't it?' and so he went with his routines and such.

aaahhhh! i'm stuck in this deafening madness called white privilege/feminism, HELP!

that's right, how do i get out of this mess? christ. can't i be one who fights against something a bit more noble like being plagued by a child with autism, or having lost it all in a fire? i mean really? i have to worry about what to wear to work. i have to beat myself up over not going that extra step to really, really find the clothes that would work best. ugh. is life always a struggle? christ. if it's not this, then it's something else. someone recently said, (the the mass media), that Americans don't know how to enjoy pleasure. and, fucking a-, i hear that. oh no, can't just be thankful for what i have and rage with it, no, have to make it hard whatever it is and find something wrong, because life isn't supposed to be this easy, right? the minute you give in to it, the shit hits the fan, right? life is supposed to be hard, right? i guess these are the values that i was brought up with, maybe. maybe i'm imagining them too. but GOD ALMIGHTY! i feel like the girl, "who has everything" as Ariel said in Disney's, The Little Mermaid, but like her, I am still unsatisfied. Will I ever be satisfied? Do I really need to get clobbered on the head before I feel satisfied? Really? fuck.

What am I really looking for? I think it may be something like structure. Yeah, all this goddamn freedom has got me in a tizzy. You can do whatever you want Shanna, you name it, it's yours. Okay, what if I don't know what I want. There has been research done that suggests that, as humans, we may think we know what we want, but through trial and error we realize that we just thought we knew what we wanted. UUUUGGGGHHHHH.

Two nights ago I went to Eat, Pray, Love with an old friend. It was just like the book. There are aspects that I can relate with and forgive and other well taken points that are unforgivable. Here is this woman who has it all and essentially throws it away. She doesn't want to be married anymore and leaves her less successful husband to travel the world on a self-finding journey. She gets paid up front for the book that she writes about the experience, which is seriously questionable in my book, and travels for a year to, I guess, find her soul. What she eventually finds is a man who will put her in her place. That's right. That is my conclusion on the whole goddamn thing. I think as women, we still want a man to "put us in our place" I mean, christ, we all want to be pinned down to a point so that we are not floating in the atmosphere, right? Nobody likes that. We want equality in the workplace, no doubt. We want equal rights as far as respect goes in society. But, christ, we also want someone, somewhere, even it they are in Bali, to sit use down and tell us how it is. To, even if we are the most successful in the biz, to say, "hey. stop it. look me in the face. that's right. you are just human too."

I'm reading like 5 different titles right now

And that's a good thing. My mind is active. Here are the different moods:

Hemingway's, The Sun Also Rises

Egger's, What is the What

Stieg Something's, The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo

Also, maybe Sudoku puzzle books to choose from and maybe titles just waiting in the hopper.

Summer is good, good, good so far.

written sometime ago.

All the distractions and entertainment eat every moment learning none to freedom, to wander, to explore and grow moving through time forever stunted and stunned perpetually. Entertainment for the sake of entertainment just to know something is being done, somebody is being entertained. Some corporation is making a little money. Some little baby was just being born. The stocks go up and go down. The kids go to school and go home. Watch TV and play video games never really realizing fully the generation ahead of them but always coming to the same conclusion in the end. Its all progress when measured in some form, when analized by the right jury in the appropriate context working for just the right people. People who are going places, people who get vacation time and have children to round out their lives. People who eventually get caught but never quite catch up to it in the end. Talking and words spout out unconsciously one after another going in circles, in cycles. So many words so little real communication, so little gets done. So scared of success, so scared of failure. So scared nobody moves. Just wait for other movement and then follows. As long as someone is doing something, applause! Cheers! Hurray! Tiny little steps to the knowing. Impossible feats found only in books and TV to the never trying. Running and jumping off cliffs, holding breaths, smiling. content. Knowing.

Swimsuits and bare skin in the sun, reflecting off of water, splashing. Vibrations. Thinking next of a snack and then of a run through the woods, maybe pick a couple of berries, mostly blueberries, some raspberries. A deer. He saw us first, standing very alert, ears at attention, wide brown eyes. Not afraid to make eye contact. he leaves, we walk again, found an old can, really old, a style that we might remember when we were 4 or 5. There are a couple of BB holes in it. Someone must have used it as a target. Lets build a fort! We have an old chair my mom will probably let us use and maybe we could use that old wood sitting by the cabin, it's been there forever. If we take these long sticks and lean them up against each other we can make a teepee. Lets just throw and old sheet on it. Ah! A toad. I almost stepped on it, (glad I didn't). He feels weird. I think he pooped in my hand. . . . . . .. clouds, sun, warm air . . .. . .. . . .. Aaaaaahhhhhh(Looking at clouds)(Laying down)(in grass)(field maybe)(long time) . . . . . . . . .. . (bugs start to bit) . .. . ... . Slap. Slap . . . .Slap. Wanna go? These bugs are bad.

big hair

She came from old money. Money that went back to the slave trade, or maybe before. And she carried it around, in her shoulders, her neck, her upper back, sometimes her joints. But mostly in her hair. She did her hair up and out and around and all over. For the last 26 years it took the form of a beehive, or something close. It was all up, high but there were variations depending on mood. If she was really stressed, had to meet with family or had to make decisions concerning money it was up high. If it was to be a day with the kids it would be sloppy. On that very rare occasion that she felt a little sexy, actually felt like a woman, she would curl her hair, just a bit, smile to herself in the mirror, feel good.