palmerpink

Lord knows I really want to rant right now; I've been angrier, sure, and I've felt more hurt, but the temptation is there to tear into this guy. But I'm supposed to be a grown up. He's supposed to be my friend--and I do care about that. I'm not supposed to even be taking these things so seriously anymore. So why the fuck am I? So I was dating a guy recently; we had four dates. I thought we were really starting to click. I'll admit it--I'd even begun to like the guy. Not quite like-like him, but there was a definite fondness growing. As I was learning more about him, I was liking what I learned more and more. We seemed to have chemistry, too. It was pretty nice how I could talk about smart stuff with him without either a) feeling like I was supposed to be talking down to him or b) feeling like he had to challenge me to a contest of who was the smartest fuck in the room. It was natural, intelligent, fun conversation. And that was really cool. I was defin...

So I mused (to myself) a bit on this in the other day's post, but The other day I blogged about self-determination in Afghanistan . In that post, I referred to Max Fisher's article in The Atlantic , in which he explains the significance of the recent outbreaks of violence in Afghanistan in terms of muzzled self-determination. Part of me wanted to muse, then, on whether he really meant ' popular sovereignty ', though I soon figured he prolly didn't. Still, it was interesting, if utterly idle, to reflect on the differences between the terms, and what impact the choice of either would have had on the content of the argument. While self-determination deals with a nation's right to make decisions for itself without outside intervention, popular sovereignty seats the authority & legitimacy of a legislative body and its laws with the people it governs and is elected by. Still, though, if you look at the article he could have meant some mixture of either. T...

It is no secret that a good deal of my personal philosophy is rooted in principles of self-determination and such. So when I read this article in The Atlantic, " If Afghans Want to Reject the U.S. and Embrace Theocracy, That's Their Right ", I was pleased as punch. That part of the article's title--"That's Their Right"--is philosophically delicious. In this article, Max Fisher argues that whatever path Afghans choose, regardless of whether it is "right" or "wrong", it is their right to make that choice, not ours. This whole Afghan outrage itself may signal the end of our continued presence's justifcation. "If Afghans reject the international force then the most basic conceit of this decade-long war -- Westerners partnering with Afghans to rebuild their country -- will have collapsed, and the U.S.-led mission along with it." That analysis may sound rough-handed, I guess, but it's honest. Frankly, I agree with it. ...

This work crap has gotten a bit better but it still dogs me badly. At this point, I'm less absorbed by the agonizing worry & overthinking than I am simply painfully aware not meeting my own exaggerated demands. Slight improvement, yeah? This is literally what I look like at work. That is something, though. I've realized that much of this boils down to a few bad habits of thinking and a lot of anger. It's just got my head all wrong really; these bad habits of thinking prey upon something basic in how I operate. The result is the sorta-nervous-wreckness I've been experiencing the last half a week or so. Although my managers may want me to get dozens of people to sign up for credit cards each week, I only really need  about 5 a week. Anything more is awesome (more Macy's Money and stuff!) but as long as I can get 5+ cards, I = success. It's easy though to get caught up in my managers' expectations, to make their demands my own, to measure myself by...

Every time I struggle with something, it seems to always boil down to the same thing: that initiating moment, that starting point. Some stupid mental block I've put in my own way keeps me from beginning  and it stresses me out. Case in point, the topic of last night's blogpost . The funny thing is more often than not I'm perfectly capable of whatever the task is, I'm just too panicked to give it a go. A therapist once described it this way: it's like I imagine my comfort zone to be very, very small, when in fact it's actually quite a bit larger. 'Who knows  what could happen if I try this? Anything could happen--and that's scary.' The result? Plenty of things I'm perfectly capable of doing but perfectly scared of trying. This is the sort of thing I've prayed about from time to time; it usually helps, I should probably get back into it. It's rarely anything fancy--usually invoking Walt Whitman for moral support of some kind--but it...

I'll be brief, perhaps...for once...I'm weary. You may be in luck. For reasons beyond my caring, my store--my department, especially--has upped its game credit wise. That is, in getting people signed up for our store credit card. All well and good--in fact when I actually talk to people about credit I can be pretty convincing and find it fairly easy (the talking about it part, at least). But now we've added a new dimension. I don't know if it's just our new way of doing things or simply because it's slow, but we've taken to the aisles to solicit  people to apply for our card. Nobody else seems to have had any trouble with this. I, on the other hand, have been near my breaking point for two days in a row. It's not that I can't talk about our credit card or lack confidence--I could list a dozen ways to save and how they're relevant to you and your interests--it's just the talking  part. To random people. About something they might (might!...

I shouldn't have been surprised that, although really excited to go to the gym in the AM to the a-gain , that this morning would prove difficult. Today I have work at 1:30pm instead of 9:45am. That throws things off more than you might expect. My brain is a stupid thing much of/pretty much most of/all of the time. If it perceives any leeway, it overrides any sensible use of time. Lack of discipline. Give it an inch, it takes a mile, or however that goes. So on mornings like today, when I don't have  to be anywhere until much later, it/I will happily forget/rationalize other important things I merely  wanted  to do, regardless of how important they were to me. I first woke up at 6:30am to Garrison Keillor reading me a poem called "1000 Yard Oar Boat" or something; I took my meds and went back to sleep until 7 when my phone went off. Typical morning although trying to break that habit bit by bit (it used to be I'd routinely dismiss the 7am alarm and sleep till 8...