September 9th, 2003

running, bomb tech

Forgiveness (deserving, undeserving; trust, hate)

As near as I can figure, forgiveness is about saying, "I don't hate you anymore," and meaning it.

For the longest time, I hated my high school best friend bitterly, because he'd tried to kill himself while I was there with him on the phone. There's really no way to overlook that. I had bad post-traumatic flashbacks to it for over five years; within the last two, they haven't been so bad -- they're trailing off now that I've gotten some assistance with it (thank you, beloved). A year ago, I was finally able to forgive him. While I'll never be able to overlook what happened, I've forgiven him.

Forgiveness isn't forgetting. I've always found the phrase "Forgive and forget" foolish. If someone's truly stopped a resentable behaviour, it may be possible in time to disregard that they did that in the past, but it's the height of idiocy to overlook the fact that someone who's been forgiven for past ills may well repeat what they did.

I don't hate my father. When I was a child, he spanked far too hard; we feared his wrath, and rightly so. Even after he stopped spanking with the palm of iron, he'd still vent his impressive anger on nearby inanimate objects; we were afraid for our physical safety, remembering deep-down that he'd harmed us before and could well do so again. He's stopped doing that, since. I don't judge him likely to start again; he's finally grown out of throwing tantrums. I've forgiven him, because I've tamed my own anger somewhat, and know what a massive struggle it is, and honor his effort and success. I don't judge him likely to pull any of those stunts with me again.

I've forgiven a certain elementary school bully, the pathological liar who used to ride our bus. (Hey, swallowtayle, remember the thing with the brawl at the soccer game he was refereeing? How nobody believed it until his aunt confirmed the story?) I don't think he's changed in the slightest since I've known him. I think he's still a bully and a liar, but I don't hate him. I just sort of despise him. I wouldn't want him to be in a position of power over anyone I care about in the slightest (that counts those who I should care about simply by the virtue of their being decent beings), and I would gladly take him down if I had an excuse to, but I don't hate him. So I forgive him. I don't trust him; I will likely never trust him; I don't hate him.


I think the point of forgiveness is not that the target becomes deserving of forgiveness in some way, though that is possibly one of the ways it's been perceived often. Certainly, if one has done something awful, it's generally a good idea to better oneself, but forgiveness lies in the hands of the one who's been wronged, not in the continued good behaviour of the wronger.

As the one who's been wronged, if you still want to torture them, rend them limb from limb, burn them alive and then bury them (or bury them alive and then burn them) and finally dance on their grave, then shit on it, you haven't forgiven them. (And if they deserve all that, then they probably don't deserve forgiveness, at least, not human forgiveness; the Divine can judge for ItSelf, and will probably wreak suffering in kind before doing so.) If you can finally get to a place where you say, "Eh, I don't hate the pathetic little shit anymore; I really don't think much of anything of that one," then that's forgiveness.
running, bomb tech

Drama

Sometimes, when we're talking about our innermost thoughts, the ups and downs that normally we'd keep close to ourself, censored -- it becomes drama.

Everybody's got it. I don't know of any person who doesn't have some days where they think "Oh, arrgh, so-and-so's being such a bitch today." And then, two hours later, so-and-so is wonderful again.

It's a normal human thing.

I'd be willing to bet that very few people hate me. I know I've got my share of people who really don't care for me or my attitude(s), for one reason or another, but I don't think I've affected many people strongly enough for them to hate me.

I consider my trust/friendship levels to be one cause of this. While I like lots of people just fine, and am friendly to many, most of them I still consider acquaintances. I don't give out my friendship or trust to many, and then don't thus have to revoke it often. I'd rather not trust, or trust warily only after a long time, than trust quickly and blindly, be burned, and yank away my confidence from that one. That way, someone wouldn't be themself, as I am myself, and become bewildered and betrayed by being first trusted without reason, and then, as they grew comfortable with that trust, having it revoked for something they wouldn't consider good reason.

I grew up trusting, unbetrayed. I had childhood teasing; I was never the popular one. As a child, I know I counted it as betrayal; as an adult, I don't. Kids are kids; kids are cruel. I knew how to trust, and I learned who to not trust.

I don't have all the answers. I just have observations and more questions...
running, bomb tech

Answers of the day:

Reading Diane Duane, especially Spock's World. Listening to R.E.M. Getting a nap. Curling up in the corner with a book. Singing my heart out. Talking with Darkside. Talking with swallowtayle.
running, bomb tech

Gha, cats.

A certain someone is whiskering my toes, mrrl!ing at me, purring in my ear, and otherwise nagging me to get to bed already.
running, bomb tech

Early-morning groggy grumblings

It's not as bad as it could have been. The radio alarm clicked on to bring me "Forever Young", which I listened to, rather than writing weird artsy Madonna popslash in my head while falling asleep again; this means I'm awake and in lab.

Neither pico nor nano seems to be on Carmen here. Poor Carmen. I'm sure I'm scandalizing Sandstrom by having an emacs window open...

...and now it is closed. Text editors and I, command line ones, are not awake enough to appreciate each other this morning. Rather, it is knurd, and I am zonked. I think most computer programs are constantly knurd,unless they're permafried.

Now, http://www.frozentux.net and I are talking to each other. I think I'm still asleep.
running, bomb tech

Bake Sale (dammit)

I just realized how very unable to do the GSU bake sale I am.

The bake sale's to be Thursday, in the courtyard.

Now, most Thursdays, there is no problem whatsoever. Nice Thursday, happy Thursday, everything's good.

This Thursday, in the courtyard, there will be people, and there will be lots of people, wearing red, white, and blue, lots of people with loud emotions and fucking patriotic music. This Thursday is, sadly, the anniversary of the day two years ago when fucknuts with more issues than ethics commandeered some planes and steered them into buildings. I wasn't thinking about that. I was thinking about Thursday being Little Fayoumis's birthday.

Can we say, "GHA!"? I think we can.

Now, where's Mr. President?
running, bomb tech

Business, pleasure

Pimpage: Want Mary Kay? Support a Ragdolli! http://www.marykay.com/nali

GSU bake sale: Mr. Prez has the problem hours covered, and I'll just have to be there from 9-10, which is well before the time when they should be blasting crap out of speakers.

I like working with the text editor kate. Sandstrom introduced us. It's simple and GUI.

I'm entering the anti-Bush icon contest here.
running, bomb tech

The things that make me happy.

Why am I happy? Someone reminded me of the Munchkin manual, which Darkside recently spent an hour reading aloud to me...

Insane? Arguably. But only in the "You are weird" category. I'm quite well connected to reality, and I recognize the oddness of attaching sentimental meaning to someone reading a gaming book. However, he was reading it over the phone to me, which makes it good...
running, bomb tech

GIP

I was a little too bored.
Nine

Magic Smoke

1. The Advance.


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I can't remember the exact sequence of the next two incidents, but they were around the same time.


2. Cassandra.


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3. The Hysteresis Cannon.


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4. The B: Drive.


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[1] My father built the house himself, and as such, we had various construction materials and tools lying around. A pile of plywood (I'm not sure what it was ultimately used for) wound up sitting in the house against the outer wall of the bathroom, and it was a handy platform for we the kids to sit on and play on. Stuff was also stored there. Also in the house were a radial arm saw and a tablesaw.

[2] Guardian was our 1994? Gateway 2000 computer, so named because in "The City on the Edge of Forever", the Guardian of Forever says, "Let me be your gateway." I was both whimsical and persistent, and the name stuck.

[3] Cassandra was our surge protector and uninterruptable power supply. She'd set off a screeching alarm when she wasn't getting enough juice, and since the computers were on the same circuit as the microwave, she shrieked every time the microwave started up, and she also shrieked every time our heavy-duty, high-volume laser printer (Asimov) started up. It got so we'd ignore her, so I dubbed her Cassandra, who was mythologically famous for being ignored...

[4] Several of my friends later told me that the other name for this device was a "railgun", which name I am sure Mr. Johnson avoided like the proverbial plague lest some innocent repeat it in front of Admin, or worse, a parent.
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