Destined to Fail Math

I frigging hate doing math homework.
But I love doing math. 
How stupid is that? 

In high school I was kicked out of my math class because every time I was told to "show my work" I refused. 

At first the teacher thought I was cheating.
Then, when I walked her through my method in the sections we were working on she told me "That's not the part of the book we're learning." 
"Well I haven't read that part of the book, that's just how the numbers work out."
"Do it the way I'm teaching the class."
"No.  It's slow, it's stupid, and it's a waste of time."
"Get out of my class."
"Fine."


Next week.

"Hey, you need to take that pentagram off and turn your pagan shirt inside out. It's offensive."
"No he doesn't.  If you're going to use that logic then you need to have her take her crucifix off and turn that Jesus shirt inside out."
"It's not the same thing."
"It kind of is."
"How does this even effect you."
"Because we live in america and we have freedom of religion.  So either they both do or neither of them do."
"Get out of my class."
"Fine."
"Don't come back."
"It's a waste of time anyway."


So now, as an adult I'm trying to "relearn" the math I was kicked out of. 
Truth is, I knew it, forgot it because I wasn't using it, and am having a hard time reconciling the short hand that the teacher throws at us during class and then having to reteach myself with the book after class because the short hand doesn't stick.

Friggin broke down into tears working on this factoring nonsense because when I went to do it I just started writing down answers and was skipping the work part, then had to erase it all and start over. Then couldn't remember which version of the factoring I was supposed to be doing for that section of the homework and it's all so damned stupid.


I can't help it. 
I look at numbers, they go into my head like a blender and then the blender spits out a damned answer.  Sometimes in the numbers come out in the wrong order, more now than they used to because life happened.  But then I look at the numbers my brain spit out on paper and they go through the blender again. 
Then my brain goes "nope."  or    "yep"  And I keep working and reworking them until the blender says "yep" when it looks at them.
Though, usually the answer is right the first time and the second guessing to  make sure I "followed the proper method" is what fucks it up.

"Use the trial and error method and show your work."
Fuck...really?
It is honestly why I'm taking remedial math, again.
I took it a few years ago and didn't write a single thing down, did it all in my brain space just to prove I could.
This time, I'm trying to learn to show "my work"  or their version of the work, or however you look at it. 
It's hard to show how a blender works on a sheet of paper.
Most of my notes are half numbers or place holders so that if I get stuck I have a solid place to start from rather than all the way at the beginning. 
But then, this factoring nonsense. 
I understand I need to learn the foundations of how it's traditionally done to understand math I'll need to do later.
 But hot ham, seriously?
Between it being warm in the class room almost to the point of sweating this week, running on little sleep, I end up nodding off while waiting for the class to catch up to where I'm at in the practice work so that I can ask a question and verify that I'm doing it correctly. 
While I"m crunching numbers I"m wide awake. 
The moment I stop                                                                                                                                   My brain starts wanting silly things like "rest" and "sleep"

Honestly though, I should have started working on the math the moment I woke up, or last night before passing out.  But frankly, I was dealing with a lot of emotions, pain in the knees from moving the remainder of my belongings to the place I'm staying and feeling emotionally overwhelmed by how little space I have to work with and how much stuff I won't be able to fit into it.
That, even after I do sell of the collections and things that I'm willing to part with out of necessity of streamlining my belongings to the absolute essentials.  Hell, even my costuming stuff I've been wearing all through Halloween so that I can wear it all one more time before it ends up, more than likely, in the trash.
I can't sell it and it's all tailored.  So what the hell am I supposed to do with it?

So, box by box I'll have to go through it and sell, trash, or give things away.
While finding shelving to fit into the space that I have so that I can keep at least a handful of the books I spent my life curating.
I had bought shelves for all of these collections...but...well...yeah.

I'll do it, I need to do it.
It's either that or I just say fuck it and wander off into the woods and leave it to whoever wants it.
Which...honestly...as tired and emotionally wrung out as I am after the past week...doesn't seem so bad.

I picked destiny back up, which has helped a little.  Started streaming again, if for no other reason than to distract myself from curling up in a ball in the corner and crying myself to sleep as I've been getting a handle on this wackadoo schedule I've put myself on and my brain begins having time to reflect on life the universe and everything.

Running around on far flung planets "saving the universe" is a nice distraction from the train wreck that I call a life. But, much like real life, I go on these adventures solo.  Seeing fellow travelers and working with people for the mission, or for the match, then wandering off down my own path again.
Random observers watching my antics as I throw my thoughts and babbelings into the ether.

But hey, such is the life of a kid genius turned broken adult that spent their intervening years playing at being a super hero and stepping on the dicks of people that usually do the stepping.
Trying,and usually failing, not to hurt the people that I'm trying to help in the process
Either way, most people look at me as a crazy ass hole that they're only stuck talking to because they're being paid to for one reason or another.

And me, either with headphones in or running my mouth to avoid the ringing in my ears.  Both making me look like even more dickish, self entitled, and "he thinks he's better than us."
Then... over hearing the bullshit people say when they think I can't hear them.

Feelings?  Who has those? 

Yay.

Anyways, food, nap, then another stab at math, and maybe a little exploration of a haunted moon, then work.

Ouch, the Feels

Today was interesting.  I was in my acting class and the activity for the day was "Act out a time you felt like a hero with your group." 

Man, I thought about it and there are very few times in my life where I've actually felt that way.  I've done some crazy things, helped folks out of tight spots, hell even kept people from getting killed a few times. 
But actually feeling like a hero? 
Only one instance really came to mind.  Everything else felt necessary.  Felt like what you were supposed to do in the moment. 

The thing that came to mind for me was, well, was a time when I was facing a drugged and drunken dealer who was violent and ready to act that way.

I can't tell you where I was before.
 I can't tell you where I went after. 
What I can tell you is that someone got a call from their friend. 
Their boyfriend refused to get out of the car, had broken the windshield in their violence, and was...well in a state. 

That person that got the call turned to me and asked "can you help." 
My answer, was of course, yes. 
I always try to help if I can.
We pulled up, the girl was standing outside of the car trying to talk the man into getting out.  He was, refusing.  I came up and got his attention.  That's when time crystallized.

Angry he got out, nearly breaking the door off of it's hinges with the force that he kicked it open with. 

I waved the two away towards my car getting them out of his line of sight. 
I told him he needed to calm down.
He asked me why the fuck it was any of my business.
I just shrugged and said that he was making it my business. 
His hand went behind his back and under his shirt.
I stood, hands in my coat pocket.s. 
Cool, wet autumn air on my face.
I looked around to the gathering crowd and said he was making it a lot of peoples business.
His eyes darted furtively around. 
I asked if he was staying there, if this was where his room was. 
He nodded and his hand returned to his back and re tucked his shirt.
I told him, in a quite voice, that he should probably go sleep it off.
Maybe make sure he hadn't broke his hand.
He looked at me, his hand twitched towards his back again.
I didn't move, just smirked the way I do when I find something amusing.
I told him the girl was coming with me and her friend.
They got in her car and drove off as he headed towards his room.
I watched the door close behind him before I moved, then got in my car and went to a meeting point.
My hands only shook a little.

The weird thing is that during the scene in class my acting partner that was playing the part of the "boyfriend" was so convincing in her look and demeanor that the calm overtook me in that moment. 

When I told the class that I had been "undercover" they were all very confused. 
"Where are/you a cop?" The teacher asked.
No I answered and gave what I saw as my job description at the time.
A coordinator. 
All I can say is "Watch the Salton Sea" and maybe it will make a little more sense.
But rather than a trumpet playing husband I was a do gooder with a chip on my shoulder the size of a moon and a self preservation streak the width of a micron.
Never carried a weapon save for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter or two.

Out of all of the shenanigans I've gotten up to over the years.
Out of all of the things I've done in my life. 
Why did that make me feel like a hero?

Some of my classmates, as we were packing up our stuff and heading out, said nice things in the way of "encouragement?" "admiration?"  I don't know, my mind was still feeling the cold wind on my face.
My only response to their retreating backs in a voice barley loud enough to be heard was "Do not confuse stupidity for bravery."

My old wounds ached with memory. 
Tickling the depths of time and emotion as I felt the hole in my chest as though it had just happened.
Why did that moment make me feel like a hero?

Was it the chivalry of the moment?
Was it the calm, steely demeanor with which I handled the situation.
Was it that I convinced a drunken and drugged out angry kid that he should take a nap instead of doing something stupid? 

That, that right there, I think is it. 
Not that I was intimidating.
Not that I saved a damsel in distress.
Not that I busted a drug dealer.
None of that "heroic" nonsense. 

I felt like a hero because no one got hurt aside from a cracked window.
That I gave someone in a stupid situation an out.

Honestly, most of the other people in class where much more heroic than I have ever been.
Comforting others, saving lives, making others feel cared for.
All I did was stand there and accept the possibilities in a cold logical form. 
It just sounds "cool" because there was a gun and a drug dealer.

As "cool" as it all was it didn't stop the bullets that came later.

There is a difference about talking in front of a group who are listening and paying attention. 
Between pontificating about it on the internet and being braggadocios about the idiocy of my youth with people that aren't really paying attention or are skeptical. 
  "He was the drug dealer and criminal" sorts of thoughts plain on their faces.

After we completed our little play in class I stood there as we were given feedback uncomfortably hoping not to be asked any questions. 
Trying to avoid looking at anyone and seeing their reactions. 
Feeling more in my own skin than I have for awhile.
Feeling naked and afraid.
Not feeling like a hero, but wishing I had chosen something like saving a kitten or something more...normal.
Less...me.

Hopefully, when I do finally crawl into bed in seventeen hours or so that the nightmares from that time don't keep me awake.
That the banging, barking, and voices on the other side of  thin walls don't keep my heart pounding.  Don't keep the survival instincts kicked into overdrive and ready to run into what ever danger my mind perceives. 
Just exhausted, dreamless, unconsciousness,  that lets me wake up feeling...if not refreshed... at least rested enough to run myself to exhaustion again. 

For now, some food, maybe a nap, then some math to keep me distracted for a little while.

Double the Flavor

This weekend was a busy one.  Tons of homework, made myself do some streaming despite not having the time for it, and helping the roommates pull their house together so that we can all have work space and a clean and comfortable place to work on our projects.  Granted, we ended up skipping over the D&D session we had planned, but everyone was half asleep and tired as hell from our various activities so it it wasn't a huge let down.  That, and as the DM it gives me a little more time to read over the starter adventure I'll be running and doing some small modifications to in order to fit this groups back story and spring board into 5th eds current adventure. 

All of that aside I did treat myself to a couple of morning movies this weekend.  Starting with Zombieland : Double Tap. 

Was it good?  That's an interesting question. 
What made the first movie lightning in a bottle was that it struck right on the crest of the zombie wave of the late 00's that it's humor and atmosphere rode that wave like a Hawaiian surfer catching the perfect wave.
This second outing doesn't have that momentum, but it does do a decent job of wake boarding in the shallows.  Giving just enough throw back humor to cater to the fans of the original while not embedding it's self so much into the lore that those that hadn't seen it won't have a good time with it.
It's a zombie movie after all.  Zombies eat people, the survivors shoot them, jokes are told. 
There was fun zombie mayhem, and it actually got me to laugh out loud more than once.  Which, if you know me and what I'm like when watching movies, is a bit of a rarity. 

Arbitrary Rating : B
Zombie fun for fans of the genre, and accessible enough for newcomers to be able to giggle along at the outlandish mayhem.  Only lacking an A for failing to find it's own rhythm.


The second outing was Maleficent. 
Oh man. 
What a beautifully realized movie. 
The imagery, the character design, the costumes were all a visual feast.  The camera work, to give the sense of flight and scale from the larger birds eye view to the smaller view of a floating flower peddle were all utilized beautifully and gave a sense of depth and immersion that was only broken by problems that have plagued any movie blending CGI and live action.  Broken sight lines and not quite convincing physical interactions.  Though, arguably, as the art has evolved these things are more nitpicks by the eyes of someone looking for those things rather than something that would likely be noticed by the average movie goer. 

When it comes to the story of the film, I am a fan of the "Bad Guy, that's not really that bad" motif.  The lead women of the film definitely carried the film and turned in good performances all around.  The only real complaint I had from the story telling stand point was the dramatic tone shifts that happened regularly.  It would go from a raucous family romp to a dark commentary on war in the blink of an eye.  Feeling jarring.  Like they took two different movies with the same characters and mashed them together.  Or, rather, they looked at this beautifully gothic and dark piece and the suits said; "umm...we need to lighten this up a bit" and injected whimsical music and silly floofery at some awkward moments.     

Arbitrary Rating : B-
Beautiful imagery and engaging story.   Whiplash tonal switches keeping it from being either a family friendly romp or a dark gothic tale and settling into it's own.   

Twinsies?

I went to see Gemini Man this last Saturday. 
 I booked my ticket and made the plan before asking anyone else what they were up to. 

It's just kind of the way I've done things over the years.    You know, there is a plan, there is a goal.  Nothing will get in my way.  Which means I missed going to another pride parade and the people I invited to go with me to the movie already had plans.   But that's the things my intrepid reader.   My plan has always been the same.  There's been little deviation over the years. 

Be a Writer,
Watch Movies and Shows,
Play Games
Be a Super Hero. 
Be an Actor
Be an Astronaut.
Be President. 
Do the best job I can what ever the task.

So when it comes to how I structure my time and chase my goals it usually falls into one of these categories.   Obviously some I end up "stepping on dicks" when so single minded in regards to my goals.  But hey, whatever, they're my goals, not yours. 

Anyways, the movie.  Gemini Man.

I'm very conflicted about this movie. 
For one it was a technical masterpiece.  The action was beautifully choreographed, they were obviously using amazing hi speed cameras to capture every detail,  The CG was so seamless that even my trained eye was fooled more than once and it was only tiny tells in the way that a face moved or the physics of a persons motions didn't quite fit rational physics, but it was so close I was able to let it go and enjoy the beautiful dance that was the action. 

My complaints with the movie was in the writing.  It felt very much like it was written by a non English speaker that used google translate to translate it and then had the actors smooth out the dialogue real time. Which meant that the non action sequences of the film felt heavy and slowly paced.  Which is not a bad thing, but arguably, I felt that much of exposition could have been communicated through non verbal means.  The strength of the film being it's choreographed physicality and whoever the decision makers were should have had Ang Lee lean into that strength. 

You may be asking yourself why I included the introduction of my own personal life before leaping into the movie.
Well, for starters, it is my blog meant to be the text dump of my brain when I need an outlet other than technical writing or a place to post samples of things.  But also because outside of the stilted dialogue there was real chemistry between the actors of the film.  You got the sense that they understood their characters and their motivations.  And, "Henry"  I connected on a personal level, which is probably what made me stay through some of the more painfully plodding dialogue sections.  The whole, sacrificing ones personal life in order to do something for the "greater good", not truly understanding how to sleep at night, the avoiding of mirrors,  and the only real happiness coming from doing a task so well it feels second nature.

Final Arbitrary Rating
Solid C.
A technical marvel of blending choreography and CG but stilted exposition and dialogue broke the rhythm of the movie. 
Definitely a "It's Sunday afternoon and I need something on while doing the dishes" kind of movie.   

Jokes on You

This morning I went to the local theater to see the Joker. 

I have to say it was an unhinged movie. 
It was scarily accurate in it's portrayal of mental illness and the battles there in.
Without giving away too much of what happens, because this is a film that needs to be experienced, it reminded me a lot of "Cast Away" but rather than watching a man alone on an island you watch a man alone in the world.  Which is much more unnerving. 

The art direction, costuming, and musical selections gave this comic book film a grounding in reality that made me go "hmm, yeah, I can see exactly how something like this could happen."   Not to mention Joaquin Phoenix's performance.  The laugh, the way he inhabits the character and giving homage to all of his predecessors while making it distinctly his own. 

Was the movie enjoyable? 
Well that's a difficult question to answer.  Because between the writing, the acting, and the design aesthetic they did such an amazing job of being unnerving that it really did feel unnerving.  I thought it was amazing.  A movie that, as I said, needs to be experienced. 
Because it is an experience. 

Arbitrary Rating?
A+
A character study artfully put together and grounding one of the most over the top characters in a believable story arc. Not to mention being creepy as all get out.

Square One

No matter how hard or fast I run I can't seem to get away. 

After running around 3000 miles away from the neighborhood that drove me into a spiral of depression I find myself right back in it. 

Running out of money and time.  Literal days away from being on the street and some people that I knew from one of the many jobs I've had over the years offered space in their home.  They're good, hardworking, people that I trusted to stay true to their word even if young. 

Little did I know that they lived just a few blocks away from the place I was trying to avoid. 
I came back to the valley to pull my life together after pulling myself back together.  Some people think that those things go hand in hand.  the life and the self.  But not so much. 

Pulling myself back together involved reminding myself of my goals, reminding myself of what I'm after and where I'm trying to get to.  Pulling the life together means going through the things that are left after the crumbling of a shared life. 
The belongings, the feelings, the financials.  Which, on my end means not a lot. 
Some toys,
Some tools,
Some games. 

The financials were all in the spouse and their families name. 
Idiot ass me. I had my name on bills, but none of the assets. 
You would think that after having so many failed relationships in my life that I would have focused on building up my own finances and assets rather than those of someone else. 
But hey, I don't have "friends."
I have coworkers, colleagues, students, and teachers.
I don't really understand how "friends" works.
Obviously.


From day one my spouse had their foot half out the door. 
Funny that I was the one to walk out it in the end. 
I had promised not to abandon them. 
Which, I do not think I did. 
What I did do was acquiesce.
Left a place that I felt to be home rather than trying to fix it.
Lived in a place that I was not comfortable with from day one.
Cut myself off from opportunities and  people that I cared about to alleviate my spouses fears and comfort.
Stopped doing many of the things that made me me.  Like riding a bike.
Forced myself to socialize and make connections with people from my past I wasn't comfortable with.
And the intimate side of things...well.  That is going to take a lot of therapy on my part. 
As it stands, the one opportunity I theoretically had to be intimate with someone else since the divorce I nearly had a panic attack because of...a lot of things I don't want to get into here.


The other thing that is a strait kick in the balls is that after working at learning how to craft and make things for so long that my skills are next to nil.  That everyone else around me having the ability to draw, to create, to make beautiful things.
My artistic abilities in that regard so utilitarian it can't even be called art.
No wonder I can't find anyone that wants to pay me for the work that I do or my writing.

So I'm starting with nothing other than the debt I've accrued trying to pull myself back together and, again, because none of the assets were in my name I can't even get a loan to consolidate the ridiculousness of it to be able to pay it off.  As I make my payments to try and maintain at least the credentials of having a good payment history I watch the interest climb. Realizing that the hole I'm buried in has no bottom.  That no matter how hard I work, no matter my experience, every place I apply at keeps offering me entry level pay.

It's insulting to the extreme, but I take the pay and work the hours because if I don't then I can't even pay the bills. 

Everyone looks at the things that I have, the nice clothes, the nice tools, the toys.  And say "oh they must be so rich."  no, I just work my ass off, work my fingers to the bone, destroy my body and mind by working around the clock, run myself ragged by getting to places on time for little to no pay because that's how I was raised. 

Funny that, I was always taught that if you work hard it will eventually pay off.
Still waiting. 
To grounded in my morals to put up with discriminatory work places and coworkers.
To proud to ask for hand outs.

What's left?
Sell off the toys and tools for less than what they're worth.
Work for minimum wage to slowly drown in debt.
Keep scraping the money for school together so that maybe one day my research and writing will be recognized as something other than the mad ravings of an incel on the internet.

My only real fear right now.... the stuff, the money, the finances moot...is if being back in the neighborhood that I was trying to get away from is going to drive me back into the depression I fought so hard to claw out of. 

I made it clear to the roommates that I was going to be working towards moving somewhere I felt more comfortable as soon as I could even the financial math isn't adding up to that being any time soon.

Hell, I'll be honest. 
I battle with suicidal thoughts daily, and have since I was in high school.  But aside from one attempt in my early twenties have never fallen into that trap. 
It's hard sometimes. 
When I think people aren't watching or can't hear I cry.
I go places to work on my writing and other pursuits to be around other people doing the same so that I can remind myself that I'm not the only one working towards a better future.
 I berate myself for the weakness.
Try to remind myself of my worth even if most of the rest of the world doesn't see it.
Suffer through the aches and pains of exertion to avoid the aches and pains of my disabilities. 
I do what I  have to to survive.
To keep breathing to fight for another day.
Most of the time it means throwing myself into my work, what ever it is. 
Often times it means trying to make other peoples lives better in some way. 
But at the end of the day I have my words, I have my determination, and I have my grit.
I refuse to give up, even if the weight of debt and insulting pay rates threatens to bury me beyond being able to get out of them.