the cruel uneventful state of apathy releases me
One of the places I applied to gave me a call Sunday night, so I have my very first interview Wednesday morning. If they hire me, I can work with them until sometime in December, when I'll find out for certain about the crossing guard position, and if I get the latter job, I'll quit this place quicker than a heartbeat, and in the prime shopping season too. Can't expect a good reference from them, but I'm not in the job market to help megachain corporations, I'm in it to feed myself.
On further research, the college I wanted to apply to "prefers" SAT scores included in the application, and since I've never taken the SAT (mostly my fault) and I have no highschool grade records or teachers to write letters for me (not my fault), I've decided to leave that college for later in my academic career. I always figured I'd start out in a community college anyway; they'll take anyone, regardless of ability or sanity. If I do well for a couple years, it should be no problem at all to switch to the better college, with its nationally renowned biology program.
Did anyone see President Gore speaking at George Washington University on CSPAN? He kicked so much ass.
I have a confession to make: I've still been reading my father's incoherent rants. I plan to stop, since what he wants is a way to needle me and get under my skin, something I've prevented him from doing for some months. The two months between banning his email address and his commenting here with his shiny new trinket were peaceful and relaxing - I didn't have to relive the hell that was my childhood with him, and I didn't have to decipher his indecipherable screed only to discover he was still raving about some innocent childhood happening of mine and how it made me the embodiment of evil on this world. Now, I can't keep him out of my life by simply banning an email address or prohibiting anonymous comments on my humble journal. I actually have to refrain from visiting his...um...journal, is it? It's hard, because reading his words is like watching a car wreck - you feel an overpowering urge to slow down, crane your neck out the window, and gape. Its very addictiveness, however, is what makes it so insinuating. Maybe by putting it in writing I'll stand firm: I'm never reading his rants again.
Besides, he keeps deleting all the unintentionally funny and juicy entries, and all the hard work Jen and I were doing for him by posting translations of his writings for the audience he apparently pretends is reading them. Some people just can't be pleased, I guess!
One of my associates has a theory that Eric has always wanted to be famous (necessarily so, because paranoia includes delusions of grandeur as well as persecution), and that he's upset because he's never done anything worth noticing to the world at large. To fill this inadequacy, he invents this complicated cosmology of unspecified harassment over hazily defined "secrets" he "learned" by reading books available in any public library. For good measure, he also declared that he "witnessed" Michael Fortier doing laundry with a bevy of Mexican women at the Motel 6 in Elk City, Oklahoma, the night before the Oklahoma City bombing. (Hey, if you're going to blow up a federal building in the morning, it helps to have clean underwear!) Eric can play guitar after a fashion, so of course he claims that half of modern country music was stolen from him while we lived in various decrepit automobiles, and the other half was written about his life by supporters of his ex-wife. I have to agree there is a deep-seated and overwhelming desire on his part to be famous, so it's not much of a surprise that his psychotic delusions take the form of inventing hordes of people "after him," even though with that many people against him (100% of non-Eric McFuckwit humanity at last count), it wouldn't be so much "after him" as "got him thirty years ago and quietly made him disappear." Oh well, he never obeyed the laws of logic, so it's not surprising.
Before he deletes or edits his latest entry, it might be fun to dissect it, since it's the last I'm ever going to read of his tripe. If anyone wants to read along with me, it's behind here.
My comments are, as usual, between brackets. Paragraphs are my insertions; my father doesn't believe in them.
He admires even the toads
[It's just the title and already I have no clue what he's talking about. Maybe it refers to some private shorthand of his; most of his writings, whether emailed or posted, are composed largely of indecipherable private shorthand that he expects everyone else to be current on.]
Damion Gay who was on our arson report, gets out again in Feb after 3 charges the last three years. Trafficing in Cocaine, felonious assault, carrying a concealed weapon, why would any one not take their threats seriously? Oops terminated by the judge hes been out. [Damion Gay was a man who bragged to a friend that he arsoned my grandmother's house after Eric threatened him with a handgun. I have no sympathy for Gay, but the same way the State of Ohio ties my hands with regards to Eric, so are my hands tied with respects to Gay. My father takes my resulting inaction to mean I "take up" for Gay over my grandmother. Whatever. Eric just loves trying to hurt me by mentioning my grandmother at every chance he gets, and implying I hated her. As anyone with a grain of sense who knew me during my childhood knows, I loved her, while Eric pranced around, driving her into debt with his happy roadtrips, and made conspiracies about her blue eyes behind her back.]
And our NDayton what bot James Fleming, your homes next Uncle. [This makes no sense, though it almost seems to imply Eric is threatening his uncle, Windy, for taking me in after I left Eric to piece my life back together. Windy is meanwhile a 78 year old man with advanced diabetes and heart trouble that will probably kill him before his next birthday. Here we see Eric's compassionate side, just as when he would threaten to hit my grandmother any time she tried to intervene in his abuse of my brother and myself.]
Cracks in the system, the system is they let no defense be used against the gangs. [Eric refers back to my last entry, when I pointed out that Eric skipped bail at least three times before the Ohio court system managed to make him keep a court date, and promptly set him out on parole. And instead of giving him needed treatment for his psychosis, they gave him college classes on the taxpayers' bill. I wasted three years of my life in the army trying to get free college, and they handed it away to him for committing a felony. Despite all this, he insists that the big bad state of Ohio is...um...collaborating with his enemies or something. It's not clear what exactly he's implying.]
I lose my rights and Bush allows folding stocks, high capacity mags, flash hiders, etc out for their use. [What rights did he lose exactly? No one knows. No one knows what this list of firearms accessories, and whether Mr. Bush "allows" them or not, and who uses them, has to do with anything, either. Whatever it is, he loves to mention it - twice now in as many days.]
Thats great but why do families get trounced by the white cops, does it hurt the cash flow? [I think he's referring to his initial arrest one night in April 2000 in a Dayton city park, carrying a handgun while I slept in a picnic shelter, but it bears little resemblance to the reality of the event. How exactly a "family" got "trounced," I have no idea, or what the race of the officers who caught him on a routine patrol has to do with anything. What does matter is that by letting his son sleep in a city park, in a known drug and gang neighborhood, he was committing child endangerment, not exactly a good "family" activity. He also complains about the cops taking me to a "runaway shelter," and that somehow in those three days of relative freedom I was "corrupted" or something, but what did he expect them to do with me? Take me to jail with him so he could keep his thumb on me? The fact is, me spending even a moment out of his control was and is too much for him, as anyone with knowledge of either abuser psychology or the workings of schizophrenia would know. Consequently, this Evil Runaway Shelter was promoted in his mind to some instrument of his Enemies, especially the Jews, and that I was guillible enough to fall for their pernicious doctrine. Whatever. I know when my intelligence is being insulted.]
I was going to shut it down but after being bitched at for three years and no end in site. Boy now thats the truth. [I think I'm the one he calls "Boy," but it's hard to tell. I also believe when he talks about "shutting it down," he refers to trailstoyou, as if I care what he does with it. He bitches about being "bitched at for three years and no end in site," apparently referring to cretaceousrick. If telling the truth about seventeen and a half years of inhuman abuse and psychological terror at his hands is "bitching," he should expect to endure it for a very long time, because it's going to take the rest of my life to repair the damage he did. Therefore, if he can't take the "bitching," he only has himself to blame. I'm sure as hell not going to stop examining the roots of my current problems just because it gets his panties in a bunch, pardon the expression. No one's asking him to read my journal; hell, no one asked him to stalk me across the internet and harass me through my email and through comments on my friends' journals. If he can't take the truth, which anyone can see he can't, all he has to do is stop reading my fucking journal already. Of course, it's not just that: he also wants to exercise control over me by making me change what I write, or by getting me to delete my journal. Fat chance of that happening, skippy. There's an equal chance of my father waking up sane one day. It's not going to happen.]
Making fun of pictures of my sister while saying how bad I treated everyone.( I was the skinny one that was 3) [I have no idea what any of this is about; apparently he's referring to something that happened when he was three, and of course I can have no clue what he's talking about, nor can anyone else currently alive. Good job, Eric.]
After getting treated like shit myself I had to do all the work in a town that I hate because they take it all away. [Wait - what is all this about Eric working? You mean such an event occurred at some point in geological history? It was my impression that in the past three and a half years, I've worked more hours than my father has in his entire fifty year life. You see, he had so much respect for his mother that he forced her to work until her dying day so he could gallivant around the country in broken-down cars and sleep in national forests so the Jews / Mormons / Rosicrucians / homosexuals / Smashing Pumpkins / Catholics / Muslims / ex-wife's family couldn't attack him. It was also my impression that he had any number of chances to escape this town he hates so much in these selfsame decades of traveling aimlessly around the country. So who exactly is he trying to lay the blame on? Because nothing is ever his fault in his mind. Also, who exactly is treating him like shit? It seems like a pretty sweet deal to me, getting free college for endangering the life of his son.]
What is the psyche of a crackhead and the sympathy from the east coast grads that piss and moan online about people they never met. [This is the line that provoked this dissection and translation, because it is such a classic and perfect example of Eric's disease. The identity of the "crackhead" is unclear; the term could apply equally to the Damion Gay, George W. Bush, and Eric McFuckwit himself. However, "east coast grads" could refer to Jen, so in a bizarre twist, I could be the crackhead he talks about. Even though I've never touched an illegal drug in my life, unlike my father (who can list LSD, strychnine, marijuana, possibly mushrooms, and any number of other things), he seems to have this idea that either the army or the runaway shelter addicted me to something. He has on at least one occasion told a relative who knows better that I smoke the reefer. That in itself is hilarious, and ample material for discussion of the way Eric's mind juxtaposes his own failings and blames them on others. However, the part that made me grimace was "piss and moan online about people they never met." Eric wasted his entire life pissing and moaning about people he never met, online or off, and who had no idea he existed. All the people in his vast and elaborate and constantly changing conspiracies were people he saw in a newspaper or read about in a book or invented all on his own, and never once laid eyes on. Michael Fortier? Hanging out in Arizona the night Eric spotted him doing laundry in Oklahoma. All the people with license plates Eric was convinced were messages directed at him? Just people going about their daily lives with no clue who the psychopath tailgating them was. His imaginary internet conspiracy, where people all over the world got minute-by-minute updates of his whereabouts and actions, and adjusted their harassment of him accordingly? You tell me. All I'm going to say is there is and never has been any mention of Eric McFuckwit on the internet except for his own pissing and moaning, whether on a Dolly Parton message board, my friends' journals, or on his own. Now he gets defensive because he's gotten what he always wanted, my attention. Well, skippy, you wanted it, and you got it briefly, and now you're bitching. Ay carumba.]
Anyone need a spacer for their MaK? [Umm...sure? I guess? I don't even know what that is, let alone why it's mentioned.]
Current Mood: annoyed [No one to blame for that but himself.]
Okay, I think that's enough for today. That's the end of my public service for my father, until his next ploy to get under my skin, of course. I don't need more memories stirred up, thank you, so I'm going to simply stop reading it. I'm sure my saner readership will approve.
On further research, the college I wanted to apply to "prefers" SAT scores included in the application, and since I've never taken the SAT (mostly my fault) and I have no highschool grade records or teachers to write letters for me (not my fault), I've decided to leave that college for later in my academic career. I always figured I'd start out in a community college anyway; they'll take anyone, regardless of ability or sanity. If I do well for a couple years, it should be no problem at all to switch to the better college, with its nationally renowned biology program.
Did anyone see President Gore speaking at George Washington University on CSPAN? He kicked so much ass.
I have a confession to make: I've still been reading my father's incoherent rants. I plan to stop, since what he wants is a way to needle me and get under my skin, something I've prevented him from doing for some months. The two months between banning his email address and his commenting here with his shiny new trinket were peaceful and relaxing - I didn't have to relive the hell that was my childhood with him, and I didn't have to decipher his indecipherable screed only to discover he was still raving about some innocent childhood happening of mine and how it made me the embodiment of evil on this world. Now, I can't keep him out of my life by simply banning an email address or prohibiting anonymous comments on my humble journal. I actually have to refrain from visiting his...um...journal, is it? It's hard, because reading his words is like watching a car wreck - you feel an overpowering urge to slow down, crane your neck out the window, and gape. Its very addictiveness, however, is what makes it so insinuating. Maybe by putting it in writing I'll stand firm: I'm never reading his rants again.
Besides, he keeps deleting all the unintentionally funny and juicy entries, and all the hard work Jen and I were doing for him by posting translations of his writings for the audience he apparently pretends is reading them. Some people just can't be pleased, I guess!
One of my associates has a theory that Eric has always wanted to be famous (necessarily so, because paranoia includes delusions of grandeur as well as persecution), and that he's upset because he's never done anything worth noticing to the world at large. To fill this inadequacy, he invents this complicated cosmology of unspecified harassment over hazily defined "secrets" he "learned" by reading books available in any public library. For good measure, he also declared that he "witnessed" Michael Fortier doing laundry with a bevy of Mexican women at the Motel 6 in Elk City, Oklahoma, the night before the Oklahoma City bombing. (Hey, if you're going to blow up a federal building in the morning, it helps to have clean underwear!) Eric can play guitar after a fashion, so of course he claims that half of modern country music was stolen from him while we lived in various decrepit automobiles, and the other half was written about his life by supporters of his ex-wife. I have to agree there is a deep-seated and overwhelming desire on his part to be famous, so it's not much of a surprise that his psychotic delusions take the form of inventing hordes of people "after him," even though with that many people against him (100% of non-Eric McFuckwit humanity at last count), it wouldn't be so much "after him" as "got him thirty years ago and quietly made him disappear." Oh well, he never obeyed the laws of logic, so it's not surprising.
Before he deletes or edits his latest entry, it might be fun to dissect it, since it's the last I'm ever going to read of his tripe. If anyone wants to read along with me, it's behind here.
My comments are, as usual, between brackets. Paragraphs are my insertions; my father doesn't believe in them.
He admires even the toads
[It's just the title and already I have no clue what he's talking about. Maybe it refers to some private shorthand of his; most of his writings, whether emailed or posted, are composed largely of indecipherable private shorthand that he expects everyone else to be current on.]
Damion Gay who was on our arson report, gets out again in Feb after 3 charges the last three years. Trafficing in Cocaine, felonious assault, carrying a concealed weapon, why would any one not take their threats seriously? Oops terminated by the judge hes been out. [Damion Gay was a man who bragged to a friend that he arsoned my grandmother's house after Eric threatened him with a handgun. I have no sympathy for Gay, but the same way the State of Ohio ties my hands with regards to Eric, so are my hands tied with respects to Gay. My father takes my resulting inaction to mean I "take up" for Gay over my grandmother. Whatever. Eric just loves trying to hurt me by mentioning my grandmother at every chance he gets, and implying I hated her. As anyone with a grain of sense who knew me during my childhood knows, I loved her, while Eric pranced around, driving her into debt with his happy roadtrips, and made conspiracies about her blue eyes behind her back.]
And our NDayton what bot James Fleming, your homes next Uncle. [This makes no sense, though it almost seems to imply Eric is threatening his uncle, Windy, for taking me in after I left Eric to piece my life back together. Windy is meanwhile a 78 year old man with advanced diabetes and heart trouble that will probably kill him before his next birthday. Here we see Eric's compassionate side, just as when he would threaten to hit my grandmother any time she tried to intervene in his abuse of my brother and myself.]
Cracks in the system, the system is they let no defense be used against the gangs. [Eric refers back to my last entry, when I pointed out that Eric skipped bail at least three times before the Ohio court system managed to make him keep a court date, and promptly set him out on parole. And instead of giving him needed treatment for his psychosis, they gave him college classes on the taxpayers' bill. I wasted three years of my life in the army trying to get free college, and they handed it away to him for committing a felony. Despite all this, he insists that the big bad state of Ohio is...um...collaborating with his enemies or something. It's not clear what exactly he's implying.]
I lose my rights and Bush allows folding stocks, high capacity mags, flash hiders, etc out for their use. [What rights did he lose exactly? No one knows. No one knows what this list of firearms accessories, and whether Mr. Bush "allows" them or not, and who uses them, has to do with anything, either. Whatever it is, he loves to mention it - twice now in as many days.]
Thats great but why do families get trounced by the white cops, does it hurt the cash flow? [I think he's referring to his initial arrest one night in April 2000 in a Dayton city park, carrying a handgun while I slept in a picnic shelter, but it bears little resemblance to the reality of the event. How exactly a "family" got "trounced," I have no idea, or what the race of the officers who caught him on a routine patrol has to do with anything. What does matter is that by letting his son sleep in a city park, in a known drug and gang neighborhood, he was committing child endangerment, not exactly a good "family" activity. He also complains about the cops taking me to a "runaway shelter," and that somehow in those three days of relative freedom I was "corrupted" or something, but what did he expect them to do with me? Take me to jail with him so he could keep his thumb on me? The fact is, me spending even a moment out of his control was and is too much for him, as anyone with knowledge of either abuser psychology or the workings of schizophrenia would know. Consequently, this Evil Runaway Shelter was promoted in his mind to some instrument of his Enemies, especially the Jews, and that I was guillible enough to fall for their pernicious doctrine. Whatever. I know when my intelligence is being insulted.]
I was going to shut it down but after being bitched at for three years and no end in site. Boy now thats the truth. [I think I'm the one he calls "Boy," but it's hard to tell. I also believe when he talks about "shutting it down," he refers to trailstoyou, as if I care what he does with it. He bitches about being "bitched at for three years and no end in site," apparently referring to cretaceousrick. If telling the truth about seventeen and a half years of inhuman abuse and psychological terror at his hands is "bitching," he should expect to endure it for a very long time, because it's going to take the rest of my life to repair the damage he did. Therefore, if he can't take the "bitching," he only has himself to blame. I'm sure as hell not going to stop examining the roots of my current problems just because it gets his panties in a bunch, pardon the expression. No one's asking him to read my journal; hell, no one asked him to stalk me across the internet and harass me through my email and through comments on my friends' journals. If he can't take the truth, which anyone can see he can't, all he has to do is stop reading my fucking journal already. Of course, it's not just that: he also wants to exercise control over me by making me change what I write, or by getting me to delete my journal. Fat chance of that happening, skippy. There's an equal chance of my father waking up sane one day. It's not going to happen.]
Making fun of pictures of my sister while saying how bad I treated everyone.( I was the skinny one that was 3) [I have no idea what any of this is about; apparently he's referring to something that happened when he was three, and of course I can have no clue what he's talking about, nor can anyone else currently alive. Good job, Eric.]
After getting treated like shit myself I had to do all the work in a town that I hate because they take it all away. [Wait - what is all this about Eric working? You mean such an event occurred at some point in geological history? It was my impression that in the past three and a half years, I've worked more hours than my father has in his entire fifty year life. You see, he had so much respect for his mother that he forced her to work until her dying day so he could gallivant around the country in broken-down cars and sleep in national forests so the Jews / Mormons / Rosicrucians / homosexuals / Smashing Pumpkins / Catholics / Muslims / ex-wife's family couldn't attack him. It was also my impression that he had any number of chances to escape this town he hates so much in these selfsame decades of traveling aimlessly around the country. So who exactly is he trying to lay the blame on? Because nothing is ever his fault in his mind. Also, who exactly is treating him like shit? It seems like a pretty sweet deal to me, getting free college for endangering the life of his son.]
What is the psyche of a crackhead and the sympathy from the east coast grads that piss and moan online about people they never met. [This is the line that provoked this dissection and translation, because it is such a classic and perfect example of Eric's disease. The identity of the "crackhead" is unclear; the term could apply equally to the Damion Gay, George W. Bush, and Eric McFuckwit himself. However, "east coast grads" could refer to Jen, so in a bizarre twist, I could be the crackhead he talks about. Even though I've never touched an illegal drug in my life, unlike my father (who can list LSD, strychnine, marijuana, possibly mushrooms, and any number of other things), he seems to have this idea that either the army or the runaway shelter addicted me to something. He has on at least one occasion told a relative who knows better that I smoke the reefer. That in itself is hilarious, and ample material for discussion of the way Eric's mind juxtaposes his own failings and blames them on others. However, the part that made me grimace was "piss and moan online about people they never met." Eric wasted his entire life pissing and moaning about people he never met, online or off, and who had no idea he existed. All the people in his vast and elaborate and constantly changing conspiracies were people he saw in a newspaper or read about in a book or invented all on his own, and never once laid eyes on. Michael Fortier? Hanging out in Arizona the night Eric spotted him doing laundry in Oklahoma. All the people with license plates Eric was convinced were messages directed at him? Just people going about their daily lives with no clue who the psychopath tailgating them was. His imaginary internet conspiracy, where people all over the world got minute-by-minute updates of his whereabouts and actions, and adjusted their harassment of him accordingly? You tell me. All I'm going to say is there is and never has been any mention of Eric McFuckwit on the internet except for his own pissing and moaning, whether on a Dolly Parton message board, my friends' journals, or on his own. Now he gets defensive because he's gotten what he always wanted, my attention. Well, skippy, you wanted it, and you got it briefly, and now you're bitching. Ay carumba.]
Anyone need a spacer for their MaK? [Umm...sure? I guess? I don't even know what that is, let alone why it's mentioned.]
Current Mood: annoyed [No one to blame for that but himself.]
Okay, I think that's enough for today. That's the end of my public service for my father, until his next ploy to get under my skin, of course. I don't need more memories stirred up, thank you, so I'm going to simply stop reading it. I'm sure my saner readership will approve.