a wolf angel is not a good angel

Last night I dreamed that I woke up early and made muffins. I had half planned to do this for real, but figured the chance that I would magically wake up before my alarm was low. And in fact I only woke up 5 minutes before my alarm, without a single muffin to console me. At least this time I realised it was a dream during the dream itself (though this was possibly the most boring lucid dream ever), so I wasn’t surprised when I woke up.

(I just made the muffins anyhow, as I woke up not very tired, though with strawberries instead of raspberries.)

Update: they turned out all raw on the inside. No muffins for me.

It was very bizarre, having something to do with getting married in India on a class trip with my high school class (and boys). I don’t remember the details, which is good, because it was also very upsetting.

On the plus side, I remember liking my wedding dress.

I’m really not doing well at the whole distracting. Hey look! Over there! I’m not madly unhappy, see? I am, however, doing very well at the avoidance, including the not bothering to contact people much. Who needs to talk to people? If I do, I might have to talk about myself. I can do it through the somewhat polite fiction of this blog, but that’s it.

Not that I mean to think my friends are stupid and blind and think I’m a-ok fine, just that they know not to ask, because I will deflect. I am good at deflecting, and I do not really want to talk, because I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know what I think, and really, too much talking just feels like too much wallowing, as an assy, hurtful email I got earlier this year said.

The reality is that I am not really okay, and that part, though not all, of why I was quiet for so long was that I didn’t want to admit it — well, have it in writing, at least.

The weather has turned unpromising for this weekend, which means that probably I will be here, doing I am not sure what, but probably not very much. I have no idea if I am pleased or disappointed. Maybe both, or maybe I have just been that successful at insulating myself from anything I feel, an old skill, but one I have not lost the touch for. I’m so very proud. See, intellectually, I know this isn’t actually positive, but it has the bonus of allowing me to ignore that knowledge without much caring.

It annoys me when people say, of someone who is doing really stupid/hurtful/cruel/(self-)destructive things, “So-and-so is doing the best that they can.”

Look, this might be true. Sometimes it is true. You do what you can, and sometimes just not being more stupid or hurtful or cruel or destructive than you are being is all you can do. I know that. But sometimes, you aren’t doing the best you can. I know when I am doing stupid shit and it’s because it’s the most I can possibly do, and when I’m doing it because it’s easy and I’m lazy and I don’t give a shit about the long-term consequences. Sometimes the line is blurry. But there’s still a line.

I’ll concede that we don’t, generally, know which is which for other people. I’ll even concede that it’s probably better to err on the side of kindness, and assume people are doing as best they can, with some massive exceptions. But it’s not *true* that people are always doing the best they can. And this is leaving out crimes, many of which (barring stuff like drug possession) are clearly not “doing the best you can”.

I do not even begin to believe anyone who claims to at all times be doing the best they can. They’re lying to me, or to themselves, but they’re missing something really basic about people, and they think they’re fooling everyone. They’re not. But now you can’t blame people for the crappy stuff they pull, because they’re doing the best they can. How can you ever expect more from someone than what they’re doing? That’s so unfair.

We’re humans. And what we, as humans, do best, is rationalisation, and justification, and making up explanations for stuff. It sucks to know you’re not doing the best you can, but if you imagine that you are — alas! I could not be doing a thing more! — then there’s nowhere to change. You’re as close to perfect as you ever can be, you wonderful person you.

Again, I’m struggling to find things to say. I am not entirely sure what there is, even, that I am not saying.

I also feel that anything I do say would be some kind of a lie. Implying things, or leaving off implications, or lacking the right context, or about what I wish were true or wish weren’t. Or that anything I say would not be a lie; I think I am scared more of that sometimes.

Mostly I am disappointed.

And my god, am I ever tired. I really don’t have anything going on except this exhaustion all the time. All.

I was in a coffee shop today, drinking coffee — caffeinated coffee — listening to some guy talk about his church and how Catholicism was inherently evil cause it’s based on Paganism and reading a disappointing book when I wasn’t distracted by hearing this guy talk about how someone else wasn’t really being Christian by trying to help a woman leave (or something) her abusive husband. Seriously, this guy was weird. Also, a mailman.

Anyways, I kept shutting my eyes and falling asleep in the chair, with the mug of hot coffee in my hand. Yes, I do have coffee all over my shirt, why? And yes, I do know it’s nearly midnight and I’m still asleep awake.

Been lying in bed, waiting to sleep, for a few hours now. I am tired enough to not be able to do things, but not tired enough to actually sleep, it seems. Worse yet, I have my alarm set for frighteningly early tomorrow, on the idea that I was getting to bed early today.

Point out that I’m awfully defensive for no good reason. This is indeed true, but all I end up doing is defending my defensiveness.

Though it’s really something I need to get over, this being apologetic about asking questions about what’s going on in a friend’s life. But what if I’m prying! But what if I sound judgemental! But what if it’s something too personal! I really suck at asking about other people’s lives. This goes incredibly effectively with my sucking at talking about my very own life. But what if I’m boring! But what if I’m narcissitic!

Blogging occasionally makes me feel comfortable writing about myself, but not as often as I would like.