Dialogues with Tory

And there also is no spoon.

2006-08-13T09:20:00.000-05:00

Do or do not. There is no try.

Yoda

I believe this

2006-08-12T09:45:00.000-05:00

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:1

Breathe Me

2006-07-15T09:50:00.000-05:00

This is a song by Sia. I love it.

Breathe Me
Sia

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
I Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Good

2006-06-15T10:27:00.000-05:00

I'm not religious, and I'm certainly not a Methodist, but for some reason, I wrote the following quote in my journal. It was said by John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist church. I like it. It's very difficult to put into practice, though.

"Do all the good you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can."

Christmas

2006-06-07T10:44:00.000-05:00

This post is from some year's December. I neglected to put the year. Good job, Victoria.

I hate Xmas. Truly. I hate the run-up, the hypocrisy, the bullshit. I hate the religion, the carols, the spending. I hate the fact that everyone I run into - everyone - either asks me if I have finished my shopping or "what are you doing for Christmas?"

It's such an empty, worthless holiday. Are we all so vacant that we need to devote over a month to preparing for, and spending for, and talking about a holiday that does nothing but demand that people go into debt?

I never spend Xmas day at home. I go to a movie. Alone. My mother goes to Mass and then comes home and cries for most of the day. There's none of the presents-under-the-tree nonsense, or the big dinner, or visits from relatives in my house. There's only me and Viviana and I really want nothing to do with her Xmas depression, so I go to a movie.

I don't remember what movie I saw last Xmas.

Outdoor Cats

2006-06-03T19:46:00.000-05:00

This article is from a brochure I found stuck inside my journal. It's an American Humane Society pamphlet, but I don't remember where I got it or who gave it to me. I've never let my cats roam outdoors.

Risks for Outdoor Cats

The average life expectancy of an outdoor cat is just two to five years, while an indoor cat may survive for 17 or more years. Cats who roam are constantly in danger. Here is a list of risks that outdoor cats face.

Cars. Millions of cats are run over by cars each year. Seeking warmth, outdoor cats crawl into car engines and are killed or maimed when the car is restarted. Motorists risk accidents in attempting to avoid hitting free-roaming cats.
Animal Attacks. Torn ears, scratched eyes, abscesses, internal injuries, diseases and sometimes death result from encounters with dogs, other cats and wild animals, like raccoons, coyotes and foxes.
Human Cruelty. Each year, animal shelters and veterinarians treat cats who have been shot, stabbed or set on fire. Unsupervised cats may also be captured and sold to research laboratories or used as “bait” to train fighting dogs.
Overpopulation. Unaltered free-roaming cats are the single most important reason for cat over-population. As a result, millions of homeless cats must be euthanized each year.
Disease. Cats allowed outdoors risk exposure to fatal diseases, including rabies, feline leukemia, distemper and feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV). Vaccines are not 100 percent effective; there is no vaccine at this time for FIV.
Parasites. Cats allowed outdoors are more likely to contract debilitating parasites, such as worms, ticks, mites and fleas.
Poisons and Traps. Exposure to pesticides, rodenticides and antifreeze kills thousands of outdoor cats each year. Cats are maimed and killed in traps set for furbearing animals.

Source: “Keeping Cats Indoors Isn’t Just For the Birds,” a publication produced by the American Humane Society, American Bird Conservancy, and the Humane Society of the United States.

At the Crossroads

2006-06-02T09:35:00.000-05:00

This entry is from summer 2000.

I dreamt I was standing at a crossroads last night. I was right in the middle and the roads stretched out in four directions to eternity. There was no vegetation at all and the ground adjacent to the roads was very sandy. It was also very bright and I could feel the sun beating down on me. Just as I was about to decide in which direction to walk, I woke up. I felt ... I guess "fragmented" will serve as an adequate enough description of how I felt.

I looked up the meaning of crossroads in Casell's Dictionary of Superstitions. I copied it into my journal because ... I'm not really sure why I copied it. It just felt like something I should keep.

"CROSSROADS. The intersection of four roads, long regarded as an ominous location. Anything that forms the shape of a cross is significant, but crosses made by roads are heavy with symbolic meaning and many people dislike being delayed at such a place for fear of meeting a ghost, a vampire, or death in person. Primitive peoples often erected their altars where roads met and engaged in human sacrifice there; ever since, crossroads have been associated with death, not least through the traditional erection of the gallows at such spots.

Suicides, vampires, and criminals were formerly buried at crossroads in the belief that, should they arise from the grave, their vengeful ghosts would not know which of the roads led back home. In modern times witches' covens have sometimes been known to choose lonely crossroads as their meeting place. Authorities on ley lines, the paths of strange mystic power that criss-cross the land, claim that crossroads that intersect such paths are notorious for car accidents and other calamities. similar traditions also abounded in times gone by about places where the boundaries of three parishes met, though these were usually valued as sites where miraculous cures might be enacted."

The Tiny Skeleton

2006-06-01T09:54:00.000-05:00

A journal entry from 1994. This page of my journal, btw, was stained with what looks like coffee.

I was reading a book about medical historical oddities and weird happenings and I came across a heartbreaking story.

A young girl was visiting friends on Edisto Island, South Carolina in the 1850s. While there, she died from what was believed to be diptheria. Everyone freaked out, of course, because diptheria was highly contagious, so rather than return the young girl to her home, wherever that was, a local family kindly allowed the girl to be buried in their family mausoleum. And she was.

Flash forward 12 or 13 years. One of that local family's sons was killed in the Civil War and they decided to inter him in the family mausoleum. When they opened the crypt, they found a tiny skeleton behind the door.

Damn.

Ways to Call Someone Stupid

2006-05-31T18:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder about myself when I was younger. It seems that the aforementioned journal I have been perusing is replete with oddities aplenty. Below is a list I found in my journal of metaphoric ways to say someone is stupid. This entry, I think is from around 1991. I was seventeen. Maybe that explains it.

A few fries short of a Happy Meal.
A gross ignoramus: 144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus.
A photographic memory but with the lens cover on.
A room temperature IQ.
About a quart low.
About as sharp as a bowling ball and half as bright.
About as sharp as a wet burlap sack.
As dumb as a bag of hammers.
Bright as Alaska in December.
Donated his body to science before he was done using it.
Duller than a used butter knife.
Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together.
Got into the gene pool while the lifeguard wasn't watching.
Has it all together, but can never remember where he put it.
He would be out of his depth in a parking lot puddle.
He's so dense, light bends around him.
I would not allow this person to breed.
If brains were taxed, she'd get a rebate.
If he were any stupider, he'd have to be watered once a week.
If you give her a penny for her thoughts, you'd get change.
If you stand close enough to her, you can hear the ocean.
It's hard to believe he beat out 1,000,000 other sperm.
Not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.
Not the brightest star in the sky.
Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
One neuron short of a synapse.
One-celled organisms outscore him in IQ tests.
She has reached rock bottom and started to dig.
Some drink from the fountain of knowledge, she only gargled.
Takes him 1 1/2 hours to watch 60 Minutes.
The lights are on, but nobody's home.
The wheel is turning, but there's no hamster.
The wheel's still turning, but the hamster's dead.
This person is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

Forrest Gump

2006-05-30T11:44:00.000-05:00

This journal entry is from 1994.

I just saw that new movie "Forrest Gump," starring Tom Hanks. He was amazing in it and I read somewhere that he improvised the line, "My name is Forrest Gump, people call me Forrest Gump" and that the director liked it so much he kept it in the movie.

They used some kind of special effects to show Forrest in historical settings - in one scene he met JFK. All in all, I really enjoyed it, and I have a feeling one of the lines from the movie is going to become famous: "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." I think, "Run, Forrest, run" may stick, too.

I think I may see it again - take Viviana. I think she'll like it.

Hello

2006-05-29T12:57:00.000-05:00

I found an old journal going back a few years. From time to time, I'm going to post some of the entries here. I started keeping a journal before I got the job at the animal shelter. My father was gone, and it was just me and my mother at home. We mostly got along okay. She was happy I started working at the Waterbridge Animal Shelter.

Anyways, this entry is from back when I was still in school. The University of New Haven.

MONDAY: I'm not convinced that the money I am spending or the time I am spending or the mental energy I am spending in college is going to help me in the long run. It's probably because I should be studying something I'll be able to get a job with. Criminal justice? Me a cop? Hardly. Hotel Management? Doubtful. I should probably make a decision about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life one of these days.

Poe

2006-05-29T10:23:00.000-05:00

This journal entry is about a course I was taking called "Literature of Obsession."

WEDNESDAY: I can't stand Mrs. Willis. I don't know what it is about her, but I just can't stand her. Today we were studying Poe. After all, what would a course on American literature about obsession be without old Edgar? Willis started talking about how Poe was deranged, and an alcoholic, and maybe a drug addict, and that he was a failed, self-defeating tragic figure. I raised my hand and asked how she could say he was self-defeating when I have a book on my shelf of his collected works and it's about four inches thick. Could somebody so productive be a self-defeating failure?

Willis just looked at me and her eyes kind of narrowed and she said, "Ms. Troy, I have been studying the writing of Edgar Allan Poe for the past 27 years. And you dare to challenge my analysis?"

I just stared at her. What a bitch! is what was going through my mind, but I just smiled and said, "I didn't know we weren't allowed to ask questions in this class, Mrs. Willis. I apologize." Her eyes then widened and her face turned red and I could hear people around me snickering. She kind of grimaced and then said, "Moving on." I had to forcibly stop myself from laughing.