Typing Mishaps with Frozen Digits (ie. unnecessary rambling).

Okay, so I'm cold. And I mean, really really really cold. I'm wearing gloves right now. Thankfully I can actually type with them on. Otherwise, I wouldn't be writing this post, because it isn't nearly as important as the temperature of my fingers. :)

I'm also wearing slippers that I haven't worn in a year, but that's beside the point.

Today is my Friday. It's cold, it keeps wanting to rain and snow even though it's supposed to be spring, but at least I don't have school tomorrow. That has to count for something right? Lol. The weather is supposed to "pick up" this next week though. Whew. Not that the cold isn't nice, I've just been having a harder time than usual keeping my hands warm, along with the rest of me. Let me tell you what - brrr. . . . .

The sky was beautiful today, though. It was completely covered with soft, steel-gray clouds, with the rarest break in them to reveal this perfect, picturesque, lazy summer day, bluest of blue sky beneath (yes, too many words, lol). I sat outside for lunch and got drizzled on as the sky couldn't decide whether to rain or not (is it just me who finds that an awkward thing to read?). But it was so incredibly nice. I almost think the gray skies make me happier than a hot, sunny day. But perhaps that's only my imagination. Lol.

I want to put a poem up here, but I cannot decide which one. None of them seem good enough when I look to them, though I know at some point there was something in them that I liked. I guess that works for anyone who writes, huh? Anyway. If I ever choose, I'll stick it (or them) up in a separate post. Other than that, I suppose I have nothing to say, really. That's a little sad. Maybe I should try and dredge up something for entertainment value.

Hmm . . . .

Well, it took me thirty minutes to make my bed tuesday night. . . . Wow. I must either have a really big bed, or be really slow. Then again, my bed is surrounded on all but one side by a desk, dresser, and walls. I have to push and pull the damn mattress back and forth just to get the sheets on. Let me tell you what, it is an exercise routine all its own. And my sister wonders why I don't change my sheets as often as she does (as in, every week or two) . . . . Hey, I take a shower in the mornings. . . . . Hm. Irrelevant.

I'm gonna go now. Probably the best idea. Lol.

. . . . Oh yeah! Yesterday, I was walking down the hallway after school with one of my friends, and I dropped my water bottle (well, sort of flung it accidentally, really) and I made her jump about three inches - sideways. Her feet almost looked like a dog's feet when it's paddling over water (that it isn't in). It occurs to me that that probably doesn't make sense. Lol. Suffice it to say: Priceless.

Ta! ;)

(ps. I'm pretty sure the cold has affected my ability to write at my normal level, or basically, the cold has affected my ability to write coherently . . . . at all. It's unfortunate, but you know, it's an ego boost for you, whomever you are. Lol. I can't describe crap today, and I don't want to try. Let's see, almost nine o'clock. Should I, or shouldn't I . . . . . . ?)

Lol. Until next time.

Hm.

M. is going to be gone all this week. College visit.

I wonder what Latin will be like without him? I was starting to get used to him dropping by my locker before third period. And now he isn't there. I wonder what I'll do when he gets back?

Ha. No. I know what I'll do: nothing.

I wonder if I miss him? Hm. Probably not. I just like the attention. Isn't that it? Yeah, I suppose so. But he did have a tendency to brighten my mood marginally at times. Silly me.

I can't believe there's only a month left. I find it hard to comprehend. But then, it's just another aspect of life that passes you by, and you only wonder afterwards if you miss it. I think I see the connection. Psht.

M. is just another part of "what could have been . . ." and "where did it all go?"

I'm going to go get ready now.

What if?

As I tried to fall asleep last night, I had a waking-dream, a lingering question.

What if I had decided to live with my father instead of my mom? What if I had?

Would I be better off, in every way? I almost think I would have. I almost wish I would have.

But then, I never would have met all of the people that I did.

Of course, then I have to ask myself, what if the people I would have met, if I'd stayed in Texas, what if they would've been better? What if, in staying down there, I had a hundred less obstacles to get around just to get where I want to go?

I almost think, I almost believe, that that might be true. But then I remember that my father hasn't spoken to me in five years. And then, then I remember that he lied to me about so many things, most importantly, that he loved me. Yeah, I almost believe he might've been the better parent to stay with, until I remember that. And then, I wonder, if either of my parents ever loved me at all, or if I was just their way of getting back at the other. And then, then I wonder what it is I'm supposed to do now.

But I can imagine where I would've have gone, each day, what things I might have done. I think I would have grown in more ways than I have living here. If I had stayed down there, I'm certain I would be more of an adult than I am now. I would be outside more, I would have a job, I'd be more secure in myself, I think. I don't believe my father would have abandoned me to his selfish impulses the way my mother has, I don't believe he would have set me out to do all of this on my own. I don't believe I will ever get any of that back. My mother pushes people away because she prefers to do things on her own, and then she complains about being alone. She talks about how she has sacrificed all of her life to take care of us, when she could have easily shared and had help from another. I think she would rather I didn't have a father, because she is afraid that he would be better than she ever was. I think she's afraid that I would like him. But she did her best to turn me against him, didn't she? And now, now I haven't got either of them. I just, I wish I didn't have to be here.

Another down.

Another computer down, how many more to go?

Yes, thanks to my mother, I've now lost another computer to a damn virus. And this wouldn't bother me so much, except that, she keeps doing this. She keeps talking to random guys on the internet and letting them convince her to download such and such program onto the computer that she absolutely doesn't need. And I'm sick and tired of losing all of my files because of it. I mean, she really pisses me off.

*takes a deep breath*

Thus the reason why I haven't posted on here in a week. Thus the reason why I spent all but four hours on Saturday sleeping, and why I went back to bed a 8 o'clock last night. And I didn't even have my music to drown everything else out with. My MP3 got the virus a while ago, so I can't use it. My radio doesn't like to play about 70 percent of all the CDs I'd like it to. My god, I'm trapped in this house, aren't I? I don't have my computer, and I have no way to get out of here for another four months.

I just, I can't live with people who live like this. My mother, my sister, they just don't get it. And they can't stand to see me do something with my life, they have to continually drag me down. It's exhausting and tiring, and I can't fight this anymore without becoming pissed off. I hate living with them. I can't stand it. I can't surround myself with this kind of selfishness, this oblivious, consuming selfishness. It's too much for me. Stuck in a rut, they try and drag me down with them, over and over again.

*sighs*

I'm going to start a different post. I went to bed incensed last night, I don't feel like starting today in a hopeless mood as well.

Anonymity.

I like not knowing whether or not people read this. I like the idea that I'll never know how many visits anyone ever makes to my blog of idiocy. It's a nice kind of anonymity.

Anyway, just before I leave for school, thought I'd mention, I didn't get to bed until 2. But I found inspiration to write another poem. So, lose-win situation, I suppose.

So, gotta go, then.

Evasion is a sweet pastime.

I can't seem to want to go to sleep right now. It's nearing midnight, and I'm tired, and I'm a little hungry. But all I'm doing is writing. I've decided I don't like posting stuff on my poetry blog for the time being, so I'm just going to post this poem here. I just copied it from my notebook, and edited it a bit, and found I like it more than I thought. So, read on, if you wish.

My Heart's Exposé
I set to writing down my heart
And all the fact surrounding it
With a view to polishing
My shiny, lead-stained fingertips
In the crystal universe encrusted
With the film of Fortune’s kiss.

But a latte in the morning kills my spirit,
And a pinch of salt across the shoulder
(When I drop the lid and spill the can)
Is the only luck I can account for.

Sweet nothingness now holds me
In its stern and pitying grasp.
And all can see that, in my words,
All can tell within my thoughts.

You wrapped my heart in foil – pressed and
Boiled, poker-faced, until it was lobster-red,
Scrapped for the piglets in the yard:
(You glorified the meal) I was
“A wealthy feast for the health of swine.”
Is this what you had tried to say?

Worth nothing more than a rotten feast
Nothing more than slaughter food
Trampled to lumpy, dull red mush
With nothing more to beat for.

An old letter.

I was browsing through my old notebooks this afternoon, looking for old notes I made for my book, and stumbled over this, quite unexpectedly. This is a letter I wrote once, a while ago. It was supposed to be for C., but I just felt like I had intruded on his life enough, so I never sent it. Then again, I think I just wrote this letter for myself, my kind of closure to a nonexistant era of my life. We're brief friends now, though. So, I suppose, I finally let go of that little delusion of mine. :) Anyway, I always wanted to share it, if not with him, then with someone. So, here goes.

...

I am insignificant, I see this now.
A drop of water in the ocean, a snowflake in the depths of winter, a fallen leaf in the midst of autumn.
Insigificant.
And I bounce, intermittently, between finally persuading myself of the truth, and unable to believe it.
So it is the same with you.
I know all of what you've written has never been with me in mind, yet I still manage to convince myself that it is, at times.
Not only frustrating to you, but frustrating to me as well.
I've always placed my heart in my poems, and simply assumed others did the same. I've always imagnined life like that.
I also know, once you've read this, you will probably sigh or growl in frustration, fingers itching to correct me. You've always been quick to retaliate. Will you be this time as well?
No. I'm certain you will not, because you will just delete the email, erase the poem, forget for once and all this fading memory. As you should, as you must.
Like I said: insignificant.
A drop of water evaporates, a snowflake melts and dissolves, an autumn leaf crumbles.
We all fade, in time. That is the natural cycle, the pattern that cannot be broken.
...

Anyway, I'm trying to find a sort of occupation for the rest of my day. It doesn't feel like seven o'clock, at the moment. The sun lingers too long for comfort, I suppose. Read, a bit of homework, a bit of housework, a bit of pretending like I'm not affected by anything. Just five weeks left, though. Hm.

*Except for the 'Jesus' element to this song, I really like it. I was going to just quote it, but found there were too many lines I liked, so I've posted the entire thing instead.*

Editing.

Wow. I feel like a camel at an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. I've drunk so much water today it's almost astonishing. You know Nalgene bottles? 32 ounces each. I'm on my third. Well, I guess if I'm thirsty . . .

So I've started editing my book now. I've found that it is much easier to edit on paper, so I printed off the prologue, and found there is much more that I want to change than I had originally thought. But that's okay. I wrote the beginning so long ago. . . god, it must have been March of my sophomore year that I first began this entire thing. Damn. *pauses a moment*

It's been quite a while since I wrote the beginning of my book, and my writing has changed and (hopefully) improved quite a bit since then. So, I need to update that part, and edit it and make it sound better. I think there's a lot missing from the prologue that should be there, especially since I've figured out some plot-lines since then that change some things drastically and mean I need to take notice of other things more. Character personalities, for instance, and the ever-present foreshadowing that hint at something that definitely comes up in the epilogue. I'm excited, but still, this is very daunting.

One step at a time though, one at a time.

I need to do some chores, now, then. I guess I truly ought to, it'll improve my mother's mood at least a little if I do. Lol. I ought to try, at the very least. So, goodbye for the day, or the moment.

Pleasant musings. ;)

But why did you? That's all I want to know. Why?

Relaxing morning. I love Saturday mornings when I wake up to the sun filtering in through my bedroom window, diffusing the room with a soft whiteness, far better than the harsh yellow glow of a lightbulb. It produces the sort of calm in me that I relish. The kind of calm I can think peacefully in.

I realize today that I forgot to tell you if he wrote back. Do I honestly need to? Isn't it that obvious? I predicted it on the spot, and even before I mailed it anyway. He hasn't, he didn't, he won't. Should I, really, be surprised? No. But it still hurts, even if I already knew the truth, even if I already knew what he would do (or rather, wouldn't do).

...

Daddy dearest, daddy dearest, did you run away from me?

Yes I did, spawn of Satan, for that's all you'll ever be.
...

I still want to show up at his house one day in the summer, and see what he does. I am even, insanely, imagining spending a month there, like they do in movies, a month where I can pretend like this is just a vacation amongst strangers, and he can do whatever he likes. Silly, I know. I won't do it, but I won't be able to avoid imagining it. For instance, I even imagine that, while down there, I would get in the research I've been wanting, and finish my book, and ride my bike all over town, etc. The possibilities of what I might do are endless. The reality of what I will do is also predictable. But I don't need to get into that, it's too obvious. He just makes it impossible to forget about him when all I ever hear is nothing, when all I ever get is silence. He walks away - repeatedly, and then expects me not to follow. I can't stand silence, though. I truly cannot. I'll be grasping for something forever until I get the true confirmation of why he won't talk to me, of why he ignores. I know why, but I can't stop until he tells me. I can't stop until I hear it from him, and not my mother, not my stepdad, but him. I need to know why, or I'll never stop, I don't think.

Anyway, I'll leave off of this subject, and listen to this song instead. It's remarkably calming, and has a nice memory attached. A very nice memory, regardless of the actual subject of the song. I especially love the guitar at the beginning, and when Mayer sings so quietly, it blends into perfection, leaves rustling on the wind, a creek gurgling down - away. It just works, is all.

A poem - among other things.

So here I am, again, wondering what it is I ought to do. Should I try to force out a poem that actually sounds good to me? I feel like I haven't written in a month or more, which is not what I do. Writing is a constancy in my life, how could I have abandoned it so healthily?

*sighs* The words just don't seem to want to come to me, I suppose.

Dinner went great, though my sister and I got stuck in a traffic jam on the way, so it took us an extra thirty minutes. By 8 o'clock everyone, except my grandmother, was yawning. I think the cold temperature was making us just that much more sleepy. Then again, I only got . . . what, four hours of sleep? Yeah. Not good. Which is why, on the cusp of my potentially brilliantly relaxing weekend, I intend to sleep to the fullest in the time I am provided with. My shoulders and neck would thank me, I am sure. Ah, if only I could get some sort of neck massage. I've never had one - I wonder if it would work . . . ?

So sleepy. But I don't want to go to sleep, for some reason. I don't want to go to bed. It appeals, and yet, something is keeping me from it, I can't puzzle out what. Perhaps because, if I sleep, my weekend will be that much shorter, will seem cut off in the middle and sped up to the end. I don't want that.

I could type up some Jane Eyre, but . . . eh, that deserves its own post. A poem? Hm. I could type one of my more recent ones. I think I wrote this last week, or so. This poem will be the end of this post, I've written quite enough for tonight, though I still want to ramble on. Dilemma, but nevertheless - read on.

FOG
Did he need to be so secluded?
So isolated he forgot that the sun
Had never disappeared.
Trapped in his own despair,
He lowered the clouds from the heavens
Surrounded himself with sorrow
So willingly, so freely.
He exiled himself in a cloudy day
And forgot.
The world, the love that he needed
Manifested when he closed his eyes
When he ignored, when he forgot.
The sun shone brighter on his soul
Trying to dissipate the fog.
It lost the struggle, faded
In the depression of his will -
Fell on empty thoughts
And forgot itself, the reason, and
The hope behind
His shaded eyes.
He exiled himself to cloudier days
To forget about the heart
He left behind,
To ignore his fracture world
In the clouds he willed to come
Below the sky, and fill
His empty night,
His empty world,
His empty life and emptier heart,
With fog.

M. Is he, do I?

I can't believe how easy it was to study for my Latin test. That was a relief.

Yesterday was a frenzy of activity. I actually cleaned the house a little. Took out the garbage, folded my clothes. It was nice. I haven't had that sort of "do and get done" kind of mind-set in ages. I like that. My room isn't as cluttered anymore, which helps and translates over to my mind. I could see that in how I was able to actually (finally) understand my math today, two periods before the test. I could see it in how, even though I went to bed after midnight, got less than (or around) four hours of sleep, I wasn't tired and was actually getting more things done.

The nice weather, though, that really helps. It's starting to feel like spring. The best part of all of it is that, when I wake up in the morning and take a shower, I can hear the birds whispering outside, busy bodies that they are. It reminds me of when I was a kid, when I used to live at this one place in Texas, where we had an owl in one of the trees just outside our house. It's very nice, calming.

It's odd. This week, M. has . . . well, seemed more mature to me. Perhaps it's because of the new arrangement in Latin. We got those long tables now, instead of our old desks, and so when we have to translate it's all more face-to-face instead of at a distance. I don't know. I'm being silly. I don't like him, I just think I do because I'm an oddity in itself. Sure, people change, but can they change that much? Could he have? *pauses, deep breath* Well. It makes no matter. There's nothing there, and the past has proven that, though at times he really does seem to sort of draw me in for some reason. He intrigues me at times, and more frequently than before. That's all. At times I sometimes wonder if he still likes me, though. Latin is very entertaining, nowadays, in any case.

Well. I don't know. I can't think right now. All I can see is a weekend, a spring weekend, without snow (at last). Reminds me of what my English teacher said today, random comment about "fake Global Warming." She said, "Well, yeah, I believe in it. But - I mean, come on, where's the hot weather?!" It keeps snowing, ridiculous valley. It's laughable, but frustrating. Winter has held on most stubbornly, not that I mind. Next to autumn, it's one of my favorite seasons.

Anyway, I have to go. Time to visit my grandparents. Should be fun, unless my 9 year old cousin enlists me to color on the floor with her. Bad for the knees, though I shouldn't be so stubborn about it. She hardly ever gets to see me, and apparently I'm her favorite (because I'm the only one who ever plays with her). Thank goodness she's over the Barbie phase. ;)

Ta!

"He made me love him without looking at me."

I've been thinking a lot today. Some of it about what I wrote in the previous post.

Is it good thinking? I don't know yet. We'll see, in the eventual. I have to combat instinct, so I need to learn to really master my own mind. It's amazing how many things I can relate to the topic.

I haven't really done my homework this week, it's going to kill me either tomorrow (in the form of a test) or on friday (in the form of two, possibly three, tests). Instead, I've been reading Jane Eyre, which has really caught my eye this past week and a half. I only have a hundred pages left, and it is all entirely fascinating. I never knew Bronte could be so hilariously witty (as well as ideally, romantically, perfectly sentimental, as the quote in the title shows), I've heard, but I've never truly known. Today, volume two, chapter nine, was perfect. I couldn't stop grinning ear to ear and laughing in study hall. It was priceless. I'll take another moment later on to share these quotes as yet only alluded to, if you're unfamiliar with the book. Reading Jane Eyre creates a sort of calming influence on me, time flows by without a glance, and I am able to be lost in the softly swirling, watery smoke all around me. It is a welcome escape from unwelcome thoughts. I lose myself easily in this enigmatic other-reality. I hate to see it end, for what will I read afterwards? I hardly know yet. I have a feeling it will be "The Picture of Dorian Grey," or . . . I don't know. We'll see. Time knows.

I believe I almost like "Jane Eyre" better than any Jane Austen books. Jane Austen is almost too distant, too separately ironic and sardonic. Charlotte Bronte, in writing Jane Eyre, created a heroine we can really feel. She makes you see every aspect of her personality, good and bad, see every good and bad event. She makes you actually see her characters as human beings, and make you love and hate them at your own will, instead of tainting them with black or white. Their shades are subtle. Rochester is understood in his selfish need, his desperate grasping for, something pure in his own hated life. He tells Jane, early in their peculiar relationship, "Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre: one of the better end; and you see I am not so. . . Take my word for it, - I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that - not to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent." You might despise him if you did not understand the full reasons, the full depth and thought behind his actions. With Bronte, you get the entire picture (despite the novel having been written in first person), which makes this novel so much the better. It is, indeed, more complete than anything Jane Austen ever created (and believe me, I never knew I would in any way scorn Austen's books). Her characters are splendidly human, with such doubts we are all plagued with, such hopes and pains.

Anyway, I need to do something in the way of accomplishing something for today rather than pretending to accomplish something while just musing away at nothing (puzzle that, if you will). I need to do a little homework, if I can. I will, then, end this now.

May a good night and good day follow after, in whatever succession they please.

Behaviors and Habits

Forewarning, this is long. Possibly incoherent at times, or repetitive. The reason being that I originally wrote this in my notebook, killing my knuckles for a little over an hour. Regardless, I need to share this somewhere. Here is as good as anywhere, I reckon. This comes from a somewhat related topic which I’m “studying” in my psychology class: learning, conditioning, reinforcement, and so on. A facet of it struck my mind and I began writing on it, soon finding I could not stop.

An Essay on the Training of Behaviors and Habits
Taught behaviors – behaviors and habits learned from the consequences behind them. So what habits are so unsavory within us? What behavior do we need to be rid of?

Simple things in the minds of teachers. The clock gets close to the bell, the bell rings, students get ready to go either at or before. From elementary school, where the teachers wished students to be prompt, we will not dally for fear of being late or reprimanded, scolded for tardiness. Similar with when they call your name for attendance, you answer automatically and immediately to avoid being marked late, to avoid being punished or yelled at (or even embarrassed by being singled out in class).

How does this translate to life? The willful actions of our day, the purposeful choices. Are they truly willful, or, in some part, reflexive, reactionary, without thought? How much of our day is learned instinct, or primitive, natural?

You’re hungry – so you eat. But you can train your body to be hungry at certain times – with varying amounts of food (less and less, or always more per day) – whether you truly are hungry or not. If your body is used to it, are you truly in need of something to eat, or do you simply want it because you usually get it?

In childhood, as a baby, you start out, at mealtimes, where you’ll only eat what you’re hungry for, what you want. Dessert comes after a meal, whether a wholesome meal or a McDonald’s Happy Meal (it makes no matter). As you grow up, you get dessert if you eat such and such amount, or if you finish or clean off your plate. We are trained, then, to eat everything we have at supper to receive the expected reward – dessert. As we grow older, we clean off our plates, hurriedly or slowly, with no thought to whether we are full or not. We do so with our minds fixated on one thing, one objective: what we get after. We pay no mind (keep track of this idea) to how we get there, we simply want it (in this case – dessert) so we do what we have to in order to get it. Sometimes the reward is playtime, a certain toy, the permission to watch a show, the ability to finally go out with your friends. Again, it makes no matter. The reward is still enough to train your mind to eat quickly to receive it.

This is similar, as well, to other habits you might, unknowingly, be trained to perform. Just as you can train yourself to be hungry, you can train yourself to wake up at a certain hour, or to become sleepy at a certain hour. You get up early instinctively for school or work, and thus (in time) your habit of sleeping in on the weekends is hindered, prevented, or made harder or impossible. You stay up late during vacations, and thus you’re not tired when you need to go to bed early for school.

Back to the food and hunger issue. There is also the social side of this gratification. How easy is it, truly, to eat healthy in a household full of fast-food junkies? To eat sparingly in a home of binge-eaters? You may pull it off for a while, but they’re very set in their ways (unfortunately). One individual amongst many holds only so much sway in the way things are run. Mob-rule, eventually, inevitably, rules all. The single individual succumbs to the overwhelming majority, unwillingly at first. Over time, their mind assimilates, they adapt and slowly evolve. In the course of things, in a general sense, they become just like those they resisted. The adoption of habits is unwilling in the beginning, but the body is trained well and easily. To survive, to get on with as little resistance and strife and unpleasantness as possible, we eat what they eat. This is a general idea, but true. The mind is unwilling to be alone when conformity is possible. Over a large sum of years, a married couple gradually comes to resemble each other, an owner resembles their dog (either in personality, temperament, habits, or appearance), friends resemble friends, family – family, and so on. Individuals, together for longer periods of time than brief or cursory, tend to adopt similar habits and behaviors. This can be good, and it can be bad. Stronger individuals tend to hold greater sway over what the outcome will be, over what the prevalent habits will become. It is to be hoped that the stronger individual has the better habits, but it is not always the case. Thus comes about the inevitable distortions in our genes, our personality, and our instinctive habits. It happens. With great difficulty is it avoided.

This might explain something toward the “Freshman 15” where incoming freshman are suddenly exposed to a larger population of individuals with undesirable habits (in this case, eating the wrong food, drinking, etc, to create an unsavory weight gain), and thus succumbs to the majority. Some might term this peer pressure, I say it’s more instinctual, the fitting in and the need to. Peers need not apply pressure: it’s habit to conform.

So to attempt prevention, to allude to the blocking out, the extinction, of the habits we do not want, the breaking away from past and surrounding (ie. other people’s) behaviors, what must we do? Incorporate negative results, sharp and painfully conscious consequences? How?

There is a drug for alcoholics, to reduce their instinctive habit of turning to alcohol for solace. It is a fact that they became addicted, over whatever period of time, because of some reason or other, because becoming drunk provided escape or created a positive emotion or desired result (the reasons vary far greater than I can provide of my own imagination). The drug, however, makes them sick, nauseous, makes them throw up, if they drink any alcohol. This is meant to train their mind, to create in them an aversion towards the carrying out of said habit. A negative consequence to reinforce the unconscious, and also conscious, action and reaction. The body and mind are trained. But the participator must be that: a willing participant. After all, a certain amount of awareness is gained in maturity and creates stubbornness to change, stubbornness to accept and believe the needed results. This absolutely affects the entire process.

Awareness is both a good and bad influence. One must be able to influence one’s awareness, not simply one’s actions, or the consequences attached, in order to generate true change. There must be a sharp, poignant, highly memorable and influencing consequence for the consequence itself to have true sway over the mind. In addition, a negative consequence must be lasting, it cannot be fleeting or of an instant, in order to leave an indelible impression and memory. If the negative consequence is fleeting, the likelihood of its memory influencing the individual's behavior in the future becomes extremely unlikely.

Take someone who is allergic to something, and digests or comes into contact with the source of their allergies, an event which can be fatal, or extremely painful or unpleasant (in some circumstances). That person then learns almost immediately to avoid the source, when aware of what caused the unwholesome, un-enjoyable experience in the first place. Same with a diabetic: lack of/too much of one thing or other makes them perhaps so ill they need to go to the hospital to avoid death. As a result, they then learn what to eat, and what not to eat, and how much or when, to keep from experiencing the same event. Someone forgets to look both ways before crossing the street and they get hit by a car, perhaps break a bone, get rushed to the Emergency Room. The experience, often highly traumatic, prevents or conditions the individual, influences their reflexes, so that they refuse (either consciously or unconsciously) to cross the street without assuredly looking both ways first. Painful, traumatic, vivid events or experiences create a strong reflex. We learn immediately, and are aware (whether willfully or unknowingly) that we want to do all we can to avoid having to undergo the same experience again.

It is the same with one’s actions causing the death or extreme injury of another, the shock of the result is often enough to strike most painfully in one’s mind, and establish a change in one’s behavior to avoid the event in the future. Drunk drivers, kids playing with guns, criminals, and overnight visitors to jail, the list goes on endlessly. But, in usual cases, if the event is unpleasant enough, one’s behavior evolves to change and decrease the possibility of a recurrence.

Is it possible as well to condition individuals to eat better foods? Introduce another factor, sickness, nausea, a hospital visit or other potentially painful memory, to prevent them from indulging in the wrong things? Change behavior by giving one a harsh, negative consequence?

As long as the reactions are able to sneak in under awareness. If we are aware of any possible method of getting past the negative result, if we have any memory of a time when the repeated indulgence of a food produced no negative result at all, it is not possible to change behavior. Consciousness must not be able to intrude on reflex, on nature, and one must be able to change nature itself to secure overall change. Permanent change – acquired only through assured constancy. The wrong action, the one you don’t want to occur, must without doubt occur in conjunction with a negative result. Otherwise, the mind is trained to extinction of the positive action, and all process reversed.

You must be always in awareness of negative consequence if you indulge, or all will be for naught, all to no avail, the positive habit extinguished and thought useless. A smoker will smoke forever unless they get cancer and know they will live only if they quit smoking (provided they actually want to live in the first place). If their condition neither improves nor worsens, or in fact continues to worsen as it had before, they often will continue to smoke or take up the habit again. If their condition becomes better, they will continue with the new habit of not smoking at all. Relapse into the old habit is often less likely the more the positive result continues. Sometimes one’s own awareness and consciousness intrudes on our better instincts, and the results will matter little to the habit the person indulges in. Thus, it might take some trial and error, some few times, to truly instill the new habit and one’s better, stronger, awareness of the better quality to it.

The negative result in relation to a negative behavior always influences the fostering or extinction of a positive behavior or habit, provided it is consistent and immediate, so as to see and know, with absolute conviction, that the two are related, are consequential, not coincidental, are significant and a matter of course, and not simply another unexplainable event.

One will continue to smile if smiled back at. If repeatedly frowned at instead, the action will cease. It is similar with a class clown, a recluse, or any number of individuals and their actions and behaviors, as well as their attitudes toward it all. If the recluse has only unpleasant experiences or memories when they do go outside, the memories are likely to only reinforce their reclusive habits. A class clown is laughed at, found entertaining, and he is egged on, by this encouragement, to continue with his antics. Reverse the results, and through inculcation the habits and behaviors will also reverse.

Avoid generalizing the stimulus, the catalyst, too much, or the influence of the negative result, and especially the negative result upon the undesired behavior and its influence upon the negative result, decreases into inconsequentiality, into nothing, nullifying the process entirely. Do not have any great number of actions (ie. more than one) create the same negative consequence, or the individual will not relate the specified, undesired action with the negative result. The likelihood of the individual connecting or relating one action with another result becomes less and less over time when generalized with too many preceding actions altogether.

This, as I think of it, attains, then, a similarity to something that happened with me rather recently. The beginning of a desirable habit, of instilling said habit, which was hindered in the process by an experience that resulted in a visit to the hospital. Hyperventilation (a scary, sharp and vivid memory), in which the original behavior (or what I had thought to be the true catalyst) was the introduction of unfamiliar equipment I had never used before. I, in some recess of my mind, attributed the use of that equipment to my terrifying experience. As a result of this negative consequence to the positive behavior, I subconsciously, unknowingly, weaned myself off the equipment and the use of it for fear of a repeat episode. I felt my issues with breathing, my conscientiousness of such a basic function, were a direct result of the behavior. Thus, this positive behavior and habit (using the work-out equipment) was virtually extinguished, a process helped along by the lack of positive results in weight loss, which had been the original, desired result and positive consequence all along.

So if the desired habit is to exercise, to produce the desired result (ie. losing weight) something needs to be added to increase both the likelihood of the positive result in carrying out the correct behavior and to increase the negative quality to the negative consequence for the carrying out of the wrong behavior. Rather complicated. Essentially, we need a harsher, more memorable and distinct negative consequence when we do not perform the desired behavior (ie. exercise). If you don’t lose weight when you exercise, you won’t see the point to it. You will not directly see the positive consequences (feeling better overall) because you are more focused on the obvious result, and thus won’t exercise further. If you injure yourself nearly every time you do exercise, you won’t want to exercise at all, no matter that the exercise itself is not the cause for the injury. You need some significant positive result to instill the desire, the need, the instinctive want, to exercise. Loss of weight, better grades (significantly better), more positive attention (in relationships), compliments, more energy, etc. If I was becoming more tired, getting less sleep, as a result of exercising, I was then less likely to want to exercise. There needs to be pointed, obvious, and positive consequences to pursue and maintain a good habit and behavior until it becomes second nature, instinctive, habitual.

The positive result for the positive behavior and the negative result for the negative behavior must coincide, or else the individual will be in a perpetual mood that denigrates the desired, eventual result. Spoiled in the positive or miserable in the profuseness of the negative. Either way becomes too extreme for continuation, such extremes become too much for the parties involved, and the chance of perpetuation decreases exponentially. If spoiled, the individual may take the positive results as a matter of course, they may take the positive results for granted, and eventually cease the positive behavior. I need not explain why the ‘miserable’ side would not be allowed (in the individual) to continue. These two extremes must be evened out. Failure creates greater desire to succeed, but there cannot be too much failure, or the desire to work towards success becomes less if an individual comes to believe that the work toward success creates no greater possibility of better results. If you fail more than you succeed, or you succeed only minimally, will you actually want to continue working? More likely, most individuals would lose the desire or will to pursue and maintain the positive behavior when the negative result occurs more frequently than the positive, or when the positive results satisfies less and less.

In essence, behavior can be taught and changed, provided the individual is aware of the change, is willing towards it, and provided there are consequences (both good and bad) for every action that said individual is attempting to alter. Behavior can be changed in every instance, but it becomes so very second-nature, so mindless and instinctual and habitual, that it takes effort and purposeful action to begin changing at all. Over time, the mind should adopt the desired habits, and thus change permanently, for the most part, the natural behavior of the individual. Of course, these things vary, as well. I speak only from a singular view point. That is the very definition of an essay in any case: an analytic and interpretative literary composition usually dealing with its subject from a limited or personal point of view. You see? I did my research. I have learned, through childhood experience, to make sure I don’t use a word in the wrong definition or context, to not attempt to distort the actual meaning of a word. Of course, things still slip my mind, but that is neither here nor there.

Parachute

I'm glad I stumbled over this song. Two versions below. Regular, which is the hyperlink. The acoustic version is the one embedded. Enjoy.

She Is Love - Parachute

Acoustic:


The band is called Parachute, formerly Parachute VA, formerly (again) Sparky's Flaw. I think they were started in 2001, but I don't know exactly. It's been rather hard to track this band down. But, I still enjoy them immensely. I listened to them sing this song for New Year's Eve in Times Square, and they still sounded great. I love it when I find a band where the main singer can actually sing, or at least, sounds like he does when recorded.

Falling in love . . .

Can't Let Go - Landon Pigg

Also, this song (below) makes me smile, a lot. Very nice voice, quite smooth and perfectly perfect. Wouldn't you agree?

Writing.

I keep trying, trying and trying and trying, and yet, still, I cannot write a damn word that I want to. I have so many poems stuck in my head, blocked from the world, and they're all jumbled up in my mind and my heart and yearning to be written. But I can't. I try, I do try. But I can't.

I have random lines sketched all over my notebook, but still, nothing works. Nothing I write are the words that I want. I'm getting tired of it, but still I try. Here a line, there a phrase. I read so much else, hoping for something to spark that perfect word and set it all in motion. I listen to music all day, wishing something will make me see the poem I keep missing.

But it eludes me. That poem. It eludes me, as everything else does. And I am getting tired of it. I am getting annoyed, and frustrated, and depressed, and desperate, and just plain tired. Exhausted. Bone-weary. Where is the vision, the clarity of sight, that I have so dearly missed? Crushed beneath the steel-toe boots he insists on wearing specifically for me. And who is he? I don't know. I ask myself, and I don't know. I ask, and try, and fail, over and over again. It's starting to feel unstoppable, inevitable.

PS

"I know what I'm doing," I tell myself. "I know exactly what I'm exposing myself to." I have a memory, I know all the shit he's done, and the shit he hasn't. Each memory highlighted and outlined in its own right. I may be vulnerable, but . . . I can't help that. I just have to do this. I know no other way.

Daddy Dearest . . .

I sent him a letter last monday.

Was I an idiot to try? Am I a fool to think that there is a human being in that wretched man?

Do I make myself seem even more pitiful every time I do this?

Answer to all of this?

Yes.

Daddy dearest, daddy dearest, did you run away from me?

. . . yes.

I really want to get angry right now. I'm working on it. In the meantime, I have a playlist on my computer which is helping. (Ironically enough, the playlist from a mix cd that I decided not to mail to him. Pathetic much?) By figuring mail times, if he even does write back, I'd get a letter on monday.

Do I seriously expect one? Nope. As my mother said, I'm simply 'beating my head against a stone wall.' I might add, 'repeatedly.' He obviously doesn't care, so why the hell do I keep doing this?

. . . I tell myself that I still want to give him the chance to redeem himself, no matter how ridiculous I might appear in the whole farce. I tell myself that I don't care, but maybe I do. Whatever the truth is, I do know one thing: I'm waiting on something that won't ever come. I have two months left before I graduate high school. I haven't spoken or heard from him since before 8th grade. Does that answer my question? Yes. It does, without reserve.