Yet another “round 2” situation. Wheeeeeeee. You know what’s funny? In Danny and Drew’s conspiracy video, Danny jokingly said he was gonna die in 2 months – turns out that was a prediction for me and not for him. It was 2 months almost to the day that I crashed out and deleted all my Danny shit. After stopping at a gas station on the AZ/CA border to make sure every little bit was gone, I found myself following behind a kind of semi I’d never seen before, and haven’t seen since. It just said WHEATON in big, bright red and blue letters. It was going slightly over 80, which is way too fast for a commercial truck. I didn’t wanna speed up to 90 to pass it. It was haunting me for a good half hour, to the point that I genuinely considered pulling off for a bit. The universe has a fucked sense of humor.
No tarot this time. Absolutely not. Even though I have tarot class the Friday before, I’m focusing on literally anything else in the readings. I guess the real question is, will I bring the stickers on my trip…………fuck. I probably will, yeah. But I’ll need to print out a Jarvis and a Jordan one as well. Fuck. Laura was right, I am obstinance incarnate.
oo maybe I could make these into stickers…. girl you better not start that habit of doing way too much again 😤
I bought the tickets seconds after I got Laura’s message, ie, the screenshot of Eddy’s IG story. It did seem divinely delivered, though that distinction often feels arbitrary (completely subjective, at least). I had been praying for Drew’s sake again after his latest video. Laura was telling me she had seen people gossiping in TikTok comments, and I was afraid of what might go on on YouTube as well. I prayed that the gossip would be like bar soap in wet hands – if it was brought up, it would slip out of people’s minds instantly and everyone would go on with their lives.
I know prayers like that are really for my own sake. Delulu for situations that tug on my heartstrings but deny me control. Because it’s all bullshit, I can make up the rules. “This will only affect him if he is open to receiving, and it would help him”. I did a similar thing when I couldn’t get to Danny’s mid-December shows, despite having bought tickets on the off chance I’d find a way. I set up my little objects and danced around to “all that jazz” and “razzle dazzle” from Chicago the musical, hoping it would somehow give him good luck. In general, I’m trying to keep my focus on my own life and the people actually in it. In moments like that, though, I indulge the inner child who is comforted by magical thinking, and energized by cheering for her favorite comedy quarterbacks.
This past Friday at tarot we did a vision board for the coming year. Like last year, I decided to turn my brain off as much as possible, and just see what wanted to emerge from my subconscious. I didn’t want to pick the same inspo card again, despite The Star still being my favorite. I picked The Wheel of Fortune – I thought it would be good to set a “serenity prayer” sort of intention. “Focus your energy on what you can control, and let go of the rest. Savor the joy, and bear the pain, knowing that nothing lasts”. The collage that came out was a little…. Darker than last year’s. Laura says there’s nothing wrong with it, but idk if it looks particularly aspirational.
Maybe it’s just an honest foreshadowing of the kind of year it’s going to be. God, please don’t give me another “lesson heavy” year. I swear, I’m at my LIMIT. It sounds so woe-is-me, but I genuinely feel like a dog who is over-punished, and doesn’t react to getting hit anymore. He gets beat for anything and everything, so pain is the assumed outcome of every behavior. Idk what you want from me, universe, it seems like I’m too stupid to figure it out. “Sounds like it’s just an attitude problem, maybe if you reframed—-“ Shut up! Shut up. Yes, you’re just trying to help. Yes, I see you are trying to be proactive. Yes, ok, fine, I have no “reason” to be unhappy, so I’m letting myself be a victim of self sabotage to avoid accountability. Ok! You win! It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.
I’m sure other people have this as well, but I know a lot of people don’t: I have a very predictable shame spiral script whenever I feel upset. When I have an emo thought, an encouraging, rational problem solver voice comes in and tells me what I should be doing instead of feeling sorry for myself. For whatever reason, that advice comes across incredibly condescending and judgemental. There’s this dynamic of an emotionally out of control teenager, and a parent who is just trying to give loving advice. “If you wanna stay mad you can, I’m not telling you what to do…” “Fuck you! Fuck you!” The more that the parental voice says I’m “allowed” to feel or act this way, the louder I hear the unspoken disappointment, the “acceptance” of me as a permanently emotionally stunted narcissist. The “pretty princess” in one of her tantrums again. The more the voice tries to help, the more overwhelming the shame becomes. Because it’s all inside my head, I can’t hide what I’m feeling. He sighs, shaking his head. I sob. “Can’t I just feel bad, like a human, for once?” “I’m telling you, you can!” “Yeah, you’re saying ‘if you wanna keep hitting your head against a wall, it’s your life.’” “It’s not like that, but I can’t pretend that any of this is productive or healthy. Do you want to feel better?” “NO!!!” “Then don’t? Why are we arguing?” Because I don’t want you to leave. You won’t stay and just sit with ugly emotions, you want to fix them or let me enjoy my own misery undisturbed. I don’t want to fight you, but it’s less painful than being all alone, fighting myself.
One of those spirals came up at tarot, actually. A guy came in – or was dragged in, it seemed. When introducing himself, he said, “I came with my friend…. I mean, my coworker..”. The dynamic between them was very off. At times it felt like she had him at gunpoint, but the only times he appeared comfortable was when he was talking to her. He gave the impression of being a bit lobotomized. I forgave that initially, since I too catch bimboism when I’m overwhelmed. What lessened my sympathy was when I overheard him saying, “I don’t mind the tarot stuff really, but obviously I’d need a different group of people.” ……That’s….. a fine thought to have, and express in private. It was just odd because body language wise, he was definitely having a one on one conversation with his friend. Volume wise, however, there was zero effort to be discreet. He must be another victim of deteriorating situational awareness. The contempt and sense of superiority with which he said it was bizarre. We had been nothing but open hearted and welcoming, interested in who he was and what he had to say, funny and creative but truly not overbearing. Our only sin, I know, is that we were “uncool”.
The middle schooler in me was triggered hard. Back then, someone changed the social calculus overnight, and being a good person wasn’t enough anymore. Based on who got attention, it seemed like the opposite was true. Where’s this new rule sheet? I’m not going to start being mean, but maybe if I understand the expectations I can adjust……”if you get it, you get it. It’s not something you can learn, you have to just know, y’know?” What….the fuck? How is that fair? How can I possibly be judged for not being able to do something I can’t be taught? You won’t even try to help me? It seems like you don’t feel bad that I’m getting left behind at all, actually. It’s funny to you. Somehow, my earnestness and desire to be kind is becoming…a bad smell. My intellectual curiosity, my academic dilligance, everything that made me right is suddenly wrong. But why? Will you all stop whispering to each other and smirking at me and tell me how to be better? As long as it doesn’t involve hurting other people, or dumbing myself down, I can change my behavior — you just have to tell me how.
That wound is the cause of my one main struggle when it comes to empathy – people who are deliberately, selfishly, and unapologetically mean. I wish I could convey the intensity of anger I feel evoking even just the idea of it. It’s not what they do, but what they are. Someone capable of that will happily exploit the naïveté it takes to give them grace, and will leech your emotional labor for as long as you are stupid enough to believe the lie that they are trying to change. I don’t forgive anymore. I see what’s inside. It’s rotted, hollow. Fuck you, fuck you fuck youuuuuuuu!!! Get me out of here, please God. I don’t belong here. Where are the people it’s safe to be soft with? Beam me up to the goody-two-shoes planet, I am BEGGING. “Don’t let the airlock door hit you on the way out, self righteous asshole.” Ffffff
I think this is a sign I need to finish watching Life on Mars. I sound way too much like the main character Sam on one of his rants. Usually, I’ll clock a character from an older show that modern fandom will retroactively speculate has spectrum symptoms. In this case, when I saw the memes about him on tumblr, I was cold-clocked. “OoooooOooOooOoh. Oh. Fuck. Yeah, I see it. Now I understand why the show was (frustratingly to me) implying that Sam was being unreasonable and rigid, when I thought it was obvious he was the only sane one – and the only person who seemed to care about morality.” LoM is one of Laura’s hyperfixation shows, and I’ve been watching it so I can appreciate her silly-level-of-good fanfiction. You know, if I had a penny for every millennial aged fan of Danny&Drew I’ve met who is an incredibly talented writer … I’d have two pennies. Not a lot, but weird that it happened twice. Same can be said for this trip to the Dynasty Typewriter to see Drew and Eddy, but perhaps let’s redefine what happens twice as, “Had a lovely time seeing my internet faves. <3” That would be more than enough.
The ring camera just went off, as I was getting ready to post this. I assumed it was one of the neighborhood cats my dad always sees, but just today I installed the app on my iPad so I could peak for myself. Wouldn’t you know, it was a gray fox. I have a different relationship with signs than I did 6 months ago, but I said something very similar last time. For now, I will say to Mr. Fox, “There ain’t no chicken’s here, and I ain’t countin’ nothin’. Glad you could drop by anyway.”
>>robyns_ramblings 