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March 12, 2023. 0100 EST
Celebrated a friend's birthday yesterday. I organized most of the party. The birthday boy in question seemed appreciative of the gesture.
I was mildly disappointed no chicks showed up to the party, but it was probably for the best. It was barely even a party, but regardless: we got drunk, acted belligerent, and skinny dipped in the pool -- it would've probably traumatized the women.
I spoke with an old high school classmate at the gathering. He's in the military now. Told me some morbid stories. I see some morbid shit at work, myself. But he seemed to have experienced a special kind of Hell. I don't like to pity people, but my heart ached for the guy, even if he's trained to shrug it off. There's so much pain in the world. The burden we carry in our hearts -- pray for this world.
After the party sorta ended, most of my friends went to another friend's apartment, to finish off what was left in our keg of beer. What followed was something disheartening. One of my more egotistical, drunken friends came into the apartment wheeling in the keg inside a cooler, and wrecklessly, accidentally, ran over a friend's foot -- the injured friend is new to the group, and incidentally a foreigner, so I feel particularly obliged to be hospitable and protective of him, so to speak. But I digress: the injured friend fell to the floor, clutching his foot, and I watched from afar how the egotistical friend sorta dismissed the egregious infraction -- blithely muttering, "Oh, uh, sorry," while walking away. And I, yelling, "Eh, show some humanity; he's on the floor; fucking help him." In an attempt to kill the tension, I humorously suggested the drunken friend should kiss the injured friend's toe, but nobody laughed.
But anyways, the drunken asshole couldn't be bothered to put his bag of chips of down to help the injured guy, and I had to get up and actually attend to the guy. Luckily, it wasn't bad, but still -- nobody else at the function could have been bothered to even offer the kid some ice for his foot or something.
And so that kind of ruined what was left of the night for me, cuz I kept thinking about how I chose to cultivate the company of these low-vibrational assholes.
Ya know, my parents have usually expressed emphatic disapproval of my friends -- most of the time, it was for something stupid: "Oh, I don't like that guy; he has long hair. He seems weird. Is he a drug dealer? Is he trying to turn you gay or something? Have you no shame walking in public with that guy?"
But sometimes they hit the nail on the head. My dad has told me that my friends are using me to pay for their shit. And my mom's always told me to surround myself with people who lift me up and encourage me to actually be better. And ya know, sometimes it feels like I'm the only one in the group who encourages everyone else to be better.
I think about compassion. You know, like, when you really internalize the fact that the self is actually an illusion, that we're all one and all that, pain stops being filtered through a self, and it doesn't feel individualized, so it's like your pain is actually everyone else's pain. And in the same way you can care for yourself and love yourself, you start to care for others and love others. And through that you cut through the ostensible pain of dukkha -- suffering is actually a lesson on love: an opportunity to suspend the myopic perspective of the self to experience this motion picture from the perspective of a greater dimension. If life is a storm, take my umbrella.
I was talking to my mom earlier today. I love my mother -- as one typically does. As one should.
Every time she talks to me, it's usually to talk about herself. Conversations with her are usually so one-sided. She talks at you, more than she talks to you.
It doesn't usually feel like she listens to me. I'll look her straight in the eyes and tell her I love her, and there's this delay, like she's off somewhere else, not in the present: always busy thinking about something else, like making money, or something she saw on the internet. I'll try to open my heart to her, and she's too busy in her world to come down to my level. And when she starts to express affection, it's usually because she's angling to get me to do something for her. I can't tell if she's dismissive because she's cynical. Or if she doesn't mean harm in the first place. I mean, she's my mother -- that unconditional, loving bond can't be negated. But sometimes it feels muted. Sometimes it feels like I'm kinda living a lie.
One of my friends claims I don't know how to talk to women, so he's trying to take me out to practice talking to chicks at the local university. The game: he points at a chick and you try to woo the chick in one conversation, apparently. I have my reservations.
I mean, I do know how to talk to chicks. But I also know I'm not going to date, much less just sleep with a chick if my hearts not really in it. What motivates me to talk to most chicks is just wanting to make friends -- it's fun, and incidentally, low-stakes. Of course, the irony here is that once I start befriending a chick, they might develop a crush on me, so maybe I'm not that different from my friend. But whatever -- that situation is easily navigable with a good heart and a bit of charm.
My friend tries to gas me up, telling me that I'm so much more handsome than I give myself credit, that chicks check me out far more often than I realize, that I could get so much more action if I just put myself out there and actually closed. I appreciate the gesture. A lot of friends tell me I should be more confident. To be blunt, they think I'm a pussy. The Shinji Ikari of the group. The Eric Forman of the group.
But I don't think I'm a pussy. And I definitely never have to fake the funk. Far more cowardly are those who feel compelled to deceive the world and project an image greater than themselves. I just have to stay true to myself -- and if someone sticks around, I can start working from there.
But whatever. There I go again: rambling about stupid bullshit. I'll probably play the little pick-up artist game in a couple days. I'll keep my imaginary audience posted, I suppose.
Also, brief aside: I think I should add a guest book or something. Or maybe reorganize this website. I mean, it's basically a diary -- it doesn't need too many knobs and whistles. But still. Nevertheless, I'm pretty content with how this invention of mine has progressed. Maybe this will inspire me to do something more substantive, like finally start a comic strip or record some music.
I'm beside myself for never having mentioned this, but my big passions, outside of work, are drawing and making music. I love drawing, doodling, and I love fiddling around on my guitar. And I'm curious about learning how to make electronic music, but I always postpone learning it. I draw a lot better than I actually play music, but whatever -- I'm just here to have fun with it and God-willing make some art.
Whatever. Until then: peace, world.
