Once upon a time, a girlfriend of mine was getting frustrated with my communication skills. She kept on giving me the impression that I wasn't telling her everything and that I was censoring my thoughts when we spoke. It might have something to do with the fact that I'm not the most... vocally fluid person when socializing in person. I tend to take an extra beat to sort out what I think in my head, and another half-beat to compose how I can put it into words before my mouth opens and sound comes out.
She had been reading this here blog for a while, I think, and one day told me that she wished we could just "talk like you write." What a strange statement to make. I don't know how exactly she intended it, but it landed like a bit of a slap to the face.
I think the undertones to what she said were alluding to her frustrations that I didn't speak to her as eloquently as I do here, and that I wouldn't tell her some things I'd write about.
Both those things are, of course, totally correct. I totally resent what she said, though, because what I do here is not a conversation. If she wants to talk like how I write, then she doesn't understand how I type and retype sentences until I figure out where they want to take me. And make no mistake, I often have zero idea where they'll lead me - a written entry here usually starts off as a notion, and I beat it to death which each word until a semi-formed thought emerges. It's a long, drawn out process. She wanted to talk like I write? Well, then she should've been willing to wait in total silence for an hour or two while I fumble my way through expressing a complete thought.
Yeah, maybe the final product looks intentional and palatable, but the act of forming it is anything but. Goddamn, what an obnoxious, clueless thing to say, especially for someone who considered themselves to be a 'creative'. I should have replied by saying, "Yeah, and I wish we could talk like you draw."
Ugh.
Okay, take a step back, and breaaaaathe.
That little remark of her's has stuck with me, occasionally zipping around my skull like that stupid fly you swore you swatted into oblivion five times over. And yet it buzzes. I'm hoping that writing it down here will let me lay it to rest once and all.
I really resented that comment. I think it highlighted a couple problems, one of which was her assumption that I was withholding what I thought and felt. And yet I really, honestly was not.
Her words really got inside my head and make me doubt myself and feel like I was terrible at communicating and just plainly wanted to avoid talking to her. The really scary thing was how long it had taken me to understand I wasn't doing anything wrong, and how she was, just maybe, projecting something else onto me.
The exact words were, "do i EVER wish we could talk like you write."
What a fucking insult. For the record, this short little piece of writing has taken me 1.25hrs to compose, I've reordered seven paragraphs, split three in half, deleted two others, and started, retyped, and removed countless sentences. The real kicker? I know there are some goddamn grammatical errors lurking in there somewhere.
There always are.
-Cril
Now tell me why we never respected each other
And tell me why I never believed that you were a person too
I always thought that you fancied my brother
I may not have liked it, oh but memory is a strange thing, oh, and Enid?
Enid I remember you
Enid we never really knew each other anyway
Enid we never really knew each other anyway
Maybe we always saw right through each other anyway
But Enid we never really knew each other anyway
Barenaked Ladies - Enid
Sunday, January 28, 2018
Sunday, January 21, 2018
How Much is Enough / The Delayed Gratification King
I live in Canada, particularly in the part of it where it tends to snow. So the early morning pre-commute routine goes something like this: Get all bundled up, walk out to the car. I open the door, slide my ass into the seat and give my winter boots a rough tap tap like a pissed off Dorothy with malfunctioning shoes. One foot, now slightly less snowy, comes in to push the clutch so I can start the car, pop it in neutral, before I get back out and grab the snow brush from the back seat to clean off the car.
I generally make three passes; one to dust off the snow, one to scrape ice off the windshields, and another to brush off the ice I'd just dislodged. My recent car purchases seem to have fallen prey to the annoying trend of no rear windshield wipers, so that means I need to brush off the entire damn automobile, less I get snow accumulating at the back and obscuring my rear vision.
But I digress, this is the important part: when I'm standing beside the car to start cleaning it off, I always strain my reach just a bit in order to clear off two thirds of the vehicle on my first pass. I mean, yeah, I need to go around to the other side anyways, so I could just do two equally comfortable passes to clean half of the car at a time. Alas, that's not how I roll - I stretch to do more on the first side, so that the second side is easier.
And thus a surprisingly well-entrenched quirk of my personality is illuminated in the cold, dark hours of the morning while I work through a totally banal task: I am a complete sucker for delayed gratification.
I think one of the more interesting manifestations of this is how I tend to play single player video games. Is it an RPG system with levels and skill points I can use to unlock to abilities? Yeah, I'll hover 2-3 levels' worth of upgrades just in case I get to a tough section where I might need some specific skills. Got a new/fun mega gun in an FPS? Start hoarding all that ammo, and *only* use some when I've come across more than I can immediately pick up.
Spoiler alert for the original Half-Life: When I got to the point where you get the alien hornet shooting gun with recharging ammo, that immediately became my default weapon for all encounters. Even when it wasn't ideal, and even when it was obviously not efficient for taking down certain enemies. I had to keep my rocket launcher and rail gun topped up for... You know, whatever might come.
Alas, this whole strategy takes a turn in the final act when you lose your entire inventory and have to start from scratch. All that preciously hoarded ammo immediately disappeared. So I used the basic pistol/SMG through the rest of the game, until about half way through the final boss fight when I was fairly certain that this was, in fact, the final boss. And then I unleashed all manners of hell on that poor bastard, and you're damn straight that I had enough rockets and energy packs to keep going another three rounds. Instead it just went to credits.
Kind of amusing, right? I have a jar of cherries that my mom canned in my fridge. She gave it to me a couple years ago, and I came close to eating them... Until I decided that I should save them for a special occasion. But apparently paying off student loans, owning a dream car, landing a new job, and/or getting out of a bad relationship don't qualify. Instead the cherries are surely tip-toeing past their expiration date while hiding behind the margarine and mayo.
The whole thing suddenly takes a turn away from just a harmless quirk, doesn't it?
For the past three or so years, I've been living in an absolutely terrible hole in the ground. It's technically a basement suite, and most likely the single cheapest independent living accommodations in the city. For $575 per month I have to wear slippers so my soul isn't sucked away through the cold concrete floor, and need to travel through a common area to get to my bathroom under the stairs. During the winter I need two space heaters and a blanket to stay warm at my desk. There's a huge railway tie that makes it difficult to back out of my gravel driveway, since a condo unit went up across the street I've lost about 50% of what precious little direct sunlight navigates its way through my small windows. To get out of my suite I need to go up a narrow set of stairs and out through a door that doesn't latch without the deadbolt. That last part doesn't sound too bad until you reality drop-kicks you in the head with the fact that it's impossible for you to close the door at all if one of your hands is full.
But I mean, hey, it's a space of my own and, more importantly, I'm saving a bundle. It makes all my troubles worth while! That's why I renewed the lease. And why I did it again two times more. Just think of how much I'm saving! Take advantage of it while I can! Tuck those dollars away into the bank!
And I'm working at a good job right now, too. I need to make the most of that fact, and put away as much money as I can - I'm technically a contractor, so I don't have a lot of job security. So I'll skip on taking vacation time, and even if I do take vacation, I'll make sure I still work at least half days. Now's the time to take advantage of this income and low expenses so I can establish some financial security.
Money. Save, save, save. Save now so that later down the road I won't have to worry so much! Now's the time to catch up/get ahead on retirement! I mean, yeah, set aside some each month for travelling and amazing adventures, but don't really do any of those things. I gotta just keep my head down and work hard so I can take advantage of full paychecks, right? If I'm doing that, I may as well invest some of it so it isn't just sitting idle while I'm too busy to actually use it for the reason that I'm saving it in the first place. Don't ever wan't to see that bank account number get smaller.
I wonder if money, too, can tip-toe past an expiration date while hiding behind the margarine and mayo. Maybe instead of worrying about my money's expiration, I should be worrying about my own.
Some of this is no doubt tied to growing up as a sensitive kid in a poor family. I remember shopping at second hand stores before the start of school, and being told that there wouldn't be any milk until pay day, and if I was hungry to look and see if there were any canned beans in the pantry. And I remember my mom crying because she bought a small carton of strawberries on sale. That spontaneous purchase was enough to throw the entire family's budget into chaos that month. Fun times.
I'm not broke, and I don't have a family to feed. But here I am, enduring daily discomfort for the sake of living (un)comfortably below my means and feeding my insatiable bank account. When does enough become enough? Will I know it when I see it, or did I pass that point two years ago? Will I recognize the final boss in time to even use up half of my big-gun ammo? That's a scary question.
The things your mind ponders to fill the empty darkness of a winter's morning as you get ready for your snowy commute.
-Cril
I generally make three passes; one to dust off the snow, one to scrape ice off the windshields, and another to brush off the ice I'd just dislodged. My recent car purchases seem to have fallen prey to the annoying trend of no rear windshield wipers, so that means I need to brush off the entire damn automobile, less I get snow accumulating at the back and obscuring my rear vision.
But I digress, this is the important part: when I'm standing beside the car to start cleaning it off, I always strain my reach just a bit in order to clear off two thirds of the vehicle on my first pass. I mean, yeah, I need to go around to the other side anyways, so I could just do two equally comfortable passes to clean half of the car at a time. Alas, that's not how I roll - I stretch to do more on the first side, so that the second side is easier.
And thus a surprisingly well-entrenched quirk of my personality is illuminated in the cold, dark hours of the morning while I work through a totally banal task: I am a complete sucker for delayed gratification.
I think one of the more interesting manifestations of this is how I tend to play single player video games. Is it an RPG system with levels and skill points I can use to unlock to abilities? Yeah, I'll hover 2-3 levels' worth of upgrades just in case I get to a tough section where I might need some specific skills. Got a new/fun mega gun in an FPS? Start hoarding all that ammo, and *only* use some when I've come across more than I can immediately pick up.
Spoiler alert for the original Half-Life: When I got to the point where you get the alien hornet shooting gun with recharging ammo, that immediately became my default weapon for all encounters. Even when it wasn't ideal, and even when it was obviously not efficient for taking down certain enemies. I had to keep my rocket launcher and rail gun topped up for... You know, whatever might come.
Alas, this whole strategy takes a turn in the final act when you lose your entire inventory and have to start from scratch. All that preciously hoarded ammo immediately disappeared. So I used the basic pistol/SMG through the rest of the game, until about half way through the final boss fight when I was fairly certain that this was, in fact, the final boss. And then I unleashed all manners of hell on that poor bastard, and you're damn straight that I had enough rockets and energy packs to keep going another three rounds. Instead it just went to credits.
Kind of amusing, right? I have a jar of cherries that my mom canned in my fridge. She gave it to me a couple years ago, and I came close to eating them... Until I decided that I should save them for a special occasion. But apparently paying off student loans, owning a dream car, landing a new job, and/or getting out of a bad relationship don't qualify. Instead the cherries are surely tip-toeing past their expiration date while hiding behind the margarine and mayo.
The whole thing suddenly takes a turn away from just a harmless quirk, doesn't it?
For the past three or so years, I've been living in an absolutely terrible hole in the ground. It's technically a basement suite, and most likely the single cheapest independent living accommodations in the city. For $575 per month I have to wear slippers so my soul isn't sucked away through the cold concrete floor, and need to travel through a common area to get to my bathroom under the stairs. During the winter I need two space heaters and a blanket to stay warm at my desk. There's a huge railway tie that makes it difficult to back out of my gravel driveway, since a condo unit went up across the street I've lost about 50% of what precious little direct sunlight navigates its way through my small windows. To get out of my suite I need to go up a narrow set of stairs and out through a door that doesn't latch without the deadbolt. That last part doesn't sound too bad until you reality drop-kicks you in the head with the fact that it's impossible for you to close the door at all if one of your hands is full.
But I mean, hey, it's a space of my own and, more importantly, I'm saving a bundle. It makes all my troubles worth while! That's why I renewed the lease. And why I did it again two times more. Just think of how much I'm saving! Take advantage of it while I can! Tuck those dollars away into the bank!
And I'm working at a good job right now, too. I need to make the most of that fact, and put away as much money as I can - I'm technically a contractor, so I don't have a lot of job security. So I'll skip on taking vacation time, and even if I do take vacation, I'll make sure I still work at least half days. Now's the time to take advantage of this income and low expenses so I can establish some financial security.
Money. Save, save, save. Save now so that later down the road I won't have to worry so much! Now's the time to catch up/get ahead on retirement! I mean, yeah, set aside some each month for travelling and amazing adventures, but don't really do any of those things. I gotta just keep my head down and work hard so I can take advantage of full paychecks, right? If I'm doing that, I may as well invest some of it so it isn't just sitting idle while I'm too busy to actually use it for the reason that I'm saving it in the first place. Don't ever wan't to see that bank account number get smaller.
I wonder if money, too, can tip-toe past an expiration date while hiding behind the margarine and mayo. Maybe instead of worrying about my money's expiration, I should be worrying about my own.
Some of this is no doubt tied to growing up as a sensitive kid in a poor family. I remember shopping at second hand stores before the start of school, and being told that there wouldn't be any milk until pay day, and if I was hungry to look and see if there were any canned beans in the pantry. And I remember my mom crying because she bought a small carton of strawberries on sale. That spontaneous purchase was enough to throw the entire family's budget into chaos that month. Fun times.
I'm not broke, and I don't have a family to feed. But here I am, enduring daily discomfort for the sake of living (un)comfortably below my means and feeding my insatiable bank account. When does enough become enough? Will I know it when I see it, or did I pass that point two years ago? Will I recognize the final boss in time to even use up half of my big-gun ammo? That's a scary question.
The things your mind ponders to fill the empty darkness of a winter's morning as you get ready for your snowy commute.
-Cril
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Something for the sake of something
Blink, blink, blink says the flashing cursor. I feel like I should write something, but I'm not sure what.
Went to Mexico with the girlfriend and had a splendid assortment of adventures. I could recount all that... But I think it's already been documented in my Twitter feed. Upon getting back, my skin has gone all to hell, which sucks. Got lots of freelance logos to be working on. Been reading the Dark Tower series.
My place is a mess - I just spent 10 minutes sorting through a stack of old auto insurance documents. In another corner of the room, I have a tub of motorbike parts. I've been procrastinating the purchase of a carburetor refurb kit, because I worry that I'll botch the repair. Then I have boxes of stuff - books, old toys, clothes - that I need to dispose of somehow. At least I sold the Prelude. Not to get rid of the rims.
Following a Steam sale, I've been playing Shadow of War. It's alright. Despite the layers of detail and game mechanics they've piled on, it somehow feels a bit soulless. And yet I can't put it down, because of some stupid drive to get it finished.
Maybe this is all just a bit of a post Christmas season/Mexico vacation slump where I'm coming back to reality and realizing I had abandoned it in a bit of a cluttered state. I'm looking forward to getting back to the grind, in a way. There's something to be said for the 4/4 rhythm of daily life.
Well this was unsatisfying.
-Cril
Went to Mexico with the girlfriend and had a splendid assortment of adventures. I could recount all that... But I think it's already been documented in my Twitter feed. Upon getting back, my skin has gone all to hell, which sucks. Got lots of freelance logos to be working on. Been reading the Dark Tower series.
My place is a mess - I just spent 10 minutes sorting through a stack of old auto insurance documents. In another corner of the room, I have a tub of motorbike parts. I've been procrastinating the purchase of a carburetor refurb kit, because I worry that I'll botch the repair. Then I have boxes of stuff - books, old toys, clothes - that I need to dispose of somehow. At least I sold the Prelude. Not to get rid of the rims.
Following a Steam sale, I've been playing Shadow of War. It's alright. Despite the layers of detail and game mechanics they've piled on, it somehow feels a bit soulless. And yet I can't put it down, because of some stupid drive to get it finished.
Maybe this is all just a bit of a post Christmas season/Mexico vacation slump where I'm coming back to reality and realizing I had abandoned it in a bit of a cluttered state. I'm looking forward to getting back to the grind, in a way. There's something to be said for the 4/4 rhythm of daily life.
Well this was unsatisfying.
-Cril
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