Stupidity Preserved.

I don't know why I've kept many old AIM conversations. Sensitive ones, let's say. And I don't know why, when I was looking for some comedy clips in old folders, I decided to open the few I came across.

And I ended up getting slammed in the chest with about a year's worth of awful, frustration, heartbreaking, soul-wrenching, cringeworthy memories. In the span of about 45 seconds.

I feel like I was hit in the chest by a Mac truck. And it's a bit hard to breathe, for the next few minutes. And I can't for the life of me figure out why I keep these fucking conversations, so innocently tucked into various archived folders, jumping out at me when I least suspect and need the emotional journey back through some of the very hardest times of my life.

But I also see just how far I've come, how much love I've lost, how many friends turned out to not be friends at all. They are bittersweet, these dark, liquid memories of mine. And yet, when I am presented with them, I cannot help but to drink deeply. I quaff of my own pain and misery, and when the tears flow, when old wounds thought to be long healed are shown to still bleed, I sadistically, masochistically- deem my thirst quenched.

I don't know if I'll ever know why I do this to myself. I don't know if there will ever come a day when I shall see those old files (for deleting them is just simply out of the question) and be able to resist opening them like sutures on a wound. Maybe one day.

Maybe one day when my life is stable and full of people who bring me as much joy as I try to bring them, maybe I'll be whole enough to open these files and see that these old wounds are nothing but faded scars. When I love someone completely, with all my heart, with the certainty they will treasure it more carefully than they do their own. One day, I shall be able to open these files, read them one last time while shaking my head at my past self, and delete them.

When donkeys fly.


edit: comments fixed. Damn you blogspot! JK ilu.


way to not fuck up, guys!

I'm an African-American lit major with a lot of flexibility in exactly what I study, and that means I 've learned a whole lot about history, media, and stereotypes pertaining to the history of blacks in the US. And yet I cannot FATHOM that we will have a black president. It hasn't sunk in yet, and I'm not sure it will for a few more years. I hoped and and supported and hoped and supported as much as my overwhelming disdain and disinterest for all things political would allow. I voted. I hoped some more.

But I never ONCE allowed myself to think this far ahead, aside from repeating the occasional joke about making sure he has a Mexican VP so that there are NO assassination attempts from the angry Aryans. I never once thought I would see a Black president in my lifetime. Or a female one. Or even a female and a minority vying for the Democratic nomination.

I prepared myself for the worst, finding the one silver lining in a post-McCain victory world: It would make it that much easier to wash my hands of this country when I'm fulfilling my future ex-patriot ambitions. But now, I think I've regained just a little bit of my lost love for this country and its people. I still want to eventually leave for a country that's a bit more honest about it's problems, less arrogant about it's resources and luxuries, and altogether more informed about the rest of the world. But in the meantime, it's nice to know that the majority of this country wanted to move in a better direction too, a direction based on hope and an honest belief in an all-encompassing American dream. And not one based on stagnant ideals that stubbornly cling to the past in the face of better knowledge and modern thinking.

Thank you, voters of America. I haet you all a little less now for what you did to me in 2000 and again in 2004. You destroyed my faith in the American political system four years before I could vote. YOU OWED ME THIS ONE.