Molly Molntuss

Those were the days, huh? When all you wanted was to hold hands and you knew what you wanted to be when you grew up.  You knew exactly how you wanted your life to be. You were innocent.

The death of innocence signifies the beginning  of being an adult. I suppose, I assume, I guess, I really don't know!

Is innocence the same as basic need? Life gets so wrapped up in the details we can't quite see clearly, at least I can't. How do I make school get along with dogsitting, with my Friday night binge, my friend's birthday, with the dvd collection, with going to the dump with all the cardboard that contained all that other stuff I don't need, with cleaning the litterbox, with returning phoncalls, with paying the bills, with finishing my random projects, with picking pickles of the floor, with raising an eyebrow at the youth?

When did life become about tieing pieces together instead of dreaming?

It's a fascinating process how the present becomes the past. I don't notice it in the same manner as I did when I was younger. Life is more of an open road now where the trouble isn't moving forward but deciding how to move forward.

Some things in a not so distant past knocked me off my feet. I suppose it's just a habit of mine to just get barely standing before it happens again. I am, in fact, my own worst enemy. If I was able to deal with my shortcomings better perhaps I wouldn't feel like such a shortcoming myself. Although I'd prefer to not be identified as such.

I want those moments of bliss to last longer, but what I want even more is to give in to them and put all other things aside. I've bloged about that before, somewhere I'm sure, how I'm always slightly distracted. Makes me feel like less of a person at times because I'm cheating the ones I love out of me.

There are however tricks on how to get my full attention and how to make my thoughts not flutter away making splatter patterns on the walls and hearts around me. And those who seem to have cracked that code are even more dear to me.

I must be getting stale. I have less patience with stupidity every week it seems, and also I don't hide my contempt as well anymore. Yes I did laugh when the question "What day is your twin sister born" (and no I wasn't the one being asked) It's not hard to find the answers to questions of facts. All you need to do is look it up. I don't believe in the saying "Better to ask and seem stupid than to not ask and remain stupid", at least not at such occations. I think your stupidity shows more in which questions you ask, not the fact that you ask. I ask questions too.

In fact, I like asking questions. But I'm more keen to understand the complexity of the question than the answer. I don't want things to be as easy as 1, 2, 3 although some are! Perhaps people with less agile minds ask the easy questions and are satisfied with those answers. I wish I was one of those.

So, how would the world look, and what would it do to our minds if all world maps had Antartica in the middle?

We all have parts of us we're not proud of, or at least I hope so, or else I'm in some deep shit. I haven't found a proper outlet for my shameful co-me. Maybe that's why I make life harder than  it has to be sometimes.

I want it all. I want to be good and bad, and I want to feel good about being bad. How do others do it? It's not like I can walk up to a stranger and ask how they get away with it without seeming like a complete lunatic.

Maybe the problem really is that I am a bit crazy. Maybe I shouldn't use the term "bad side". Perhaps I should call it "mentally ill aspect of personality."

In this well-connected day and age it's a wonder people lose touch at all. We spy on each other through google and Facebook. Don't deny it, you know you do it too! Sometimes you can find something close to the information you're looking for and you click your way to a blog, a blogcomment or a webpage. I call it lurkrelationships. Seems more people than I imagined have them with me.

Sometimes it saddens me a bit when I think about familymembers I don't talk to, but I haven't really had any contact with them in 15-20 years or so, there's really no point in missing them, I don't even know them.  I do enjoy the chase a bit to figure out how the loyalities lay. That's fairly easy to do. Who kept who's name in the divorce? Who has who added on Facebook? Who comments on what in who's blog?

I really don't think I have anything to offer these people. I'm in the middle age, too young for my cousins, too old for their children, you know how that goes. I was always depending on my parents for contact with them, and when I got old enough to do it myself I had too much other stuff going on.

Still, I wonder, well, if they're anything like me they don't really care anyway, but if they're not, they might. That'd be strange too. People I don't know having a place for caring for me. Maybe life would be different had we stayed in touch and had had a chance to develop friendships in the relative way.

The loss is ok. The part of it I don't like is when someone talks about me, using my full (and real name, I should add) in words that aren't true. But then again, that just makes it look like there really is a reason why we don't speak. I won't dwell on that part. It's utterly useless. All I can really say about it is that yes, it did hurt my feelings, but probably not for the reason it was intended to.

Sometimes I think enough is enough, that I should swallow my pride and just send a message, make myself more visible to the world. But at the same time I know I have a problem with keeping my mouth shut, I've lost friends that way, but also gained some. Maybe family relations aren't for me at all. If you lose a friend you haven't really lost much of yourself, but relatives you'll always be related to, no matter how you turn your ass is always behind you.

I have enough trouble staying in touch with the friends I really wish to keep. Yes, I feel lonley at times, but it really has nothing to do with lack of company. It's more like a giant void of being unsatisfied with life. I suppose that when I feel full I'll get bored and not want to live anyway.

The death of my father sort of cut the cords completely. Closure in a way.  I don't know how much he spoke with his side of the family, and I don't concider it any of my business either. Perhaps I'm in the wrong loving privacy so much. I'd never blog under my real name, nor would I mention names. I think that I live life from inside a plastic bubble. I will share my inside online, but not so much my outside. I'll blog about what I've done, but I don't always say who with or where exactly we were. It's a false sense of security, I know that.

Also, perhaps I'm secretly hoping that I will get caught, that someone will find both my internal and external life and embrace all of me. That way I wouldn't have to hide from anyone anymore.

So really I'm just losing touch with myself.

I'm a big believer that every thought of the present has been thought in the past, sometimes it just takes time to develop the ideas and make them mainstream. A very easy example of this is how women are viewed. I'm a bit conflicted, all great philosophers, from Aristotele, Plato, Darwin and Martin Luther all thought that women weren't quite people at all. How did that idea even come about? Western history is written by straight, white males from higher classes. We know that much and there's really no point in discussing the structures behind it, even if it'd be a giving discussion indeed.

I'm just trying to wrap my head around the thinking. Did they think a dog could give birth to a cat? Or a lion to a donkey? Could a woman, if not human, give birth to a human that later turned into a man? If a woman was an animal what does that make the man that desires her? Maybe children weren't human either, perhaps one became a person only when he became physically a man. But still, how did that come about? Magic? Also, did the men love women? Or did they love them in the way I love my cats? That's kind of strange too, I have no lustful feelings for them at all.

It's fairly easy to point out how the opinions were, but those opinions must have been part of a larger system of thoughts. You can't know anything without context. We need context to have things make sense. And this part I simply don't understand.

Or maybe, love is a modern feeling. But I doubt that too, Sappho wrote about love. But she was a woman after all. Was the idea that women are capable of feelings of love and men of lust? Did noone love their women?

Or maybe we're just kidding ourselves, perhaps there is no love at all. Maybe we look for other things. Maybe a relationship is a physical convinience, as dull as that sounds. Someone to feed and be fed by, to please and be pleased by. You catch my drift, I'm sure. Perhaps love is just the extention of ourselves. I really don't think so, although the idea of a woman not being a person does lead to a series of other questions.

I'm not going to get all feminist here. There's no point at all. Only when we no longer have a use for the word feminist will this be an equal world, and I doubt that'll ever happen.

I have a rather healthy addiction to music. If I can get away with it, I listen to it most of my waking hours. I quote random songs at random times. I think it's all part of  "you're using your headphones to drown out your mind". It's comforting to know that others think about stuff too, it's not just me. WIth this being said I feel compelled to post another song.

Perhaps it's a bit ironic that I can't play any instruments. I know, I know I KNOW I set out to learn, but due to issues of expecting myself to be perfect at something without practice I haven't tried yet. But I will. Eventually. Honestly, I'm a bit scared that I'll ruin music for me if I'm a bigger participant myself. I can feel like that when I write sometimes, or when I read and I'm itching to perfect what I'm reading. At least with music I can admire the artistry without knowing if it's really good or bad.

So, little darlings, from which song does the title of this post come?

It's that whiny and so sound... I don't really care for the song itself, just that sound.

I bought a cup a couple of weeks ago. It's got the perfect size, nice holding capabilities. It's lovely. And today, beware and behold, I find an imperfection. Like a small extra piece of ceramics. Why is it that I don't notice these things when I sign up for something? Hm? Like a curse. I'm blind to these things! Maybe these imperfections enhance me, make me seem more like a god in my own world. That must be what god feels like, looking down at us. Maybe, assuming he does exist, he created us like this only to make himself feel better.

A bit petty, but how often doesn't it happen that someone's being a butthead to you just to make themselves feel better? It happens to me on close to a daily basis. I suppose I do the same. I really wish I didn't. But the truth is we always need to compare ourselves to others to see how we're doing. The "others" become yardsticks we use to measure our own sucess. I doesn't matter how nice a person I am, if noone can see it, and all the clichés such as "you can only do your best" makes me feel even worse, if the best I can do isn't good enough, what about me IS good enough?

Also, we pick and choose these bits. I want the job she has, I want the hair she has, I want the house she has, I want the car she has, I want the smile she has, but those shes aren't the same. There are admirable bits about everyone, but I'm the only one who's put together by the pieces who make up me.

Sometimes I think I'm just blind to the envy of others, just because I don't see the point of being envious of anything I have, as I already have it.