"Gifted" is the Term

Or: Intellectually Gifted, Socially Cursed

They call it 'giftedness.'

It's a capacity for learning more effectively than those who would otherwise be considered your peers. It's a curiousity and a hunger for new knowledge, and an inability to be fully contented with incomplete or inaccurate answers. It's a talent for nearly every single thing you try, to the extent that there are so many options you become paralyzed with indecision.

It's not really just a gift, but also a curse. Being more intelligent marks you as different - and being different is generally considered a bad thing. Using the larger vocabulary you're 'gifted' with leads to a lot of blank stares. The same goes for any of the knowledge or trivia you've picked up along the way. People just don't care, and a lot of times they'll mock you for caring.

The standards are all higher. I remember as a child, I was actually embarrassed of my "A's" because nobody else really seemed to get them, and I did not have to try for them. A "C" was almost devastating because ... well, it's like getting an "F" if you generally get "C's." I never once actually got an "F" - the closest I ever received was a single "D" throughout my entire K-11 1/2 education (there was a bit of a dispute in my Senior year and I ended up graduating early to resolve it). In standardized testing, the one outlier among an otherwise nearly flawless score was in math - and even that, at about half the rate of my other abilities, was still an "average." My perception remains to this day that I am very, very bad at math, despite at least half of all other people being worse.

In a lot of cases, I tend to think, "I'm not really good at this, everyone else just sucks."

Mom has a funny story: after my first day of kindergarten, I came home and complained that I already knew everything they were trying to teach me. This didn't abate until I reached college. I never learned to study, or had to work to overcome challenges - which meant that in college, I actually started to get the C's, D's, and F's that I often overheard other people talking about, because I never had to work for anything. Even working my hardest, I was disorganized and frustrated with everything, because suddenly, things became hard. I couldn't read during classes like I tended to do as a kid, because I had to actually think about what I was being presented.

Giftedness also leads to social isolation - especially if anybody knows about it. In grade school, when I was first ... let's call it 'diagnosed,' what they did to determine this status was to pull a number of students out of their normal classes and put them through a battery of tests. I remember one of the tests involved a bunch of lines on a paper, and you were supposed to make pictures out of them. I drew some books. Even that early on, I indulged in too much escapism.

From there on, they continued to rip about six of us out of our normal curriculum in order to try and educate us at a level above and beyond our peers ... the problem was, it was ill-organized, ill-directed, and they didn't really try to teach us anything advanced, just different things than everyone else learned. I had a shaky foundation in my normal classes because I missed about half of the content. I was able to overcome what this did to my actual scholastic performance, but I wonder sometimes how well.

One of the other kids actually asked me for one of these noisemakers that I'd gotten - little packets of gunpowder that made a loud snapping noise when tossed on the ground. I gave it to him under the assumption he wouldn't do anything too terribly stupid with it. He got caught using them in the boy's restroom, and I got in trouble for 'taking advantage of someone less intelligent.'

I remember when we moved into the city, it wasn't a terribly large change for me, because honestly, I didn'thave that many close friends. There were two or three people I associated with, but they weren't really friends. The one person I would have considered a friend who could think on my level (some six or seven years older than I was, who made the wise decision to deliberately fail the talented and gifted testing) made it his life's ambition to get away from the small town and the psychic leeches that made up his family. I wonder where he ended up sometimes. He was the one who introduced me to the wider world of the internet, and online games, for that matter.

I don't really know what the point to writing this all was. Just needed to get it out of my system, I think.

Driving

TL;DR: Rant about people being stupid in cars. Typed Saturday. Still not dead. Woo, triumph.

Driving.

Who came up with this idea? Really? "Let's put two tons of fast-moving death in the hands of every irresponsible idiot who can answer a multiple choice test correctly. That'll end well!" Seriously.

"What? They're sixteen years old and their wee brains haven't yet fully developed (see 'coz that happens by the time you're twenty-five), so they're reckless and end up killing themselves and other people on the way to go get drunk at an underage party and/or on the way from getting drunk at an underage party? I don't understand how that could happen!" It's not that I don't have sympathy or anything, but seriously, this whole thing sounds like an accident (or several thousand) waiting to happen.

I bring this up because I have a half an hour drive to my work place, one-way, which means in practice I spend my share of time driving, which means I get to witness all kinds of stupid people behind the wheel. Especially since the people around here don't fully understand how to do the thing they're doing.

For an example: what the hell happened to signalling before changing lanes? I nearly got in a wreck today because this guy completely failed to signal that he was going to dive between me and the car in front of him. Not warning people what you're about to do is rarely a good thing, especially when it's going to be exceedingly dangerous to yourself and other people. Courting death in a major car accident on the highway is excessively dangerous, yes.

And this other guy, in a white van, did signal ... that he was going to drift across two lanes of traffic and nearly sideswipe me to get into my lane. Which is the only thing that kept me from getting into a wreck again, and that only because I deliberately gave him enough room to complete the lane change. I don't want to get crushed in a vehicular homicide, after all. This same fellow then went on to make a left turn from the wrong lane.

Am I the only person on the road who paid attention during driver's education?

Why are people stupid?

Gah.

4:04 AM (Error)

Logic not found.

So, this is something that is slowly driving me nuts, and that is, logically, there is no significance to be associated with strings of identical numbers, especially date/time stamps. There just isn't, really. So why does the brain latch onto them? Why does that pop up everywhere as something of significance?

Well, like a lot of other answers given: most writers are human, and most readers are human. Human brains are hard-wired toward pattern recognition and the easiest, most obvious pattern is 11:11 11/11/'11 (which happens once or twice per time zone this year, incidentally, depending on if you use military time or not.)

I latch most often onto a string of 1s, if it was non-obvious. 3:33 too.

Short, thumb-typed post because I'm going to enjoy the weekend with a minimum of stress. Delicious holiday pay and rest. Monday is a normal day off for me but hey, getting paid for nothing is kind of awesome.

Money is also kind of awesome.

Oh, two things: one, is anyone else weirded out by M's description (the yellow hoodie mostly) cropping up in the latest Marble Hornets? I'm aware most of the Mythos regards MH as Not Real But Entertaining And Probably Ruined Your Life, while The Tutorial gets an Is Real And Should Be Your First Stop, but it's still creepy.

Two: expect some gushing in the non-distant future about both Rift and League of Legends. That'd be because they're how I'm currently passing my free time. (My otherwise empty work hours are sort-of dedicated to this cross-stitch pattern I'm working on.)

Lastly, why the title? That's when I started this post, silly! ... It's raining again.

Isolation

These broken walls trap me inside
I'm isolated ....


Or: This is why we can't have nice things.


I'm still debating on whether or not to post this, especially as it's become kind of a moot point, anyway.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you can't trust people. Everyone hurts everyone else, and, ultimately, everyone is in it only for themselves. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either too naive to know the truth - or they're trying to get something from you.

This is also why I didn't get to go to Heaven for the Rapture, see?

I'm going to be honest here, since it's damn near impossible to open up in real life.

Cold words on a blank screen, no?

I can't hang onto friendships in real life. The closest I come is these near-intangible online relationships. It's just too much risk to allow anyone close to me into my heart, also.

And I'm not even a Runner. Hah.

Of course, it doesn't help any that I'm a loner-type to begin with, I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs. I don't go out and par-tay, so it's not like I'm terribly likely to meet people. And most of the people in this city don't exactly share my interests, either - and the ones that do, I've already happily cut myself off from as well. Bastards probably don't even know or care why. Fuck 'em.

Why is that, that I can't bring myself to open up?

Fear, mostly.

Every gods-damned time I've left the door open, left myself vulnerable that way, opened up fully to another person, I've been hurt. Every time I've seen others do the same, they've been hurt. It's a weakness and a liability, and it's a stupid, avoidable one at that.

And what benefits does it give? This weakness so many people allow themselves to entertain? You can't say procreation, because broken homes wouldn't exist if both parents were necessary for the raising of the child after that initial conception - and that initial conception often, and easily, occurs in moments of physical passion, rather than emotional attachment. One could suggest instead companionship, love, friendship ... it is true that humankind is composed of social creatures. If they do not receive enough social contact in their formative years, humans lose an enormous chunk of that spark that lends them sentience. As to the actual ties, however ... they don't seem necessary to one's survival.

Just a vulnerability. Just an avenue for hurt.

Being with, or even near, other people also compels change. Generally it's small and ignorable over any distance, but in close, physical proximity, it makes itself known acutely. Living with another person forces you to plan around them, work around them. Your defenses have to incorporate them, or you risk hurting them - and by extension, yourself. It limits your freedoms, forces all manner of unnecessary restrictions on you. And then even if they don't hurt you themselves, then they die, or leave, and you're hurting anyway.

And, for what?

All of the benefits, save perhaps pooled fiscal resources and an extra eye to those defenses, are fully intangible. Companionship, love, whatever you want to call it, you know what that really is?

"I've got a knife lodged in my back, I just don't know it yet."

Yes, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of weakness. I'm afraid of vulnerability. I'm afraid of being forced to change, and I'm afraid of things changing around me. I'm fucking terrified of forming any kind of bond with any other person, because doing so is basically synonymous with being hurt - and I'm afraid of pain.

What kind of psychotic, reckless fool isn't?



I'm here alone
And isolated ....

"Hero"

Decided to poke through my phone's music player until I landed on something meaningful to write about (the Nom Nom Song being right out), and it landed on Nickelback's "Hero."

Fair 'nuff.

An' they say that a hero will save us, I'm not gonna stand here an' wait ....

So, herein we define hero.

• a man distinguished by exceptional courage and nobility and strength; "RAF pilots were the heroes of the Battle of Britain"
• the principal character in a play or movie or novel or poem
• champion: someone who fights for a cause
• Greek mathematician and inventor who devised a way to determine the area of a triangle and who described various mechanical devices (first century)
• (classical mythology) a being of great strength and courage celebrated for bold exploits; often the offspring of a mortal and a god
• (Greek mythology) priestess of Aphrodite who killed herself when her lover Leander drowned while trying to swim the Hellespont to see her
• bomber: a large sandwich made of a long crusty roll split lengthwise and filled with meats and cheese (and tomato and onion and lettuce and condiments); different names are used in different sections of the United States

According to Professor Google.

Huh, I lived on a Leander street once.

Why the hell should anybody wait for a hero? 'm sure it's great that they're marked by strength and courage and shit, but that doesn't mean other folk can't be courageous or strong. Lotta people're courageous 'n' strong 'n' ... yeah. This ain't workin'.

I'm aware. Typin' out a slur 'ssa habit from bein' all ... y'know. -ey.  Roleplay. That'n'. 'ssa good indication of being all ... unfocused. Fuzzy. Fuzzled. MR. FUZZEMS. (The terrible.)

So tired. Feel like I'm fuckin' drunk.

ANYWAY, yeah. Waitin' on a hero seems silly. Guilty pleasure here, I read romance books sometimes 'coz they're cheap, not too brainy, and often fun. Thing that pisses me the fuck off in those books is about half the time, the woman's some helpless incompetent bitch who can't even fuckin' tie her shoes without a MAN standing there helping her out. It's like ... half the reason I quit goin'a church, right? 'coz they wouldn't recognize a family that didn' have a man in it. I ain't got nothin' against men, y'know? Just, don't fucking tell me I need to have one. Fuck you an' your fuckin' "religion" bullshit keepin' good folk from doin' shit with themselves, 'coz they ain't chained to a goddamn bed.

'less they're inta that, y'know.

'n' the hero always gettin' mixed up with the protagonist. What'cha mean, the noble dragon's up there gettin' slaughtered by the wicked knight?

Honestly, though, most stories now days have their heroic sociopath bases covered.

... I think I'm pretty much 'onna have to cut this short t'say simply: Do what the fuck's right, and who gives a goddamn shit if it ain't appropriate or lawful or if you ain't the strongest or bravest person.

An' don't forget, if you do have a hero type person: they ain't fuckin' infallible. Nobody is.

Punch 'em in the fuckin' gut if they can't remember what "right" actually is.

Oh. And not every hero has t'die. There's that, too.

On Beauty

Technically still Wednesday.

So, the other day, a man I've barely gotten around to meeting claimed I was beautiful.

And now he's suggested I define that word.

Beauty.

Huh.

Above all else, it's subjective. "In the eyes of the beholder," goes the old saying, while another, more modern interpretation twists it to, "beer-holder," because after all, like in all subjective things, inebriation alters perception.

So, to put it simply, I am certainly not 'beautiful,' or 'pretty,' at least not to my mind, in part because I'm not a narcissist. Honestly, I rarely think about how pretty anything is, much less my own body. When I draw, it is not an ode to beauty, it is merely the act of recording a thought. Likewise, on the rare occasion that I take a photograph, it is not how beautiful the subject is, but merely that it exists. Technical imperfections may mar a piece, but it is always better that the record exists than that the moment is lost forever.

Beauty, though, is supposed to be more than simple existence, isn't it?

I think the dictionary definition would go something like, "aesthetically pleasing," or "pleasing to witness/behold."

Again, subjective.

I'm not particularly enraptured by the way blood spurts from a severed artery, but a psychopathic serial killer might well find such beautiful. Likewise, I'm pretty sure a burn victim would not share my enthusiasm for fire.

Physical beauty is also a fleeting, transient thing, especially in humans. Even the strongest statue will erode under the constant pressures of time and the masterless elements. While some people may age more gracefully than others, they still age, still wither, still die.

And truly, at that point, it takes a lot of perservatives and either the very most discerning of beholders, or the very least to find a dessicated corpse beautiful.

Rare jewels, with their brilliant colors and their inner fire are almost universally considered valuable, but a desperate junkie would likely trade a fistful of diamonds for its equal in drugs, without even the first hint of hesitation.

Beauty is also not particularly necessary. No human has ever died for want of a painting as they have for want of sustenance or shelter. Despite this, humankind is quick to attach beauty to things of dire necessity. A man in a desert would find an oasis glorious. Humanity also regularly seeks out things they do not need, creating decorations with no other purpose than to appeal to the ever-changing senses.

What is beauty then?

It is transitory, and it is fleeting; a lie perpetrated by our minds to persuade us to enjoy the sensations we experience. It's a lie to break up the dull monotony of continued existence. Many humans spend their whole lives in its pursuit. But then, humans do so often devote their entire fleeting, transitory lives to pointless minutiae.