Somewhere feeling lonely

I just realized that I have this tendency to jot down my thoughts in whatever piece of paper I can find. As I went through the last few pages of my task planner, I came across several scribbles; some were nothing but ramblings and others, such as the one I'm reprinting below, were laced with pretty strong emotions.

"For all I know, Ernest Dale Conway II, I could have some undiscovered mental disorder. Self-motivation is just out of the question when I can't even bring myself to wash my face at night, and when getting up in the morning is a chore. The only level I seek right now is anything higher -- a few inches, maybe -- from this dump I'm in. It's so easy to be philosophical in this regard, Ernest Dale Conway II, so bring it on. Hit me with your best philosophical bullshit. Because I really need it to get out of bed in the morning."


In answer to "Self-motivation is the key to raising a man to any level he seeks." - Ernest Dale Conway II

I'm sorry, Mr. Conway, I was in a less than pleasant place. But hey, I'm better now. So we'll see about scribbling a little something positive in answer to your words, yeah? But now, allow me to get a grip of this happiness -- relief if you may -- and soon, we will write something, something a little less abrasive, rabid and depressing. The world could use more happy people, I always say.

And this is why I'd rather watch heads being decapitated...

I must say I don't think I will ever have the strength to finish The Girl With A Dragon Tattoo. Inasmuch as Rooney Mara is captivating as Lizbeth Salander, delivering the darkness and intensity with so much grace and aplomb, I don't think I will be able to handle the sex scenes. So far, I've seen only two: 1) Lizbeth giving her case officer a handjob, which eventually led to a blow, to be able to receive her allowance; and 2) Lizbeth being chained to a bed and violently raped by the same case officer, this time for food. I steeled myself and continued to watch the rape scene out of principle but I was already feeling the beginnings of nausea. This is one thing I realized about myself --- I can watch horror movies no matter how bloody and violent they are with the ease with which I put on make-up in the morning (in fact, I'm watching the 1979 Amityville Horror movie as I am writing this) but I can never stomach films that show the consequences of poverty, the bleakness of war and the violence of sexual assault on women and children.

This apparent fascination with fear triggered by horror movies is often met with a kind of amused incredulity by family and friends. One friend went as far as to point out to me that real life is scary enough as it is without having to watch this depressing, gory, useless form of entertainment.

Oh, I know real life very well, having lived independently for over five years and counting. I know how it is to encounter lean months and how it is to hold back and prioritize to pay the bills. I know how it is to constantly worry about my future, whether I shall have saved enough to be comfortable in old age. So I don't discount the fact that real life is scary. Truth be told, it is. And that is why I'd rather watch horror movies as a form of escape. I don't need to watch heavy drama and all that jazz brought about by a depressing film on poverty to be reminded how real it is. I don't need to be reminded  that women and children do get raped and sometimes left for dead, and that people corrupt power and take advantage of the less fortunate. I don't need to be reminded that I can very well be a victim if I am not careful.

Note to the Universe: If you send someone my way, I'm hopeful that she, too, would be able to tolerate horror movies. Not necessarily love them with the same intensity as I do but I would really thank the high heavens if she'd watch a movie (or two) with me from time to time. :-)