i'm told i should blog more

and so I will, at least while I'm thinking about it.

Let it be noted that I've tried to type this post repeatedly. It has succumbed to distractions, browser crashes, and general inattention on my part. But hell, I was doing my taxes. And let me just say, we're all just lucky that I haven't decided to shoot myself in the face. Which wouldn't be unreasonable, considering the abysmal refund I'm (hah) entitled to, in combination with my financial woes of late.

Maybe I should stop building servers out of ancient parts for my own gratification, and take up prostitution. Or pyramid-scheme marketing.

...or shoot myself in the face.

I am a tire, and the circumstances of my life are fallen, wet leaves. Thus, as per normal, I haven't got too many exciting things to write about. Aside from the amazing weekend I had - it wasn't amazing for any reason other than the weather - nothing's been going on. I definitely want the fantastic warm weather to come back and stay that way. Either that or I want to move to Phoenix.

Although knowing my ass, I'd get tired of the insane perpetual heat and want to come back. It can be funny, wondering how things would be different there, though ultimately coming to the conclusion that the way I get along with the world in general would remain largely unchanged. I'd still have too many bills, not enough money, a nearly nonexistent sense of purpose... the list goes on. But, at least styling my hair would be easier, as humidity in Phoenix is about as extant as my sense of purpose.

In some random fluke of scheduling, after tomorrow (well, today, Wednesday, wtf ever) I have five days off in a row. I didn't ask for them, nor am I entirely happy about them. Yeah, it's awesome having a lot of time off to do whatever I want, but when I don't have unlimited (or any) amounts of money to spend, five days without any structure is probably going to kill me. I'm sick of it being too cold to go and enjoy the low-cost option of spending time outside.

You'd think by now I'd learn that I can't control the weather. But, if I could, I'd definitely find something else to bother me when I was feeling restless and slightly cranky, so there's really no point. Speaking of restless and cranky, my brother's coming home Friday, for his spring break. And my five-day hiatus from work is going to partially coincide with that.

I think March 15th is going to be "Say 'Shoot Myself in the Face' Day."

The only plus side to my brother's return is going to be getting my new cell phone. I dunno... my thoughts on him are... unpleasant.

I've talked with my mom about this at great lengths, and also with friends who may or may not fully understand the scope of my feelings. When I came out, all of a sudden, he started treating me like I didn't exist. (I know, sometimes I wonder whether or not I do, but that's my call, and no one else's.) And it hasn't really stopped. He only contacts me for tech support on his godforsaken Dell. And he stole my Ethernet cable. Worse, though, about that, is that he doesn't even know what an Ethernet cable is.

According to my parents, he occasionally asks about me, how I'm doing and such. We never really talk. We never really have, come to think of it. The fact that we had a generally unsubstantial relationship to begin with somewhat bothered me, but two years ago, it was better than it ever had been before. But all of a sudden, I come out, and I become the gay brother he avoids like the plague, unless he needs something. When he was here the last time, his very presence grated on my nerves. I guess it's frustrating, not knowing how he feels and only being able to rely on observations of his behavior. It's more frustrating knowing what those observations imply.

I hate the thought that my own brother personifies a good bit of what I hate about American society in general. I hate the thought that he could probably say the same about me. I hate the fact that being who I am automatically places me beneath fresh, sun-drenched dog shit on his scale of esteem for others.

When I was younger, and at Carver, my teacher was once sharing an anecdote about a student she once had, who was under some extreme duress, who could only express himself through profanity when asked about one particular thing/person/noun. She never fully went into particulars, I assume the student still went to Carver at the time...

I hate the fact that when asked about my brother, I'm reduced to that point of intense profanity, and bitter loathing. It's obviously a defense mechanism. I know he dislikes me, so somewhere in my head, I'll automatically do one better. I won't just dislike him. I'll stop just short of completely and totally hating him.

Seriously. Even as I'm typing this, the adrenaline's rushing, and I find my lip curling.

I hate the fact that the very thought of him breaks down all the walls and filters I try to maintain between rationality and emotion, and just go for the damned jugular. I like to think I've got a good grip on what goes on inside my head most of the time, and as we all know, I don't take very well to being told I'm wrong.

I'd better get to sleep before I find myself unable.

(DB) out.