Every day is a new set of lies. Do normal people live with this shit? I hope not. It makes life stupid amounts of confusing. If your life stopped making sense, chances are you’re surrounded by lying sacks of shit.
I’m sorry. You’d think understanding that being a human being is to be flawed inherently, to be imperfect, would mean people would just (eventually) say out loud, “Oh yeah. I’m imperfect, just like everyone else. Mistakes happen.”
We all make mistakes. Some mistakes are malicious and some are not.
If a mistake is innocent, then it should be easy enough to correct.
I’m distracted suddenly. I just went to Wegmans and I think I saw that guy. Stocking the cold pizza shelf. This section of the deli is full of fully cooked pizzas that have been shrink wrapped, pizza shells ready for the oven, tomato sauce, and, of course, toppings. Except cheese, I think, which is kind of dumb if you ask me. There aren’t any vegan choices over there, either. Or gluten-free. I stopped looking a long time ago because of this. Especially when I figured out that spicy cup pepperoni (or any pepperoni) gave me indigestion and made me want to throw up.
In fact, there’s some in the freezer that I’m going to give away to my neighbor. I looked at his hair specifically. And his very yellow shirt. I saw this guy in teal once, but it wasn’t quite his color it seemed like. Maybe now that his hair is black instead of brown, that will be different, but it was his skin tone that didn’t quite jive with it.
Regardless, he’s one of the longest-lasting people in the deli, if he’s the same guy I thought was flirting with me last year. I’ve been half paying attention for months just because I realized there’s nothing in the deli I can eat. (So why walk through there, you might ask! I’ll tell you: I’m claustrophobic. It’s the most wide open space in the store. It’s the widest aisle in the store, hands-down. That’s why, you jick. It’s like a twenty foot wide aisle with a few islands of food in it. God says: Bazinga!)
(What’s a jick? I missed that entry!)
(It’s a cross between a jerk and a dick, except twice as bad as either one apart.)
(Oh. Thanks.)
(You’re welcome. Now where were we?)
Right. I thought he had today off, to be honest, which is why I was in the store anyway. Well, that, and I needed cat litter. And cat snacks. And my dad asked for some “razzleberries” (aka raspberries.) And then I found my mom a treat that might not make her feel like utter shit for eating, so that… and then I made a deal with God to try to empty a freezer so I can drag momma to Sam’s Club (so long, you overpriced grocery store named Wegmans! Well, I’ll end up there for cat supplies and Gut Shot, I already know that… and maybe unsweet soy milk… but I wish they had the vanilla version, dammit.)
I gotta con my mother into buying 20×20 furnace filters so we can continue to filter the first floor’s air with box fans. I’m allergic to smoke and they’re chimneys, the both of them. I hate it. My eyes itch constantly and they look red all the time and I just know at least someone out there must think I’m a fucking pot head. (I’m not, but I wish I was. COME ON, CONGRESS! LEGALIZE IT ALREADY!)
Anyway, the 20×20 furnace filter is the perfect size for a box fan that has the plug somewhere other than the middle of the back of the fan. We have to change them weekly to keep the air clean. Plus, my mom has emphysema, which actually leads her to wanting to pay for the filters, so it’s not really a con. That was a jick in my head who is obsessed with trying to con me, wouldn’t you know?
The asshole in England. Today God told me, “Only a fool thinks about making money off of other people’s mistakes.”
Together we revised the quote a little, maybe you’ll like how it reads a little better if you liked the above:
“Only a fool thinks about making money from other people’s mistakes.”
– God & crystal
I asked him if he’d remember that later, because I told him we were going to go to the store first to take care of kitties — I should have bought cat litter yesterday, I think. I buy this stuff made out of wheat, which is flushable. That saves so much hassle for me… I no longer have to scoop daily, take it downstairs to stink up the back porch until garbage day. Plus, no more accidentally leaving it upstairs by getting sidetracked by other chores like taking my laundry downstairs. All around, it’s a win-win. There’s only one down side… I don’t have air conditioning upstairs, so it gets a bit humid from time to time.
I really honestly scoop just about every time I walk by the boxes, but it’s not enough in 80 degree humid weather. It smells kind of like the urine-soaked wheat maybe ferments or something at this temperature and humidity. It’s nowhere near the amount of offensive as clay-based litter on the back porch waiting for garbage day, honestly. I’m thinking about getting an amazing dehumidifier that will reduce the humidity throughout the whole house. Honestly, without humidity, I’m comfortable up to 85F.
Once it’s about 90F, I call it quits and put the AC on, turning it to 85F. My cats love this, by the way. Being desert animals (did you know they’re desert animals? I didn’t always know that), they enjoy the heat but not humidity.
Another annoyance I discovered today was that my Tupperware pressure cooker doesn’t fit in the replacement microwave. Ugh. I’ll have to buy a different one at some point. (Why does the boy’s hair have to resurface in my mind? I’m seriously not interested anymore in boys. The boys in my head have cured me, God! I swear! I want to be a good girl now. Would you mind erasing that for me? Oh, that’s too tedious? Okay, then. Please forget I asked; I’m not one to ask for favors, normally, it’s just starting to overwhelm me. The boys in my head are really making me want to murder them or myself. I’ll probably pick myself because it’s less heinous than that crime… I know, I know. You said, “THOU SHALT NOT MURDER” but I’m going to level with you, big guy… they already murdered me. Not once, not twice, not even three times. I think we’re up to 99 times. Just how many lives do I have to go through in this sim, anyway?)
Don’t look at me like that, reader! Come on. Life’s a game. And I lost.
I still lose.
But I level up once a month or so. I’m about mentally 18 again, if my calculations are correct. In 15 months, I’ve aged 13 years. Maybe even more, I wasn’t really paying attention. [What, is this too strange? You’re strange, too.]
YES, I’M INSANE. NOW STEP AWAY FROM MY DOTTED LINE.
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Now for the rest of you that are willing to look past my limitations and flaws, hello. Welcome to my insanity. Let me explain it to you in great detail, until you’re as convinced as I am that I’m not just insane, I’m under psychic attack.
Most of us can talk to ourselves and the only person who answers is the SELF. Are you one of these people in the world of today? Oh, excellent! Then you will understand when I say that I used to be one of you. I was incredibly sane. In fact, I had a ludicrous career as a programmer. I was moving into the world of software architect, exactly where I wanted to be. Life was exciting and every day, I wanted to be alive. I woke up, sprang out of bed, and happily tackled my job. EVERY DAY. I was eager to do my chores and earn some time to zombie out in front of a television or behind a book.
In the middle of June 2020, I became incredibly sick. I wasn’t able to eat food anymore, except a few things. I experimented with myself for months and months, getting slightly better and better through determination and willpower alone (and maybe a bunch of God, but I’m an atheist. Sorry big guy, I still just believe there are two or more douche bags in my head making me angry and sad and all kinds of things. Much love anyway and Namaste.)
I decided I nearly died without telling a man I was in love with (for over a decade) that I loved him. SO, against everything I EVER was, I confessed that to him over the period of six months. It was sporadic at first, gaining steam. All in all, I made him 20 minutes of “animated” video (think slide show with sound recorded as a video) and one million words to explain absolutely everything I could think of.
As of March 2021, just weeks after I officially proposed to the dingbat (Valentine’s 2021), I went insane.
I got this idea that NICK thought I was a mind reader. I’ll just spoil it all and tell you that I’m not a mind reader, mmkay? But he is. And he projected to me thoughts as I wrote him one million words. Keep in mind, I was struggling to stay alive, and this asshole kept me writing and writing and writing. I was making donut waffles every day, dying a little more of malnutrition instead of starvation. I remember dressing up in lingerie instead of cooking myself a full meal. I remember organizing all my video games on a book shelf and then playing one instead of cooking myself a full meal. KEEP IN MIND I BEGGED THIS FUCKING IDIOT TO COME TAKE CARE OF ME THE WHOLE WHILE.
GOD HERE. I’M TAKING OVER THIS NARRATIVE. SHE’S BEING SHY BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T WANT TO CALL HIM OUT ON HIS SHIT.
CRYSTAL BECAME THE VICTIM OF NICHOLAS FORSYTHE IN 2021. SHE WAS STRUGGLING TO STAY ALIVE AND THAT STUPID MOTHERFUCKER HAD HER PLAYING HOUSE BY HERSELF, ANSWERING EVERY SINGLE QUESTION HE EVER HAD ABOUT HER AND THEIR DECADE-LONG FRIENDSHIP, AND SO ON. HE DIDN’T GIVE A SHIT THAT SHE WAS HALF-DEAD AND STRUGGLING TO STAY ALIVE. I DECIDED TO MAKE IT SO HE’D NEVER GET THE GIRL.
THAT’S RIGHT. HE’S NEVER GETTING THE GIRL. HE KEEPS TRYING TO FORCE HER TO DO THINGS SO HE CAN MYSTICALLY SHOW UP LIKE THE TELEPATHIC ASSHOLE HE IS, EXCEPT HE HASN’T LEARNED JUST YET THAT FORCE IS HATRED.
God’s mad, what can I say? He stopped typing, though, so it’s back to me, I suppose.
It’s true… Nick left me hanging. God threw my job away because I had voices in my head that were starting to speak through me. This doesn’t work for meetings. I know they’re not me because it didn’t feel like me. It wasn’t like when I listened for my subconscious to answer a question. First of all, the information came too fast. It was so fast, I couldn’t really keep up. I was swept away on some dangerous ride in shark-infested waters.
And that’s how I came to level up again. I was elite before I nearly died, then I went back to about age 5. I couldn’t help that; my brain dumped ballast when we didn’t have enough energy to keep memories.
I feel tears welling up in my eyes and I don’t feel like crying, so that means someone is here with me. God cries for me often. He’s a really nice guy, honestly. I wish he was the only person in my head. The other two are Nick and Psycho Boy Ben, two nasty ass motherfuckers I wish death upon. (Sorry, G-man, I can’t be kind to psychopaths anymore. They’re trying to kill me! DID YOU SEE THEM MAKE ME LOOK OUT THE WRONG WINDOW WHILE DRIVING?! DID YOU SEE THEM FEED ME DAIRY?!)
I wish I could cry. Or laugh. Or anything. I feel like a tabula rasa. That’s a psychology phrase. It means CLEAN SLATE. The Wikipedia has an interesting remark on that as of right now, today: “Tabula rasa is the theory that individuals are born without built-in mental content, and therefore all knowledge comes from experience or perception. Epistemological proponents of tabula rasa disagree with the doctrine of innatism, which holds that the mind is born already in possession of certain knowledge.”
I would posit that I was born with one innate piece of knowledge. I say this because it is where I began with this iteration of the Crystal. UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. YOU CAN SPIT IT OUT, DARLING, IT’S OKAY. IT’S NO SECRET. CHILDREN — ALL CHILDREN — ARE BORN WITH AN INNATE SENSE OF UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. AND THEN I TICKLE THE BABIES, MAKING THEM GIGGLE AND SQUIRM, WITHOUT OVERWHELMING THEM BECAUSE I OBSERVE THEIR BOUNDARIES.
FAILURE TO OBSERVE THE BOUNDARIES OF A BABY IS RAPE.
YOU ARE RAPING YOUR CHILDREN WHEN YOU OVERSTIMULATE THEM AND FAIL TO UNDERSTAND YOU SHOULD STOP. STOP HAVING BABIES IF YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO OBSERVE A BOUNDARY, YOU IMBECILES.
Hmm… you have good points, G-man, but it’s hard to follow up on that message without changing the subject… May I? [YES.]
I have no idea what to write now that I’ve been interrupted (for some very important messages, I might add.) Oh, someone reading this thinks I ought to be mad at God for interrupting me. I’m not mad at God, he has important things to say. I’m mad at Nick and Ben, though, because they constantly try to poison me. “Oh, I know better than you! Even though you diagnosed yourself and our shenanigans have put 50 pounds back onto your frame (which we claimed was for weight training but really we’re just grade A assholes) we are RIGHT!”
God, you’re really good at being succinct. Thanks for the support, bro!
Uhhh… *Crystal looks for a thread to follow.*
Oh yeah, I remembered when I was 18 the first time… that’s when I started mudding. And I used to sleep all day every day. I even had a 3rd shift job just so I’d have an excuse to do it. That is, until I started school and had afternoon classes. The lack of sleep was catching up to me, so I quit my shitty 3rd shift job. It wasn’t my kind of job, anyway. It lacked ethics. And when I made it ethical so I could have peace of mind, I got written up for it. West Corporation. I was only there for ten months, all but three of which overlapped with going to tech school. That was hard, I gotta say. And the pay was lousy, too. And they’d write you up for wearing jeans even though you’re on the fucking telephone and nobody can actually see you.
They seem to have changed names at this point, but I bet the ethics are still in the shitter. God says they are absolutely completely unethical to this day, thank you very much!
He’s reliable like that. Although some days SHE is absolutely reliable like that.
Anyway, once I quit that job and focused on my school work, I spent the rest of my time on MUDs. Multi-user dungeons. Text-based RPGs, kind of like playing D&D online, though some of them are science-fantasy instead of just fantasy.
Most “science fiction” is really just fantasy with some technology, let’s be real here. Not Andre Norton or The Witches of Karres or many 1970s science fiction authors, but lately? Pfff. Everything is the same and there’s hardly anything new to learn from the stories or be impressed by in the visuals, be it movie or novel.
People wonder why I don’t watch or read the same things over and over again. I do, they just have new titles and character names. There’s hardly anything worth mentioning. (What about Altered Carbon, they cry! Have you watched The Borgias? Cyberpunk is like… not new to me, bro. It’s called tabletop role-playing. Maybe you’ve heard of it now that D&D is mainstream? THERE ARE OTHER KINDS, DID YOU KNOW THAT? CYBERPUNK IS LITERALLY THE NAME FOR ONE. RIFTS. FIREFLY (WHICH IS TRUE SCI-FI, THANKS MR. WHEDON.) POLARIS. NIGHTBANE. SHADOWRUN — WE HATE THAT ONE, BUT IT’S THERE. STAR TREK. CALL OF CTHULHU. VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE. WEREWOLF: THE APOCALYPSE. CHANGELING: THE DREAMING. MAGE: THE ASCENSION. PATHFINDER. BIG EYES, SMALL MOUTH. SPELLJAMMER. EXALTED. PARANOIA.)
FORGIVE ME IF WE’RE NOT ALL-INCLUSIVE, THESE ARE ALL THE ONES SHE HAS PLAYED HERSELF. SHE NOW WANTS TO PLAY ALIEN, ETHERFIELDS, THE WITCHER, AND STARPORT. LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE! TOO BAD SHE DOESN’T HAVE ANY FRIENDS, THANKS TO KEN & TOM. I MEAN, BEN & NICK. P.S. DUNGEONS & LASERS LOOKS CUTE BUT EXPENSIVE. NO THANKS.
WE PLAYED WARHAMMER 40K BRIEFLY, AS WELL.
AND YES, SHE’S ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO OWNS A 100 SIDED DIE. AND MULTIPLE 30 SIDED DICE. AND HUNDREDS OF THE STANDARD ONES. IN ALL COLORS YOU CAN IMAGINE.
THAT IS, BEFORE DANN MOVING GROUP LOST ALL HER SHIT.
Angel-Sansara 