Creative Outlet – a blog full of stories and personal musings


Ubuntu Never Going Idle

Wow, this is a vague one. I had absolutely no luck finding a fix to this other than bruteforce my head into a wall several times.

I have been setting up i3, using polybar, xautolock and other small things. Everything was working wonders, except the basic power management stuff, like blank screen.

I have been using xautolock in my i3 config file to ensure that i3lock-next would start after I have been idle for 5 minutes. Guess what never happened? It never fired off.

Having grown extremely frustrated and scrapping all manual power management and installing xfce4-power-manager, I played a bit around with the dim light on inactivity.

Having it set to 10 seconds, I could see that it dimmed then, few seconds later, undimmed it. So something was stopping my "idle". Try to Google that. I had absolutely no luck.

So, I closed everything and eventually found that the culprit was Google Chrome. Having, at this point, battling this issue for an entire workday, I just gave up on it and jumped onto Firefox instead.

So, if you have issues with xautolock not working, stop messing with xset and DPMS and look at some kind of software that is refusing to set your PC idle.

Seems to have worked for me, at least.

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Cold January Day

The coins rattled in my pocket as I neared the café, not really knowing what I'm going here rather than down to the supermarket. Had it been up to my mind, I'd not even left the flat, because there is nothing out here to pull me outside.

But I didn't have any more coffee. If I had taken the time to actually rummage through my sorry excuse of a fridge, I'd probably have found other things that I was missing, but here I was, needing my daily intake of coffee.

It was raining and the 5 minute walk meant that I was already soaked to the bone, but it was refreshing, to say the least. My own bloody fault for just wearing a hoodie. At least I'd had the energy to shower first and I smelt.. musky already.

I eyed the café as I walked around the corner and sure enough, it was already open. It was like a beacon on the cold, grey morning. It was empty, I saw, which made me hesitant. I wouldn't be able to blend in with the others, avoid the waitresses gazing eyes. A rare moment of social courage soared through me as I pushed the door open. Or tried to. Shit, it wouldn't budge. I feverishly, feeling my cheeks blush up, looked for a sign, please say it's open. The waitress on the other side, behind the bar, mouthed something to me. I pulled off the hoodie, saying what? Probably just mouthing it. This is all too much.

"You gotta push hard, it's binding" she yelled, her voice squeaking at the high pitch. She blushed too, I saw it, as she looked away, obviously annoyed her voice. I smiled, not even forced - you go man, pushed my shoulder to it and the door finally opened. I greeted her with a hearty good morning, before my glasses started to steam up. I swore internally, as I most likely looked like a fool, asking for a coffee, black, no sugar, splash of milk. She smiled her fake "you are the customer" smile and started turning knobs on the steam machine, while I tried to peer around through the steam on my own glasses. I could feel the rain drops fall from what can best be described as "unkempt hair having a good day". I probably looked like a mess, but thankfully, she didn't peer up once, not even when she asked me if it is for here or to go.

Where I magically managed to reply "to here". So glad she didn't look up, as my head must have been like a strawberry. I cursed myself for being so terrible at people, especially those I do not know.

She handed me a tall cup and I sat down by a small table, pointing towards the window. I wondered what she thought of me, probably that I'm just another deadbeat guy on the dole, trying to run away from job searching. And she'd be right, although I am also on parole from my flat, as it seems to have pretty much jailed me. Should have brought my laptop, then she'd at least see that I was productive, rather than just sit and stare, overthinking a pointless encounter that lasted less than 20 seconds. Woo-ey. Overthinker's blight.

I forgot to pay! Almost kicking the table away, I got up and started counting coins in my palm, asking how much I owe. She smiled at me, yet another one of those "must smile to the customer" and said she usually just charges when you are on the way out. Oh, I mustered, excusing myself that I might have to leave immediately soon, when I get a call.. yeah, that oughta show her that I am a go-getter. She said her price, held her hand out and I dumped the coins into it, making sure I didn't touch, she probably wouldn't like that, and sat down again. A bit more than what a bag of good beans from the local store would have cost.. but sometimes you gotta be good to yourself, even when your income couldn't even stand a trip to the cinema. Oh, I shouldn't have bought this, what will I do tomorrow morning?

The coffee tasted bitter, the bitterness of it's pricetag, but also as bitter as coffees should go. It was good, even, one of those espresso shot infused ones that I never really bothered with but it was.. good. It warmed me up and I felt alright, despite the depressing nature of the day and my situation. Why don't I go out more often? I answered myself with what I always tell myself when feeling cooped up inside, that there is no reason to go outside. I sighed, stuck in my own mind and just stared into the table. People walked by outside, urgently trying to get to their goal. I wondered what they were doing outside at 10 in the morning, they should have been at work hours ago. Would be fun to just stop one of them and hear what they are doing, where they are heading.

Probably sat there, staring, thinking, making myself feel more dreadful by the minute, for at least 20, before the waitress came over. She said she had made a bit extra for if another customer came in, but couldn't just let it sit there. Asked me if I wanted it and I just nodded with a smile. She poured from an iron pot of sorts and I just looked right through it, trying to think a thought through. Suddenly I felt a warm sensation across my fingers around the cup and looked down, warm coffee suddenly being poured over them. The waitress, wide eyed, apologized as she ran off and ran behind the counter, a pool of coffee creating under the cup. I licked a bit off a finger, said it's okay, but she came running over with towels, managing to knock over the cup which poured out over me. It wasn't hot, but it was warm enough. Awkwardly, I had no idea what to do other than to push back and let the coffee drip down on the floor. She tried her best, with her 5 towels and whatnot, to soak it up, but just managed to push it around even more. She was red all over, I was just slow as usual, taking out my phone from my pocket and putting it in the hoodie, avoiding the spreading circle of coffee in my crotch.

I stood up, asking her if I should help, as she knelt down, ass up in the air, trying to dry up everything and pretty much being unsuccesful. Suddenly the door goes, I get down there and tell her I'll handle it, don't worry. She took a look at me, eyeing the woman entering, then getting up and going behind the bar.

I try my best in soaking it up, at least my mother had taught me something that stuck about liquids and how to soak it up, taking a few trips to the bathroom to wring the towels from coffee, while trying my best to get the coffee out of me. Been too long and it was mostly absorbed. Didn't really matter as I didn't live far away and I didn't mind the coffee smell. Barely a stain to see in my darkened trousers anyway. I heard the door go and more people coming in, they probably thought the worst of me as I kept wiping up, cleaning and eventually I had it all or as much as I could have without cloth and proper soap. It smelt nice, the coffee on me and the table so it honestly didn't bother me as much as it seemed to bother people eyeing me as they wait for their drink.

It didn't bother me. I helped someone and it felt good. Although, I now don't have any coffee. I took the cup and put it on the counter. She smiled at me but didn't acknowledge it and I sat down again, not really having anything else to do and .. well, I still had the soiled towels I needed to figure out where went. And with that I regretted having helped. I should just have stayed out of it, it wasn't even my fault and all those people will leave thinking it was me, pretty much ruining their day. And mine. I should have stayed at home. My eyes darted around, kinda trying to get the waitress' attention but completely failing at it. I wanted to leave, but personal responsibility.. I have to finish this. Why did I regret it so suddenly, I just felt so fine with it, but the social consequences just piled up and it required me to talk with her. Oh, fuck.

It was fine with just her and me here. I did the right thing, why can't they just see that? I felt like the walls moved in on me, sweat dribbling down my forehead, I was wearing too much, I knew it when I left home so why did I? My face must be red as hell, they will all notice and think I'm some kind of mental nutjob who have peed his pants and poured coffee over myself to make it look normal. I need to leave. Now. I had pulled myself so far in under the table that I knew that if I pushed the chair out, I would make a lot of noise. No, I'm trapped here.

And as soon as I entered my tantrum, I was released from it. The last customer left before I noticed it and the waitress lady hurried over, apologizing for everything, grabbing the towels while talking rapidly about how she is always clumsy and she is truly very sorry about it and she hadn't thought of anything since it happened. I, terrible as I am, said it was nothing and it happens and I don't mind at all, lying my teeth out but it was really nothing, my mind just blows it out of proportions.

While she was running around, small talking to her heart's content about how it was just going to be a normal quiet day, but then this happened, how she have had a terrible weekend with friends .. I blanked out a bit, but tentatively tried to listen. She was an oversharer, I found it cute and interesting that someone could give so much of their life out to a random stranger. She was cute, too. I just found out. Tiny, yet full of energy. I smiled at her, the genuine smile, again deflecting her apologies. It always happened when girls show interest, I get interested in them as well.. too much, almost crushing on them, just because of the little attention they provide, something I massively crave. It was all worth it.

She asked me if I wanted a replacement coffee, now that she ruined my previous one. My "Nah, you don't need to do this" attempts were pointless because she was already making one. Said alright, but it had to be to go as I have to leave. She almost pouted and my heart flustered. She said she'd make it extra special, which I have no idea what meant. We chitchatted a bit back and forth, but mostly about her, the way I prefer it. Asked why she hadn't seen me here before and was just honest about the no job part, which she could relate to. It was fun, just chatting with her and I hated myself for excusing myself out to get home to my social safezone. She was the kind of person who'd chat when they were nervous, which was evident in her speech, it was shaky, sometimes cracking and she did not like being observed. I tried to lean nonchalantly over the bar edge, staring at nothing while chatting to keep her off her edge.

It took a bit to make her special coffee and handed it to me in one of those holders for 2 cups, a napkin neatly folded and tugged under the cup. She'd placed a lid on it, which I hated to drink from, but how could she know, it's to go and that's how it is done. She smiled, told me she hoped I liked it and said goodbye and thanks again for the help. I flustered, fell over the words and at least managed to wish her a fantastic day, aside the mess. I opened the door, both an escape and a wall I didn't want to pass through because.. I know I'm terrible at it, but I felt something from her, but it was probably nothing and staying would just make everything even more awkward. I gave a little wave, which probably looked quite awkward and walked out into the rain, cup happily in hand.

Rain was pouring down now and I was freezing in minutes. A good wind had picked up as well, making this hoodie entirely the wrong wardrobe to choose. I managed to find somewhere to stand still, so I could warm myself on the coffee. Awkwardly, I took the lid off, trying to hold it all together. My entire body shuddered at what I saw. It was a foamy coffee, sprinkled with what I could only imagine was chocolate sprinkles. It looked fancy as hell, but she had made a tiny heart in the foam with precision and it just made me smile wide, probably scaring everyone passing me. I took a sip, just to taste it and it was the best coffee I've ever tasted, like it was based on some kind of dark chocolate but I couldn't get myself to ruin the foamy heart. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something on the napkin. Saw it earlier, but just figured it was decoration on it, but then just remember that they only had white napkins. Something was written on there, numbers.. I lifted up in the cup and with a swoop, the wind took it.

I just stared at it until I dropped the cup and ran after it.

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Stories, where do they come from

There seems to be a common "guideline" amongst some writers that you should write what you know, which I have always absolutely hated. I doubt J. K. Rowling did this, hell, any of the big fantasy writers don't do this so why the constant push towards it? Hell, I've barely done it and I'm not half as good, I just have a damn imagination. But I suppose it comes down to them not understanding having an imagination. Friend once told me he couldn't understand how I could write about something I haven't experienced and then completely shunned everything I write for being alien and weird. Ignorance is bliss, eh.

But due to my disdain for "Write what you know", I think is why I haven't been writing much lately. I have the ideas, but not the filler just yet but I do have other stories I want to tell, but they are "what I know" to some extend. A lot of "what could have been if this and that" and stuff. That and pretty much struggling through some mental stuff.

So, I promised myself to write myself out of moods and such.

Hopefully that means more stuff coming. 🙂

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The Small Things

When we look outside, the first thing we notice is the weather and depending on what kind of an idea you have regarding the smaller things, you will either hate it, like it or be indifferent about it.

My mother used to say that there is no such things as bad weather, just inappropiate clothing. You don't really think much about it, when you are running around on the football field, soaked to the bone and just wishing for a brief stop in the rain. But, "Oh, I can't wait until I'm old enough to feel ways about stuff" hits you and then you, like me, stare out the window like you are witnessing an adventure first hand.

Summer, autumn, winter, spring - they are all gorgeous to me, in their own small ways.

Summer, the warmth against your skin, the smell of freshly cut grass and barbecues.

Autumn, the crunch of the leaves, the beautiful colours, the refreshing rain, the gorgeous skies as cold and warmth hit.

Winter, the white snow, the warmth emininating from every house, the holidays.

Spring, beautiful colours all around.

I loved it all, even before I had someone to share it with. A good walk, while sniffing in all the distinct smells of the world, will always give just another memory to cling on to when the times are dark. I have always thought of myself of a simple man who enjoy the smaller things, who can find a smile just from standing in a puddle.

It felt silly, but when you didn't have a lot to feel happy about, you just go to the nearest and smallest victory, be it a gorgeous day or an unexpected smile.

Eventually, I would meet you. Some say a relationship is just a huge block in your wake, something to constantly think about it, for better and for worse.

I did not feel that way. You fit into my life snugly. You were suddenly part of my landscape, as I look across it from the window. And, boy, I dare say every landscape made you even more beautiful. And you felt the same way. Standing next to each other, just sniffing in, looking far, looking close and eventually turn to each other and smile. Smile because we have all this and we had each other. I could look at the prettiest flower, sniff it and then turn to you and the smile would turn to a grin, to red cheeks and your smell. You complimented everything beautiful in the world. It was great. It became perfect and suddenly there felt like there was a point to it all, other than just cheer me up when I am low. Scanning the landscape and when my eyes met yours, my heart lept.

Sharing the world with someone you really care about is something exceptional. It cannot be described but just having the mere presence of that someone right there, makes it the more important. It becomes an even better memory, because you know you'd never have the words to describe what you are seeing, but here you are.. seeing it with me with the same stupid grin I have on, when I behold beauty.

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Happy New Year’s Eve!

The year of 2013 gave me a new job I really like, car and, finally, a new apartment. Life is slowly stabilizing itself and I can start to focus on what's fun and kick away what isn't.

Keeping up with friends isn't as easy as it ought to be, Facebook is essentially just a "friendbook", where you can see who you have as friends but updates are rare or just contain terrible shared statuses or pictures. I want to hear about your life. I honestly hope that this is something that can be changed in 2014. I know that not a lot happens in my life, but I at least would love to share it with friends.

Here's to 2014, may it be filled with travels, great experiences, fun and amazing times. Oh, and fuck NSA and spying on your citizen.

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Not the Same

I must admit, when I met her, I thought she was a bit too energetic. Thousands of projects constantly, not much time to much and you'd almost have to schedule to get just an hour of her time. Maybe that was also what dragged me to her, that impassible mountain that needed to be conquered. I hate to think of it like that, but while the hunt was a chore, the price was worth the entirety of the world to me.

I finally caught her, somehow made her realize that she couldn't live without me. It went fast, I felt like I was a project of hers and it felt amazing. Suddenly, five years had gone by and we were still having as much fun. Every day was like the first date with your best friend you know everything about. Her company was so fun, despite not really doing anything. Just sitting, watching TV, reading, chatting was so exciting, so interesting. I went on a business trip and 14 days away from her, made me realize I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this girl so I went home, got on one knee and then we got married. She had some tricks up her sleeve because she grew more beautiful to me every day, more exciting and thrilling by the hour. 5 years went past, we had seen the world together and nothing had changed. It was amazing, she still went into her little own world with her projects but proudly showed it to me when done. Sometimes she would be "gone" for days, just spending time around her little thing and emerging succesfully, every time, with something that she can sell somehow. Right after, I would be her project for a good 14 days until she found or started researching something else. It amazed me and I did not mind it one bit. Just seeing her work was exciting.

I often thought she might be different than others, she was a logical thinker and said what came to mind. So did I, communication was top notch at our place and I never raised my voice to her at any time in my life. So easy going, so easy to please, smiling at the small things in life, like I did. She was a normal, healthy person with a great interest in her hobbies and her work. Inventor, entrepreneur, wife. We had briefly discussed having kids but neither of us really felt the desire for it so it just slid away.

Nothing had changed, until one day. I have thought it over so much, tried to pick everything apart but nothing comes to mind. I just felt her change, just like that. Like the earth had moved beneath me. It might just be me making up stuff, believe me, I have thought of that.

She became completely disinterested. Not like she completely changed personality, I could still see her down there. The responses were right, it was just the way she acted upon them that was wrong. She still did everything like normal, burying herself in projects, taking care of me, but it was all changed. Somehow changed. It wasn't just a mood either, it was a constant thing. Communication became hard, there was no possibility for much back and forth. It was just question, answer, question, answer. No life, no essence, no personality. I thought she was growing tired of me, growing tired of me silly nonsense, my stupid quesitons, my innuendo filled speech, my rude jokes. I asked her. I asked her many times if anything was wrong. Everything was alright, though. She couldn't complain about anything. Why was I asking? Maybe she hadn't noticed her own change either. Maybe everything was OK and I was just imagining things. Maybe something was wrong with me.

I tried to go through the days, acting normal, doing what I would normally do. It was testing my sanity. I swore that something had changed, but all I could do was sit and look at it, mouth open, no one to ask about advice or if something had changed. Nothing had changed, according to her, but it was all wrong. She was all wrong.

I became obsessed with finding the right question to this problem. I felt that she would want to tell me, but she just didn't know how to. I obsessively looked for that question to end all of this, so I can get out of this madness that is slowly starting in my brain. I wish I could have said it was just a gradual change, but it was immediate. Like she jumped from platform a to platform b. She was an open book, answering anything as she would normally but she wasn't the girl I had fallen in love with anymore, she wasn't the girl I wanted to live the rest of my life with. This person in her place had taken her away from me, I was sure of it. I had lost that which I held most dear and I do not know how to get it back, even though it was right there, in front of me. Not finding the right question, though, I tried to distance myself and just live, ignore it, focus on the next day. Every now and then, I would try looking for the question, the question to open up a series of other questions. It became so bad I began to write down what I had tried.

But then, she killed herself.

Her suicide note didn't say anything else but "I'm sorry". It was such a kick in the stomach, to lose your last means to get back what you wanted the most in the entire world. I looked at that suicide note for days, trying to figure out what, why, when, how. It was a simple piece of paper, her loving, caring typography scrawling out those two words. There were no hidden messages to it. Nothing. My wife was gone.

Feverishly, manically, I started searching for clues. Took out everything, every shelf, every drawer, everything was examined 3 times, looking for everything, anything. All her projects, her patents, her documentation, everything was turned. I saw hidden messages everywhere, but none that made sense. I started looking for meanings in old memories, which made me bawl my eyes out.

All I found was the wallpaper on her computer. The picture was last modified a few hours before her death.

A picture of both of us, holding hands. She had, patiently, professionally, painted a heart around us and written, "I love you".

Why did she have to change.

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Always Grey and Raining

Yet another playdate with my kid and Louise’s. They appear to always have fun together, two girls giggling like mad, playing with their dolls and showing us all their new haircuts or hairstyles they could conjure up. I usually am able to let myself go into their world, smile at their leisure, for their pleasure, play with them and tell them terrible jokes but I always am so distant from it. My natural talent, perhaps. As usual with Louise, I tended to make as many obviously “innocent” and accidental touches, mostly brushes up against her bum as she bends over to pick something up. I know it drives her wild and she starts sending me this wink that just says “just you wait”. It should excite me, it does excite me but it’s all so hollow.  I take her roughly, without rubber - she prefers it like that and I honestly don’t mind -- or care - in the bathroom or kitchen during the kids’ naptime.

I always feel so distant to her when I do it, but her loud yelps and screams pulls me back but I don’t focus on what I’m doing, rather what she is. She’s.. or was a pretty girl. She let herself go when she had her kid. Set everything of life on standby and lived through her kid. I noticed that she always gussied herself up a bit when I arrive. We can never smalltalk, because all she can talk about is her kid. It saddened me and somewhat sickened me. I’ve tried to get into her, know her story, what did she like to do before her boyfriend knocked her up. She usually starts, with a glint in her eye, a smile on her lips but then stares out the window and changes the subject. Her facebook is all about her kid as well. She doesn't care about me, never asks about me and just asks out of politeness. I think that she only wants me because I am fairly good looking.

She always applauds me for my stamina, but my mind is usually so far gone, but yet I’ve always been so handsy that she never have suspected a thing. I know when she cums because her nails dig into my back and when she can feel I am about to, she wants me to pull out and get it all over her face.

Afterwards, when the playdate is over, she’ll text me. It never fails. Usually something vague and indirect such as “Thank you for today. Next week? :)”. I never respond. I imagine she is staring at her phone until she can’t take it anymore and writes back if something is wrong. That never fails either. I respond then, shrugging it off that my kid threw up or that we had to rush somewhere. She tries to write afterwards, but I know her boyfriend comes home soon after so she can’t get away with asking much.

It’s always also grey when I come out. Always grey and raining. Like some terrible metaphor for everything.

Home, it’s always the same. Girlfriend comes home, talks all about her day and asks none of mine. It’s as if my day didn’t exist and I have started to believe her. Always talking while I make food and I must support her, else she’ll stop talking and not talk for the rest of the day. When she runs out of things to say, she’ll go see our kid and play a bit with her. Never more than 10 minutes though, then she’s on the sofa watching whatever is on or finding a reality show. When food is ready, she’ll eat fast while I help the kid and she’ll dive back on the couch and fall asleep. Kid never asks for her mother, only me. I’ve made up a story for her, that we keep adding to.

It’s my world away from this shit life.

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If there is one thing I regret, it's losing her friendship.

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Corruption of A Damaged Man

Sometimes you sit down and reflect upon your life and how I am standing right now, with a .. sane enough mind is beyond me.

Let's start from the beginning, I was tossed into what can only be described as dysfunctional family. Dad was an alcoholic, who was barely home, except to sleep, yell, hit my mother and spank us kids. I know it sounds like a big fat cliché from just about any period movie. Mother whored herself out to anyone who'd pay and didn't care about her countless bruises. Most of the money went to giving us clothes and food. She was loving, however, gave us all her attention, when she wasn't staring blankly into space, tears rolling down her face. I had a sister and a brother. Both were older than me, by 5 and 7 years, respectively. I rarely talked to them, as they did their very best at being as far away from home as possible. Thinking back, it was probably the best thing one could do in such a situation.

My position in the home was that I was asked to do something and then I did it. I was a pushover at school and my teachers commented that I was distant and unavailable. The first time my dad heard this, I had a ringing headache for weeks afterwards and I did my best to be available and be the best student I could for him. My mother mainly used me for chores, when she was unable to, mostly when she couldn't stop crying or was completely exhausted. I ignored her cries and, probably, saw themselves as a sort of weakness. None in this household showed any sort of emotion, other than my mother who also did her best to hide it.  On the outside, it probably looked like everything was okay. We were bathed, we had food in our stomachs, reasonably new clothes but there were absolutely no family life what so ever. At Christmas  we'd get one gift from our mother and those Christmases were probably the times where she was the most happy.

At around age 10, it got even worse. Who'd have known, it could actually get worse. If I remember correctly, days were normally a haze. I had no one to play with, afternoons were spent doing homework or helping out at home. There were no friends and the only joy I seemed to have was when my mother wasn't crying. Dad brought home a friend, who introduces himself as uncle Bob. Ever the gentleman, "uncle" Bob said, dad said he could stay around here. My sister was 17 at this point and had, pretty much, moved out. My dad never noticed but my mother was happy for her and, sometimes, visited her at her new place. When she came home, her spirit was usually lifted. Uncle Bob took over her room, which was just a bed and a desk. Just like my dad, he constantly smelt like alcohol, but unlike my dad, he was more home.

I noticed he made a lot of moves on my mother, who she fought off with strength I've never seen before. I remember thinking he'd hit her now but it never came to be. Uncle Bob might as well have been a gentler version of my dad.

One day I woke up to him standing in the doorway. All I could see was his silhouette but he slowly moved into my room, obviously drunk. I'd imagined my dad was passed out in the living room and my mother had shaken off his advances. He came to my bed and attempted to get into it, hussing at me. I moved over, scared but feeling indifferent. I had no idea what was coming. I did as he asked and suddenly my head was in my pillow, turned towards the open door. He was big, I remember - so it hurt a lot. Suddenly, I saw my mother's silhouette in the door. She looked for a second, then ran down to her room. I heard the shot, but uncle Bob didn't stop. I felt nothing.

After the police had been here, the social workers arrived. They introduced themselves, but I do not remember their name. They were here to hear how I was doing in the middle of all this. I had refrained from saying anything to the police other than that I had heard the shot. I didn't know why, maybe because uncle Bob was there. They took me with them and asked all the questions I somewhat expected. I told them everything. About how my dad hits us, siblings moving out, my mother. But I didn't tell them about uncle Bob. I didn't tell them about what dad becomes when he stops taking his medicine. I didn't tell them about uncle Bob.

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Road to Getting Happy

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, it's annoying just being moderately okay. Now I'm just going to go at it with a structured approach.

How to get happy:

  • I want to travel
    • Requires:
      • Money - I have an income of some, so depending on length of trip, I could go within a month
      • Someone to travel with - I want to travel with friends, but fuck - either I have the wrong type of friends or there is something wrong with me so people don't want to travel with me. Or maybe I'm just not being enough upfront about it
        • Solutions:
          • Travel alone - I'm still quite shy and can't just approach people so it'd be for just looking at touristy things and enjoying another country/city. Doable? Definitely, but I think it'll take some serious lack of response from my friends before I can consider this. Maybe it's just about trying it and see if it's me. It's just a weekish of my time and some money and I'd learnt something about myself.
          • Get different friends/more friends/be more upfront and sincere about travelling with someone. Different/more friends is usually only possible when having something in common. To have something in common, I'd have to go out of my way to do certain things, such as organized sports or other similar things. I've already decided to do this when I am more fit. It can also come with a job, see elsewhere in this post. Be more upfront can be to not only put it on Facebook but also ask people upfront, but the fact of the matter is that the closest of my friends don't want to.
          • Travel to visit friends. I am already doing this, but many of my online friends live across huge oceans, which makes it a very costly affair as well as one that have to be planned quite well in order to make the most out of it.


  • I want to do things while socializing with my friends
    • Requires:
      • Friends who want to do something - None I know are as impulsive as me, so everything seems to have to be planned. The fact of the matter, though, is that not many of my friends want to move outside of their comfort zone or do something new or different. Going to a restaurant or the cinema requires a lot of factors and it fucking sucks that it's pretty much impossible to get anyone to do it. This is, however, from gouging interest on Facebook. Next time I'd try texting people. When they do go out, it's to get drunk and be in places with loud music where socializing IS impossible, unless you have your physical appearance speaking for you.
        • Solutions:
          • Get different friends/more friends/be more upfront - see above.
          • Do things alone - see above. Many people consider eating in a restaurant or going to the cinema declaring "social bankruptcy". Apparently I still do care what people think.


  • I want to write stories and generally create
    • Requires:
      • Motivation - There are times where I just want to sit down and write, but actually doing it takes so much effort it's intense. Why I have no idea, but it certainly requires the right mindset and, since I am a perfectionist, just a few sentences that sound wrong in my head, I'd ditch it.
        • Solutions:
          • Get a job or feel needed somehow. Motivation comes from self-worth and self-worth comes from feeling you are worth something. Not having a job, girlfriend or friends who seem to care for you can remove any of this. I do my best to keep myself on top, but certain actions or lack there of have a tendency to bring my carefully crafted house of cards tumbling down
          • Ask friends to request stories. I'm a people pleaser and there is nothing I love more than to actually write FOR someone.

Anyone out there who have some solid advice?

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