drunkity drunk drunk drunk

(ahhh, i miss frank. he would say that: drunkity drunk drunk drunk)

in the spirit of blogging more, here is what has been on my mind lately:

schizo bird. there has been a bird in my neighborhood lately, that i have decided, is schizophrenic. it chirps at ALL HOURS OF THE DAY. including MIDNIGHT. or whenever i am trying to sleep. or trying to work from home. all the freaking time. and not just "oh i am a happy bird chirping because i am a happy bird." chirping really freaking LOUD. especially at night when i am trying to sleep. why is it schizophrenic, you ask? (schizophrenic is really hard to type, btw.) because it can't make up its mind how what bird it wants to chirp like. its chirps vary between "la la la, i'm a sparrow" or whatever generic bird is usually chirping on a nice spring morning, to "CAW CAW!" like a crow (i seriously heard it chirp like that once and that was when i become convinced it was schizo) to "jihad! jihad! jihad!" (that's the closest to what i can describe it) to all other bird calls, except the "whoo whoo" of an owl. i guess that the equivalent of the nice, normal personality a schizophrenic person never is. anyways, schizo bird is silent tonight, which means one of two things. (1) it thinks it is a turkey buzzard, which, to my knowledge, is a silent bird, and is hovering above some roadkill, waiting to swoop down for the scavenging. or (2) someone has finally shot this fucking bird, because they are as fed up with it as i am. (i seriously went out to the tree it was in last night, intending to hurt it, but in fact just shaking the tree and scaring it away to further down the street, where its loud chirps were far enough away that i could drown out its blathering by my window fan + ear plugs). i don't care, as long as there is now peace and quiet in the neighborhood.

smoking. two things to say here. first, i firmly believe that smoking is like drinking in that it culls the unhealthy aveoli in your lungs, killing off the weak ones, making room for the healthy, strong ones. in fact, i am convinced one cigarette is the equivalent of, say, a one-mile run. at 7-minute pace. at least. second, why will avid smokers leave half a cigarette unsmoked, while avid drinkers will never, ever, not even in case of fire or calamity, leave half a drink undrunk? is it that one can drink half a drink faster than one can smoke half a smoke? or is it that smokers don't appreciate their drug as much as drinkers? after all, their drug is less controlled than drinkers: you only have to be 18 to ruin your lungs, but you must be 21 to kill your liver? there never was prohibition on tobacco! or, the whole controlling of substances thing could have something to do with the fact that drinking a fifth will impair your ability to operate motor vehicle while smoking half a pack will only make you more likely to make an astute comment about the unfairness of life.

interlude: god bless the inventors of powdered cheese. without them, macaroni and cheese, in box form, would not be satisfying my drunken appetite right now. mmmmmm.

parents. i realized recently (around 12:49 pm today) that i need to tell off my father. he's been fucking up my life probably since i realized he's half the reason i exist. these are strong words, and i probably give him more credit than he is due (my mother, while a wonderful and kind person, was not the most emotive of figures, and my ability to recognize, accept, express, and deal with my feelings suffered because of this), he still wields a ridiculous amount of influence over me, my life, and my mental well-being. part of this is my "fault" for not confronting him about it earlier, or finding a healthier way to deal with it/him. but most of it is him. he is not perfect, and yet i get the impression that i am expected to be just this, in academics as well as in athletics, and however than translates into life as a twenty-something. whatever i do in lab and in frisbee is not good enough. all i ever wanted to do was impress and please him, and nothing was ever good enough. even after i ran a 5:01 mile as a sophomore in high school, we sat down and had a talk about how, if i wanted to break the state record, which had been set by then-Olympian Suzy Favor-Hamilton, of 4:45, i had to start planning for it *now*. as if to say that 5:01 was garbage, a feeble effort. when in actuality i would have broken 5:00 and possibly, probably, won that race had i not taken his advice to go out fast & hard.

but that is neither here nor there. that is only one piece of the puzzle, one chapter of the tale of how my father has fucked me up. and the time has come for me to tell him. because, i'm sure he is doing and has done none of this on purpose. his only intent is for me to have the best. he means me no harm. but i do think some of his motives are/were selfish (how great it will be to have a state-champion daughter!), and regardless, his actions continue to impact me negatively to this day. this must change. i must tell him how i feel, how he makes me feel, that this pattern can be no longer.


hmmm, i think that is enough for one night. the silence is nice, as is the buzz from the tobacco, alcohol, and powdered cheese product. also, the realization that my father does not control my destiny, that he is not infallible, that i am and can be human, that i can choose what and who and how to be...that is the greatest buzz of them all.