Philosophizing and Rationalizing

And so it was just a wave.

Although, I should say first, that to be a dog, as my other posts termed, an owner is required, nonetheless, the crushing loneliness that made me yearn for the arms of a woman passed as subtly as it came. However, there is still in me a sort of soul-crushing depression, not brought from loneliness, but simply out of cluelessness about my place in the world.

As I detailed months, or so, ago, I do find enjoyment and pleasure in being how I am. Being a NEET, having little in way of responsibilities, having the freedom to spend every hour of my day exactly how I want. That freedom is something that, once tasted, is very hard to give up. And yet this lifestyle cannot last forever.

Jealous?

Some would go on about SSI, or joining the military and purposefully getting your leg fucked up or something, but even then, trying to place myself in the future in such a position, still living with my parents, leeching off the government for whatever measly funds they can spare. It may be 'fine' at 20, and it may be 'unnatural' at 30, but at 40 years of age? 50? Perhaps it is pride, but I cannot stand the idea of such a thing. As I mentioned once before, I cannot fathom an individual who could love such a person, and because of that being utterly incomprehensible to me, I cannot love myself were I to become that. That is, a person living off the government and living with their parents at an elderly age.

Still though, if such a path is forbidden to me by me, what other path is there? I could, I suppose, try to find some moderately wealthy woman and try at woo her so I can be her househusband, but just reading that part of this sentence makes me laugh, so I don't imagine that will happen without Fate's hand interfering.

There is also the prospect of getting a job at, say, a library or some such that, preferably, has a living area (with bedroom, kitchen, and bath) as an upstairs. Reminds me a little of the bakery in Clannad. Now that would be quite ideal. Still, though, finding a job alone in this economy, from what I hear, is particularly difficult, and for places like libraries, they likely subsist on volunteers and interns. Not that I'd mind working for free, I guess, if I had room, food, and internet thrown in the package.

All the same, finding such a job would, again, require luck or divine intervention, and really isn't worth the trouble. To me, at least.

I remember, however, the words of Marcus Aurelius,

"It is possible to live on earth as you mean to live hereafter. But if men will not let you, then quit the house of life; though not with any feelings of ill-usage. 'The hut smokes; I move out.' No need to make a great business of it. Nevertheless, so long as nothing of the kind obliges me to depart, here I remain, my own master, and none shall hinder me from doing as I choose."

Or, another translation:

"You can live here as you expect to live there. And if they won't let you, you can depart life now and forfeit nothing. If the smoke makes me cough, I can leave. What's so hard about that? Until things reach that point, I'm free. No one can keep me from doing what I want."

 Of course, when it comes to these things, I can take as long as I want or need to act after accepting it as my course of action, because I know it will come regardless, even if I change my mind. And concerning why such an action seems less trouble to me than finding an ideal job, for me, though it may not be so with anyone else, suicide is no more difficult or outlandish a choice than any other. That is to say, since I first began to perceive my own mortality and its inevitability, choosing death as a choice of action concerning certain choice-sets in life lacks a taboo for me that I found, quite oddly, in others when they're given the same choices.

I even recall a rather intense debate with some online concerning a story in which my response as to what the main character of the story should do after the story ended was kill himself, which, much to my surprise, honestly, since I thought it was a perfectly natural end and viable option for those circumstances, many were against, saying it was too drastic and he should live despite his pain. Even now, I don't understand their reasoning at all, while I feel mine was entirely rational and natural, but to each their own, I suppose.

I suppose it is rather fortunate, in that mind set, that I had not been bullied as a child, for else if I had, I likely would have chosen to quit living if living lacked any pleasure for me any longer. Of course, I would try to do something about the bullies, naturally, but if such an action's consequences still did not show to make my life easier or less painful, at least, I likely would have died during grade school. Though, again, if I had, it would be because it was the most rational choice of action in securing happiness for myself, or quitting when that happiness was no longer feasible to attain. No different than any other thing, I believe. If a game grants you no joy, stop playing, and if a book is too tedious and grants too small a reward, cease your reading of it.

That is, at least, how my mind works.

A full circle?

At the current moment, I have, for a short time at least, achieved my goals stated in the fifth post on this site. That is to say, I am currently fortunate enough to possess a place to sleep that isn't infested by bugs and vermin, food to eat that isn't rotten, water to drink and bathe in that is constantly clean, and I have an unlimited, almost-high-speed internet connection and a computer with (two!) large hard drives.

And while I have been living in this utopia of my definition, I have been feeling nothing but apathy toward what interests I once held in quite high regard. Now, the reason for this confused me for quite some time. I could have played it to the adage that humans don't really want what they want, but that's despicable and I disagree with that heavily. So, instead, I did what I typically do when I want to figure something out about myself: I plunged into my usual form of escapism in hopes of not thinking about it until it came to me naturally. It doesn't make sense when I type it down, but it always feels like the best decision at the time. Honestly, it does.

In any event, it wasn't until a random song of Amagami's OST played in my media player that I realized why I was feeling depressed. I had made a mistake in what I said I previously desired, though I unintentionally corrected myself in other posts. I had originally said that I was fine with no lover, with the implication of the same lack of desire toward friends. Toward friends, I am still sure I do not need them, and don't really want any either, as I have always been, but I am quite lonely, it seems.

As a forewarning, I am not, and never have been, one of those who believe in "3DPD." While I do not judge those who hold to such a belief, my own experiences with people and love have not caused me such great pain as to swear them off entirely. Indeed, all my romantic experiences (the most advanced of which was my relation with a girl who I knew liked me, who everyone else knew she liked me and I liked her, and who even she knew I liked her, yet we did nothing but enjoy each others' company because we were too shy to make the first move. Or, at least, I was. I don't know about her, maybe she was waiting for me to "man up", as they say.), all my romantic experiences have left me with a rather enjoyable feeling of loving and being loved by a person who wasn't blood-related.

Actually, thinking about it, I can't even think of a bad experience that resulted from a romantic entanglement on my part. I always kept my distance so as to not get hurt, but got close enough to enjoy the feelings of being in love and being loved. Wow, I'm more of a coward than I originally held myself as.

Well, that aside, it is because of my experience (or lack of, perhaps) in love has always made me feel good that I believe I desire those feelings now. It is more difficult to explain feelings I've had begotten from love (or infatuation, if you wish) than I had originally thought. Still, to make an effort, the feeling of someone enjoying my company, coupled with the feeling of rapturous joy by simply being in the presence of the beloved is, I believe, the equation that I lack in my current life.

Assuming this is the case, and I have the equation correct, it is simply a matter of finding someone to fit that. That is to say, someone who enjoys my company and to whom I feel a sort of obsessive attachment towards. Both must be fulfilled, not just one and not the other, or else the result will be too unsteady. Then again, I suppose I could try my imagination to fulfill the first, though...It wouldn't hurt, probably. After all, being a shut-in doesn't give much in way of making acquaintances.

Of course, it could be that, as spoken in Honey and Clover, this  is just a wave of loneliness that will wash away after a while before coming back, then leaving again. Indeed, at the present moment, this could be one of those 'big waves' for all I know. Or it could be that, rather than a lover, I simply need someone I feel I can depend on who doesn't feel disgust toward me (Not that anyone I know does, openly at least). Hell, for that matter, I could be getting the whole source of my current despondency wrong entirely. Though, the only thing to do is try things at random and hope it goes away, I suppose.

Nonetheless, I must assure you that I do not regret my current lifestyle, in case I gave that impression. Humans always desire stagnation in one form or another, and I am no different. I just wish to tweak my own kind of peaceful life a bit, having mistakenly made the draft my goal, as it were, rather than the full plan as summarily detailed in one of the Dog posts here.

And so I NEET

I recently became a NEET (recently being late last year), and while I do enjoy the free time filled with no stress, I can feel depression setting in already. I have three books I could read, I have tons of anime to finish watching, and yet all I ever do is refresh the same few websites. I lack motivation even to eat, and would subsist on TownHouse crackers if not for my parents. Some part of me feels as though I should be ashamed because my past teachers and such would look at me in disgust if they saw my situation, but I realize I live for no one else but myself, and to bother myself with how others think or feel is an unnecessary nuisance.

I do read manga, but more out of necessity to ensure my list on mangaupdates doesn't pile up. I do enjoy it, though (Balance Policy is really well drawn), as and after I read, but I think I wouldn't be able to start reading if not for that nagging, prickly feeling I get when I think about letting my reading-list on that site pile up.
I play video games too, but they feel unrewarding. I play them, beat or lose to them, and then there's no reward or penalty for doing either. At least with manga, I get a story, maybe learn something, but video games have no gain, they have no substance. Despite that, it's really easy to get pulled in, and I spent some money on a new computer that I'm waiting to ship to me so I can play games more intensive than, say, Morrowind or Alpha Centauri.

When it comes to anime or books, while I do enjoy them as and after I watch/read them, actually starting is such a trial of will power that I fail more often than not. I truly don't know why, the reason for where this came from escapes me, though I have a couple guesses. One of which is that perhaps I am suffering from not knowing what it is I would like to do in 'the future'. I am, as I remember reading once, at the time in my life that I can devote everything to achieving my dreams without being burdened by responsibilities of life as imposed by our society. I don't need to worry about health (though my heart has always been having problems working right), nor about bills (though my dad borrowed money from me last week to pay the gas bill), nor even how others perceive me (though I'm going to begin taking some random course at a nearby community college soon so student loans stay off my back).

As it is, as I said, I spend my days refreshing, hardly posting due to how I am, and feeling really bored about how boring most, if not all, of what is posted is. Refresh, read, refresh, read, refresh, read. That poster obviously doesn't mean what he typed, so why is this guy getting so worked up? Refresh, read again, refresh...

Wit

Perhaps it is because I just finished (re)watching the movie Wit (2001) that I felt compelled to think this through.

Else, it could be my seeing a thread asking about one's favorite class, referring not to scholarly classes, though I mistakenly thought so. In any regard, the movie did remind me that my favorite classes were, since the eighth grade, largely English classes, and, as I grew older, became specifically poetry and literature classes.

Perhaps it is due in part to the prolixity of most poems, and some literature, that causes my enjoyment of the classes, but that can only account for, at most, less than half of my love, as though it were quantifiable. Indeed, the source for the majority of my utter revelry in such classes is the professors themselves. Every single one, whether considered 'good' or 'bad', causes in me gaiety as such I can hardly feel except under extremely specific, and unrelated to this subject, circumstances.

To elaborate, it is sitting in front of a professor, as an unseen observer, unseen insofar as I am not being personally seen by him, or her, seeing as I would be in a crowd of, say, 300 other students. But it is sitting in front of a professor and hearing him go on about a poem, or novel, and detail various ideas and theories to the extent that it is obvious, to me at least, of the love these professors have for their subject.

For example, in this movie, the professor Vivian (I am terrible with names and, as such, have already forgotten her last name...), as well as her professor from some time ago, have a scene where Vivian is lectured on a particular poem of John Donne. Now, an English teacher of mine from a few years back told me this story of John Donne and this poem, and I will retell it to you, but I may have it wrong, and for that, I apologize beforehand.

From what I recall, this particular poem of John Donne was published, I believe, sometime in the 17th century. In that poem, which is very beautiful in its own right, the last line goes:

And Death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.

And then, some time later, another version, written by Donne, naturally, of the same poem was found. This time ending with:

And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die!

 Note the difference. Not only is there an exclaimation mark at the end, but the comma has turned into a semicolon, thus, as Vivian's professor points out in the movie, turning what was a breath into some melodramatic line fit for Shakespeare (paraphrasing her words). Seeing as the two were dated quite close to each other, it is up to scholarly debate as to which rendition is the 'correct' rendition, hence Vivian's professor's poison toward the copy using the latter punctuation style.

Now, for all practical purposes, who cares, right? Nonetheless, it is in my seeing these professors, English, literature, poetry professors, all go on about a piece that sets my soul aflame. It does not matter if I care for the subject, either of the class or of the piece they're lecturing on, just hearing them talk about it, hearing the love in their voice, hearing all the hours they spent outside of class preparing for the lecture, researching, writing notes, discussing with their colleagues...

You have, of course, knowledge of people saying how they heard a wonderful piece of music, or how they saw a particularly beautiful field of flowers, and so were imbued with sheer love of life, yes? It is very much the same thing, though the cause of the feeling is different.

It is a bit odd, honestly, because, in the lectures, you are expected, both as student and simple observer, to not just hear them speak, but to understand their speech, to take notes, to absorb the knowledge they're putting forth. But...but it is just so much more enjoyable to hear them. To hear the tonations of their voice, the different pitches as they read aloud a particular passage, or emphasize a point in their lecture. I gather more joy from hearing them speak, even if, after their lecture is over, I retain nothing, than I do paying apt attention to the meaning of their words and forcing myself to understand what Locke means about material intercourse, or whatever the phrase was. Not very good for a student, hm?

It does not work the same way when, say, an electrical engineer, or nuclear physicist, or medical doctor drones on about their jargon. Indeed, in such cases, I automatically trigger the nod-and-smile mechanism and have my mind wander off to recite Henry V in my head, or thinking about how pretty the clouds are.

As I said, though, not only does listening to professors lecture give me joy, but hearing them read aloud, or even just myself reading silently, various pieces of poetry, or of literature with nice prose, grants me the same, if not greater, joy.

I think I want a book of poetry for Christmas.

"The more I love humanity in general, the less I love man in particular."

I always fashioned myself something after Dostoevsky's quote, but I must admit that, the longer and more frequent I keep myself knowledgeable in current events, and, in particular, public opinions of said current events (namely through eavesdropping, comments-section reading, and random googling), the more I find myself turning into a misanthrope.

A current case that caught my eye, which I will hold my tongue a bit out of paranoia from my watching a movie about the stasi earlier this morning, about that one book on Amazon's best seller list, which they defended against accusations and such, then took down in spite of that defense.

But that's not my problem. Indeed, Amazon is a private business and was acting in pure Capitalist desires. I've no qualms against such an action, though I'd prefer a defense of free speech, I am not so Idealistic to expect a big business to prioritize freedom of expression over money.

No, my problem is that newer story of the author being arrested in Colorado, to be extradited to Florida, and thus prosecuted under Florida Criminal Law, not for writing the book, deplorable though the book may be, but for distributing it across state lines.

To put it simply, people everywhere, in every corner of the country, in every news site, conservative or liberal, want this man to die the most gruesome of deaths for writing his book. And, while I do not condone the actions described in the book, I do not want him to die the most gruesome of deaths for writing it. If he broke the law in writing it, then by all means convict him.

That's the thing, though. He has essentially become the target of society's disgust for writing this book, but is going to be convicted under a criminal offense of distributing "obscene" material across state lines. Now, anyone who has had even the slightest interest in the US' policies concerning material deemed, shall I say, less-than-savory in the eyes of the majority of society should know this law very well. It is, unless I've slipped up on the names, the same law Chris Handley was convicted under. Indeed, while the 'normals' wanted him thrown in prison for his cartoon porn, he was only convicted for transporting "obscene" material across state lines.

Now, this is my problem. This law is obviously nonsensical. Why, nearly every single American in this country is in violation of it, if pornography crossing state lines via copper cables counts, and yet the law is not enforced against us. No, this law's purpose is to single out a minority and torture them, socially and legally, taking away all they have by publicizing their 'dirty little secrets' and throwing them in jail for good measure. It is in this way that, upon release, they will be hard pressed to find a job, their families will avoid them, friends will have mysteriously vanished or changed their phone numbers, and they will have their world flipped upside down. This is, in effect, the same qualms I have against Megan's Law, but never you mind that.

People across the world have an opinion over the American Legal System, mostly, if not wholly, negative. The reason, I believe, the justice system in this country is horrid is due, not to corrupt politicians, nor private jails, but for another matter.

It is not illegal for this man to write or sell this book. At all. Everyone who wants the author to burn in hell, to get violently raped in prison, to get shot in the forehead, to be tortured, to be flayed upon a stake, or whatever other graphic descriptions I've read good Christians and kindly Atheist neighbors demand of him, it is for an action that is not a crime. And thank god for it.

But because it is not illegal for him to write this book, the only way they can satisfy their vindictive desires for justice is by catching him on a nonsensical law that, as I have said, surely all of Americans are in violation of, but only those who go against the 'normal moral mindset' are convicted under.

It is in the minds of every American that its purpose is to extract vengeance from criminals. A sort of reparation to the victims, whoever they may be. Indeed, even people who are not the victims of a crime have become so self-centered that they demand revenge extracted from criminals and/or supposed criminals for 'crimes' not inflicted upon them.

This is why the US legal system is horrid. Not corruption of officials, but because the people themselves are selfish and corrupt.  And thus my slow descent into misanthropy, hating both man in particular and man in general, at least as defined by man in the particular.

----------------------------

My apologies, it seems I was a bit misinformed. I could type up my misinformation, but a screenshot with relevant links would be easier. And it would serve as an image for this post.

Link #1 | Link #2 | Link #3

Well, that being the case, I take back my remarks on the Federal law concerning obscenity. Not that it matters, but it's good to be honest about these things. My opinions about American citizens and using the justice system as a means to their sense of satisfying their 'revenge' I still stand by, however.

To be the dog

Thinking of it some more, I realized that I still felt some inner conflict over my own nature and desires. Not brought about by a conflict with the world views of another, but by my own perception of the future. I cannot, though I say this with some trepidation, see for myself a 'future'. That is, if I were asked to imagine myself in the future, say, 20 years from now, I could not. Now, not knowing what will happen in the future is quite natural, I'm sure, but I cannot just see myself in any situation, student, worker, married, single, dog, or human, at all.

Now, my issue comes from this in accordance with my desire, as I have stated before, to be a 'dog', as was termed previously. Now, to divulge into fantasy, imagining that I was able to live such a life with such a person to support me in just the way I enjoy the most, in just the way to satisfy any and every desire and Ideal I have attached to the fantasy. This fantasy being imagined, then, to its fullest Ideal, I have trouble imagining a future to it.

To put it more succinctly, supposing I had everything go my way to the utmost perfection, how could it last? How would it last? For example, the average life is to go to a university, get a girlfriend, get a degree, get a job, get a house, get a wife, get a kid or two, get old, get retired, get grandkids, get a funeral for your wife, die.

Following that pattern, the fantasy I desire lacks any sort of goal.

Yes, that's it: It lacks any goal. It is, so to speak, a slice of life novel, with no climax, no rising action. What I fear, then, is, if there is no climax, will there be, then, a falling action?

That 'fear' is likely just a result of lack of life experience, though, and isn't so pressing. I just need to study some more slice-of-life pieces of literature and other media to see how they work.

More than that, is it even possible for a human to live day after day with 'respect' without possessing a goal whatsoever? Not that I, or, I suspect, those others who read this, NEETs and leeches the majority of you may be; not that I care for the respect or even opinion of society as a whole, mind, but, in regards to the fantasy (which I have not, nor will, define exactly, as it possesses many faces), if the one person whose opinion I do care for drops, it will be of my own fault.

Perhaps I am struggling with the image of the working person that I have grown up with, having it, for lack of a better term, forced down my throat and into my heart by, literally, every human being I'd come into contact with as a child, so that, now, some part of my brain has flags and red lights shooting up at the very thought of wanting anything other than hard worker, earning your meal and so on. I lack passion for such a life, yet feel as though I'm doing something wrong, a feeling that reverberates in the deepest parts of my being, for wanting anything other than that life.

Truly, having written and reread this, I see that my issue is that I, quite simply, cannot fathom an individual who would support this 'dog'; someone who lives day to day with no outreaching goal, no desire to own a bakery, or to become a doctor, or to become a better painter, or to learn how to swim. Indeed, if I had to imagine the future, the very most I could do is say that a goal of the dog's would simply be to help its owner achieve their goals. A leech, in other words. It is, to my mind, completely unthinkable, in the literal sense of the word, that an individual exists who would willingly allow such a leech on their flesh. No goal, no desire, no future prospects other than to live one day after the other.

Indeed, the first thing that comes to my mind imagining such a leech is the unshaven, unkempt hobo, living each day searching for food and resting. If I were to imagine the life and future of a stray dog, so to speak, then perhaps I can get answers to my own feelings. What is it that hobos do when not foraging and dumpster diving? Beside standing at street corners begging for money. Oh, and beside socializing, assuming this would be an asocial hobo.Thinking about where he failed in his life? But that feeling of failure would likely be more rooted in that he has to search for food in the trash of other, more well-to-do of his kind than that he had no future. I imagine, at least. Or is it? Could it be that his feeling of failure results in that he has no power to escape his situation? Regardless of whether he would want to or not, is it that he has no choice in the matter that causes him his feelings of self-pity and self-revulsion?

I find such an answer doubtful. Though the caged bird may look at the sky, it still sings with the other birds regardless. And if the cage is spacious enough for the bird to enjoy stretching its wings while still remaining inside it, and if the cage is more cozy than outside of it, is it not rational to want to stay encaged? To say that lack of freedom causes the hobo's sadness and regret just feels as a wrong answer to me, especially since many of my day-dreams of being a dog involve the loss of privacy of my very thoughts, in one way or another.

Going on a completely different route, then, what if the regret the hobo feels is due to an issue of responsibility and reward? That is, the hobo, pitiful as his lot is in life, is responsible for a multitude of things that require an excessive amount of work to accomplish, things that are taken for granted by more well-to-do members of society. It'd be pointless to go into details, but what if this stray dog's regret comes from having to do this excessive work just to survive, while receiving for it no praise or reward? That is, a doctor has the responsibility of a hobo (survival, getting food, etc), as well as the responsibility of a tax payer, and the responsibility of a doctor, and the responsibility, perhaps, of a father, etc. And for fulfilling some of those responsibilities, the doctor is praised, paid, rewarded, or what have you. Of course, no one would praise a doctor for having made money enough to afford a meal at a fast food place, and though such a task may be daunting for a hobo, no one would praise him either. Nor should they, really, but that's neither here nor there.

In this regard, is, then, the regret toward life that the hobo feels a result of the realization that he struggles with what the rest of society does as easily as breathing? The prideful belief that, "I should be able to do this easily. I shouldn't be struggling with so simple a task as this"?

Ah, whatever. I've not read very varied philosophy doctrines or pieces of literature, but I'm beginning to harbor a hatred toward it. Every question spawns a new question, and, now, I've rambled so far away from my original intention, I've no idea where I am. If nothing else, this can be an archive, of sorts, that I can look back to in case my thinking every pulls me back to this path of reasoning. Now, though, food and Rune Factory 3 call me.

I wish I were cute

I can probably blame this desire on the *chans, which, coupled with my own submissive being, caused to manifest in me this nearly pervasive longing for something that is beyond me, currently at least. Indeed, likely due to social rules on gender, it is extremely embarrassing for me to even say this, unlike on various *chans, due to having less anonymity here than there, even though the only difference is that I possess a (fake) name.

Regardless, I want to be cute. And I do not say this with as little regard as I would say, "I want to eat cookies," but with the gravity of a professor taken over by revelation on what he wishes to commit his life studying. Odd though the analogy may be.

 

I don't care what my sex or gender is, only that my body, stature, and face look, to my own subjective tastes, cute. I want to be cute, to wear cute clothes, to be treated, by those few who do deal with me, less by their conceptions of my gender as a man, and more by if they were dealing with a girl.

 The reason I decided to type this up today is likely due to a dream I had just last night. It was of me being married to some faceless woman who I really didn't have any knowledge of other than she was a business lady and I was her househusband, and that she was a shotacon and yaoifangirl, despite her...age. In any event, in the dream, I was cute, and did all the housework in a cute maid uniform like the one below.

Feeling the air brush between my legs, the skirt sway with each step as I went about my daily routines, it was all very enjoyable...and enviable when I eventually woke up. Oh, that I could look like a cute girl, or at least be androgynous enough to pass quite well as either sex depending on my attire,  it would likely give me a goal to work toward: to nourish the new-found narcissism.

I did imagine that this desire of mine was simply a succumbing to 2D 'perfection' and trying to apply said 2D Ideals onto an imperfect 3D world, but even with 3D girls, I find myself envious of their soft looks and feminine being.












Granted, when it comes to 3D, I'd much rather remain...noticeably young. Even if it would lose me a sex drive, I'd rather not go through puberty (as either sex, really, but never mind that) and remain the child. Makes me a bit envious of the immortals of fiction.

Now, thinking of it psychologically, I imagine that this is, perhaps, a way through which my ego is allowing my own submissive personality and tendencies to surface while coping with the gender roles I grew up with. Not to be an armchair psychologist, but simply as a way of trying to understand my own mind and desires, I believe that I am manifesting my desires to be, for lack of a better term, a submissive partner by superimposing them onto my beliefs of female gender roles. My enjoyment of feminine attire is simply my mind rationalizing by essentially saying, "If you want to be submissive, you must look the role, and, as Romans go to Gladiator fights for entertainment, if you wish to be Roman, you must enjoy a little gore." Or something like that. In any event, I don't want to rid myself of the desire, oddly enough, despite how depressed it may make me that I will never fulfill it. Indeed, even if it is 100% impossible to satisfy, I still believe I want to hold onto the vain hope that I might wake one day in a more ideal body. Not to say my own is detestable, but it is not ideal to me, you understand. Indeed, if I had some curves, was perhaps an inch or two shorter, and underwent a complete bone structure pubertal-reversal, removing my testosterone-made chin, broad shoulders, large hands, etc, then I would not be so displeased. Oh, my trachea is a bit large, too, so that would need to go as well.

In any event, this self-inquiry does nothing to help my desire to be the little girl, and, indeed, I can think of no way of fulfilling my desires satisfactorily. There's surgery, hallucinogenic drugs, and waiting for virtual reality to support a lifetime subscription/hook-in, all of which cost much beyond I could ever afford, and, even then, would give me less than acceptable results, for various reasons. I'd much rather call upon some omnipotent Goddess or Demon to grant my tiny wish, since they, at least, might have the ability to change my very bone structure, which is the greatest detriment to my desire. I wonder just what the extent of the power a certain gap demon possesses...and how painful it would be to employ her.

To be a dog

“Humans alone have the possibility of limitless advancement…They’re all tenacious little insects, really; like a bunch of cockroaches. It would do you some good to have a little drive and ambition. Maybe then you would be more of a man than you are a dog.”

I was wasting my time reading various things (which you can easily use Google to find, no doubt), and I came across this line. Told to a NEET, the speaker was, to my understanding, commenting on the vastness of human potential, yet declaring how spineless the NEET was for simply living to survive, as a dog would, than living to achieve, as a human would, in her opinion.

I am not entirely certain, but I believe the feelings this invokes in me mean that I take offense to this. Granted, I know the 'right' answer is to say that she is correct. I understand that it is...deplorable, to say the least, to wake up every day in a dull haze with no real ambition toward the morrow save for getting enough money to afford food and housing. I can see her reasoning; after all, humans have come so far, creating forests of steel, and becoming the top predator of the food chain, despite having no claws, no scales, no poisons, no defenses, and no offenses to really speak of. It is truly only through sheer ambition and drive that humans have been able to go from dull beasts living in caves to creatures who can transport their voice to the other side of the planet in seconds, and their bodies in but a few days. Hell, we have poisoned and conquered the very planet that we were birthed from. It is only natural (definition being, in accordance to our nature) to continue the legacy of desire and achievements.

Yet, despite this, I cannot help but believe that living the, albeit dull, life of a 'dog' would not be too bad. No need to worry about lofty goals or overarching desires, having the freedom to lounge about, to dream about physically impossible realities, to analyze your own thoughts, desires, instincts, and definitions. It would not 'achieve' anything; any mark left by such a person will not affect a large number of people. Indeed, I highly doubt the number would be higher than 30, much less hundreds or thousands.

And if that becomes boring, if you'll allow such a question? Well, the only thing I can think of, personally, is to find a lover and live for her, odd or unrealistic the suggestion may be. Indeed, when it comes to ambition to live 'as a human', I must admit to having none. Even now, I work only as hard as is required so that I may hope to get a piece of paper allowing me to work a job, which I will work only as hard as is required, so that I may get enough money to afford food, water, and housing, as well as a few luxuries to distract my mind from boredom.

Is it so wrong to have the desire to be a dog? It is ironic because just earlier today, before I came across this particular reading, I was reading a CYOA where the main character did essentially become the pet of a woman. I enjoyed it, even if it was a bit too centered on sex. and truly wouldn't mind such an easy-going and pampered life, provided it wasn't so centered on sex.

Such an introverted life would have no real ambitions, lofty or otherwise, and, indeed, I show my own escapism from life by stating I would rather live for another than my own self. Not that I say it as an excuse; truly, the thought of waking up, preparing breakfast, and seeing someone I honestly care for off as they work toward their goals does make me feel a sort of schoolgirl happiness. Kyaa~ Kyaa~ and all that rot. Even if not as a housewife, but as a toy, living for another, it would instill in me the express desire to please and to make the other's life as easy or enjoyable as possible. Such a servile person I am...

Still, to put it on a balance, such a person with such desires of hearth-tending are...unneeded. If, for example, a relationship consisted between two persons, both of whom were Human Ambitious, they would get along fine, all other things equal, and possibly support each other's ambitious attitudes and goals with a sort of competitive spirit. On the other hand, if a relationship consisted between two persons, the first of whom were Human Ambitious and the second Dog Ambitious, shall we say, they, too, would get along fine, with the former reaching toward her goals and the latter working to ensure the former has all she needs to achieve those goals. Therefore, in terms of efficiency, the Dog Ambitious is unneeded, as the relationship between two Human Ambitious persons would work just as well, giving the world, and entire human populace, two ambitious persons to advance the race. The latter couple would result in only one ambitious person.

All that said, I believe the main thing that is bothering me is simply that, by this little quip from her alone, I can tell that, were I facing her in the stead of the NEET, she would be utterly disgusted with me, as though I were a flea-ridden dog. That imagined look of complete disdain, that another person would feel that way about me, that is what bothers me the most, I believe. It doesn't feel good to be regarded like that. And it hurts worse that it's for a desire that I, honestly, feel I cannot help but feel. Like a feminazi, assuming the basis of her hate wasn't entirely idiotic, hating you because you're male. You can't help that.

It follows, then, that the reason I am having issues is that I am assuming the basis of her hate isn't entirely idiotic, to use the same phrase, or, rather, because I, truly, cannot find flaw with her reasoning. It is entirely correct, as far as I can see, that for a Human to live as a Dog would, living day to day solely on instinctive survival desires is a waste of life, of ambition, of potential. Yes, it is fully within my right to waste it, but that does not change the fact that I am committing a crime upon my very blood and being to waste it. It's dishonorable. It's ignoble. It is contemptible.

And it is because I desire it still that I feel affronted by her words.



.

And so I shaved my arms

The first time I shaved my legs, I put on my pants and was immediately filled with such an obsessive feeling of misogyny, it threatened to make me cry in utter rage against womankind, and likely would have had the sheer pleasure I got from putting pants on after shaving my legs for the first time not been so overpowering. I exaggerate for effect, but it really felt absolutely mind-blowing. Like a full-powered orgasm focused on the very skin of my legs.

Unfortunately, I've not had the fortune to experience such a feeling after that first time. I guess my legs got used to being hairless, and even though I've gone months without shaving to try and achieve the feeling again, it has always been for naught.

So I decided to shave my arms. Naturally, I had worried for months that my arms suddenly going from forested, in my opinion, to hairless would cause looks, rude gestures, and name calling from absolute strangers. Complete nonsense, looking back. Granted, I don't live with my parents, but those I do live with either haven't noticed, or don't care enough to want to say anything about it. Though, they could be talking about me behind my back...

Really, though, even when I pass the mirror, it doesn't look that different at all. It's a bit disappointing that my arms aren't as pale as my legs are. Granted, I've no hope of being a trap of any kind, but it's not like I have anything against looking feminine or anything, b-baka...

I wish I could afford an epilator, but even then I probably couldn't use it due to, from what I understand, them making loud noises when they're on. Granted, I could no doubt find a time to use it when I won't impose on anyone with my noise, but I just don't know how loud they are relatively.

In any event, my hairless arms have made me realize how long and skinny my arms are, and I've become increasingly self-conscious about it. I don't have any money for clothes shopping, but I do wish I owned a shirt with long sleeves instead of just 6 T-shirts... People watching has shown me that boys and girls look good with horridly skinny arms when they're in long sleeves, so I should find a way to emulate.

Oh, one more thing. When I shaved my legs, it took near on two hours to do them both, and I missed multiple spots. Indeed, even shaving them now, there are still spots on my legs that I missed with 1in hair patches. My arms were a lot easier, though, and quicker. Might have something to do with the top part of your arm having hair, and not your entire arm. Unfortunately, I also have hair on my shoulders, extremely fine hair that looks like slight smudges of dirt in a mirror. That's a major hassle to shave.

It is truly a blog!

I am weary.

Since the days when I left those months, filled with guilt and loneliness only the outcast can feel, I have had a constant headache, from a gentle throbbing just beneath my forehead to a violent beating on all parts of my skull from the inside. When I speak, it chastises me with a thump upon my temple. When I listen to others talking, it punishes me with a punch to my head. When I walk, it hits me twice for every two steps I take, and thrice for every three. Every movement, every thought, every breath is somehow worthy of punishment.

I am so weary.

I have nothing to gain by working hard, by studying for test scores, by interrupting my taking it easy. To be stressed with the responsibilities of a normal life is to feel annoyance from the very depths of your heart to your extremities. For this life of mine, to live everyday with listless habits, to have a rote life so I may take it easy until my mind fails me, to have the chance to rest and enjoy my life before I get to rest and enjoy my death, that is what I want out of this life of mine. I have no need for a lover, nor for children, nor for a big house with a white picket fence.

I just want to take it easy.

I want to have a place to sleep that isn't infested by bugs and vermin. I want to have food to eat that isn't rotten. I want to have water to drink and bathe in that is constantly clean. I want to have an unlimited, high-speed internet connection and a computer with a large hard drive.

I don't care for respectability in society's eyes, nor for stressing my own self with worries about bills, about dealing with people, about high scores for future prospects, or about survival.

I just want to be alone, and I want to take it easy.

Pity I have no proof that Balamb Garden exists.
Though, to my memory, that was a military academy, wasn't it?