Meandering Thoughts

I have enough dishware and silverware for four people. This is because my former roommate left them with me. She had them becuase her at the time bank account (who thought he was her boyfriend) Adam, bought them for her. But I'm not going off on Danielle again.

It just occurs to me. I have place settings for four. I live alone, and as far as I know, I will for the forseable future. But...either nothing comes in singles...or more likely, you can't bear to buy a single set of anything. Aknowledging the lack of a possibility of companionship is a descent into madness. I realize, as I think about it, that there is comfort drawn from the things I own that exist to facilitate the guests I don't actually have.

It's odd. I value my solitude above almost anything else. Just being alone (and having something to do) is enough to make any period of time inhabitable. It's that feeling of singularity, of...not quite emptyness, but aloneness. Solitude.

I had one other thing to talk about on an unrelated subject.

There is one button my dad pushes on an irregular basis that instantly engenders a 'fuck you.' from me. This is (almost every time) when he offers me money I need, and then informs me, not requests, demands, or insists upon, but simply informs me, that it means he will have access to my bank accounts to monitor what I'm doing.

I'm sorry. If I'm missing a point of obedience to parental authority then I am in fact sorry. But I'm twenty-four. I've survived this far, and if one thing shows itself true, I'm not a fool when it comes to money. I'm not perfect with it, but then I've never had enough of it to worry about. So when I'm handed cash, and not trusted to do the right thing with it, it's...like a violation. And it's not just that I'm not trusted, it's the knowledge that my sister, who hated, tried to engenier the divorce of, and raged violently against my parents for ten uninterrupted years would get the same money, and nobody would ever ask her what she did with it.

Granted that in spite of her war against my parents, she too, is no fool when it comes to money. But that viscious, hellish, brutal campaign of ugly violence and lies that she waged for a decade has earned her autonomy. My comparitive duitifulness has earned me...what the fuck? Precisely how does that add up? My parents don't bother her with the invasive assumption that they will have inspection rights to her finances because they learned a long time ago to fear her. I was the good kid, and the reward is that the same resources (trying not to sound like the older brother in the prodigal son here), are given to me on condition of compliance with demands they would never dare contemplate imposing on her. In fact I can't be the prodigal in that equation because it's not the same story. In the story of the prodigal the Father is God, God does not reward the unjust more kindly than the just.

To whom much is given much shall be required. And obedience is commanded by God.

OK: Lets resolve this.

I've prooven (I believe) that I'm the nice guy. My sister has prooven that she'll rip your throat out if you do anything that even hints at encroaching on the farthest reaches of her total autonomy (weather or not it actually exists).

For being the nice guy, instead of being given more trust. I'm ordered to submit to inspections on whatever schedule my dad wants.

For being the mean girl, no one would dare ask my sister to do the same.

Sounds like I made a mistake doesn't it?

Obviously, if the situation is anything like what I'm saying it is (and my own coloring of it is not too distortive), what has happened is that my parents have come to assume that not being a viscious asshole, means less resistance. My sister and brother (who, unfortunatly, shares my sister's talent for hellraising), have taught them not that you should crack down on the rebels and reward the loyalists, but that the rebels must be respected for their violence, and the loyalists can be abused becuase they won't revolt.

I plan to put this argument to them. And it's a hard thing for me to do because it's not fair. It's not fair that all three of their kids should need the same kind of resources and support, and that all three of them should, at the same time, demand total autonomy.

But it's not fair of them to reward the people who treated them like shit with greater autonomy than the one who treated them with respect. At least not if they're giving all parties the same resources. Which they do.

But I've hashed and re-hashed this enough now. It's not a just circumstance. And, sadly, it will probably remain unjust for a while. The wickid prosper. I prosper, no doubt, due to some wickedness of my own. One of the Devil's devices is that our sins should give us the illusion of power, reward, and wealth. We are taught to pray (correctly I agree) that "I am the Chief of Sinners".

But it's tough to see it like that, when you tried to be good, and people for whom the thought of trying to be good was as repulsive as incest, are rewarded better than you.


Alexi

Egads!!

I have barely started packing! I've packed exactly one box! Granted, I dont' own much stuff, but still, I ought to have gotten more put away than THAT!

I must Steel myself, and PUT THINGS AWAY!!


Alexi

Feeling better.

I just did the prayers for purity, needless to say I was in deep. Or so I felt. Waging war against your own baser urges is a difficult thing, and nothing is more frustrating than flunking all of a sudden after a period of good success. Except, I suppose, not getting started at all.

But I feel...fresh, is the only way I can describe it. Confessing to God, saying the prayers, you feel alive, like you didn't realize you weren't alive before you ever did whatever it was you were confessing. Because you're always guilty, you're always doing something displeasing to the Almighty One, and admitting that cleans your soul. Being aware of how vile your sins are is a good thing, and it is in fact proof of the glory of God that we see this after having sinned, that we have a conscience, that we feel remorse, that we hate what we've just done. Not only that, but, exciting as it is for me, we become aware of just how ugly we really are in all ways, not just for the one thing we've done. Remorse for a big sin helps you see the ugliness of all the small sins, and confessing after something big is...well, I won't say better, because doing a big sin is awful, hellish actually.

But it is more complete, more sincere, because you really get it just how far from Godly you really are.

So thank you Lord, for giving me sincere repentance for my crimes, and thank you for your infinite mercy, more than anyone else I know, I need it.


Alexi the Sinner

Farewell Commander.

James Montgomery Doohan is dead.



Dead of as close to natural causes (pnumonia and alzheimers) as you can get, at age 85. He was known for only one thing, and he was cool about it. When asked in an interview, he said he never got tired of hearing "Beam me up Scotty!" beacuse, and I quote, "It was fun!"

Thanks for the good memories, and thanks for just being you.

::Salute::

My Brother.

Colin is his name. He was a featured character in the last post to this Blog wherein we got into a fight. A physical fight, not verbal.

For years I had thought that my parents complaining about Colin's temper was just that, griping. I figured that any excesses of his (he being the youngest and therfore the least tolerated when he finally got a little older) they would hammer down harshly. But I've seen him in action a few times now. He can't, or doesn't, control his anger. He is utterly indifferent as to our parents authority (though he might be in the minority if he weren't), has exactly zero respect etc...

Sound familliar? OK, factor in his being effectively an only child since his sister and I both moved out years ago. Factor in that he is a high level athaleet. Very physically strong, and, increasingly aggressive.

He's on a new medication for acne. I forget the name of it but aparently behavioral changes are a possible side effect. I'm hoping, and praying, that what I'm seeing in him now is a temporary amplification of his anger, and not it's genuine resting level. Because if it is, then he is a physically dangerous person. And that will have to be dealt with sooner or later.


Alexi

Fistfight

Rather than tell the story a third time I'm just going to paste here what I sent in an E-mail (part of the e-mail anyway) to my priest. Summs it up pretty well.


I got into a fistfight with my brother. It was mostly him, but I did my part. Most noteworthily, I hit a kid who (I'm told now) had a legitimate anger managment problem. We made up and I apologized.

The serious bit about that is that as I was driving home, my mom called my cell to ask if I was OK after everything that happened. She was crying and noticably upset. I couldn't have been about us sluging it out, becuase that was just stupid.

Actually it was because after Colin stormed off after our encounter, he came back to the house, and when she opened the door, he jumped her, knocked her down, and shoved her face into the ground how many times I don't know, but her neck is very sore now aparently.

The point of all this is that I experienced the warm blooded (definitly not hot or cold) desire to make his face into hamburger. Understand I wasn't angry at him, and I don't like my mom even a little bit. I just knew, in a very calm and collected way, that the next time I was alone with him, he was going to come within an inch of his life.

So, not a good night. Sorry, that sounded flippant.

Naturally, having had time to think it through and calm down, I'm no longer planning Colin's first near death experience.

Guilty. If it's any consolation my face will be an interesting map of purple in the morning, a nice reminder of the idiocy of the night before.

God forgive me.

Alexi.

Oddly enough.

Even though my Blog editing features may or may not be working, the Blog itself can be seen perfectly well by an outside browser.