Cogs can think.

Sometimes, the sweetest things come from people you really don’t expect it from.

I had a nice weekend.

Apparently, Linux Mint has a new release out named ‘Linux Mint 6 Felicia’.

There is something very, very disturbing going on here.

It’s a conspiracy. And I’m the only person in the world who’s not in on the joke.

Weirdest coincidence EVAR. During the party last Saturday, I was telling Anne about my apparent obsession with girls with one or more ‘a’s in their name. I listed my love interests, and all of them carry the letter ‘a’ in their name. As I was walking down the list, I reached Anne - not the Anne I was talking to (whose full name is Annemarie, actually), but an Anne I knew in high school. It’s not you, I joked, Another Anne, an Anne you don’t know.

Seven hours later, as everyone else was preparing to get into bed, Anne, Nadia, and I were sitting on the couch, with the girls sifting through my shoe box full of old photographs and memorial books that I carry from my early childhood all the way up until my first few years studying psychology. We reached my high school class photos. Annemarie looked at one of them, and got all excited.

That’s Anne! she said. I know Anne!

You have to realise that Annemarie and I have only known each other for a little over three years now. Wonderful years, but the odds of Annemarie knowing the Anne from my past are really, really slim. Annemarie is from Weesp and Amsterdam, high-school-Anne is from Alkmaar.

That was not only weird, but also a tad bit cool. Anne was probably my first major crush, and also the one who dashed my hopes in a way that I will forever remember as the coolest rejection method I’ve ever experienced.

Majors props for writing “No Thom, no.” in large, black letters on my school etui. Beat that, future love interests.

Last Saturday I threw a party for some of my closer friends at my place. The original idea was to hold the party during election night, but since everyone was being all responsible and slaves to capitalism, whining about work and school and whatever, we held the party the following Saturday.

The whole thing was awesome, but it did remind me of something Marco said somewhere last week or the week before that: we’re pretty much stuck with each other for the rest of our lives. The people that were here Saturday night, those are the people whose weddings we’ll visit, whose baby showers we’ll enjoy, whose funerals we’ll attend. I’ll turn 24 in three weeks, only six years and my life will be over, so I better get my social circle in order or else no one will cry during my funeral. Not because of me - but because they’ll be forced to listen to Fiona all throughout the god damn ceremony. THAT ONE’S FOR MAKING FUN OF FIONA AND ME.

But then again, I have this fear that even when we’re dead and buried, I’m still stuck with those people. I pretty much got front row seats in hell due to that one time I tried to score a chick on a graveyard in Belgium, and so do most of the other people in my circle of friends. But that’s not my biggest fear. Oh no.

My biggest fear is that when we arrive in hell, and Satan unleashes thousands of his minions upon us to commence the eternal cycle of torment and pain, I’m gonna be like, psssh. Amateurs.

I’ll be all like, uhm, fire? Brimstone? Dude, I already been to Texas, this stuff isn’t working. You guys have a similar administration to the one on the other side, right? You folk know all I’ve done and such, right? All my thoughts? Use that to your advantage, damnit! You guys have this whole untapped resource of subtle torture ideas, and you’re not even using it.

Take me for example. Sir Satan, you don’t have to waste all those precious mana points on casting thousands of little demons of fire - you can use your mana points much more efficiently by simply casting a kitchen where all the cups face the wrong way, where the cutlery is unsorted, but where no matter what you do, no matter how you sort and turn everything, the moment you blink, everything’s back to its unsorted state.

That’s subtle torture for you right there, sir, and you’ve saved on mana points, and you don’t have to deal with all those annoying demons of fire anymore (litterboxes for fire demons aren’t cheap, you know). Implement mana points saving rules all across hell, and in no time, you can conjure yourself a nice Alfa 8C with wheels of fire.

That’s my biggest fear. Not hell, but the fact I’ll probably make hell a lot more efficient.

Some short notes:

My mother was operated on again last Thursday. Not too long ago, she had a complicated breast reconstruction surgery done, but one of the breasts actually got infected, and needed to be removed again in a rush surgery. This week they fixed the situation, so let’s hope she doesn’t get an infection this time. Everything went well, and she will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow.

I introduced Renate and Bart to Battlestar Galactica (starting with the miniseries, of course), and they seem to like it so far. Bart is into sci-fi and space stuff, so no surprises there. Renate, on the other hand, isn’t a particular fan, so it’s nice to see her liking it. Let’s hope they’ll like the series as well.

On a very related note, Nicki Clyne agreed to an interview for OSNews. Nicki Clyne portrays Cally Henderson in Battlestar Galactica, and the first moment I saw her in the miniseries I had a sensation of wait-I-know-her-load-up-imdb, and as it turned out, she played a 5-line role in Dead Like Me (“DON’T tell your mom…”). I’m really looking forward to the interview - too bad it can’t be a face-to-face one (seeing we live on opposite sides of that thing filled with water, and I can’t swim), but hey, you can’t have the whole world. We’ll make do.

It’s 2am here, I demand a shower and a bed.

It was a rather cold January night, about 4.5 years ago. I had been tossing and turning in my bed for about one or two hours now, and I already gave up on ever getting some decent sleep done that night. My mind was stuck on something. Something was wreaking havoc through my brain. Tapes, coming out of ears, sticking me to the roof of the attic room that I slept in back at my parents’ house. I decided to do something that I usually did when I get stuck.

I jumped out of bed, put on some jeans and a shirt, and walked downstairs, through the kitchen, the storage rooms, and into my dad’s office. It was around 1am, he was sitting behind his computer, probably working on some poetry or one of his longer stories.

Dad, what if I don’t like her? What if those feelings that I think I have are nothing but an illusion? What if I’m interpreting this all wrong? It came out a little blunt.

Son, you never really know, my father reassures me. It’s nothing to worry about, we all go through this at one point in our lives. It’s perfectly normal.

I looked down. I started to explain. But I feel guilty, I say, what if she loves me more than I do her? What if I’m just doing all this for the sake of doing all this? Just to be able to say, look, I love that girl - just to be able to say it?

So what? My dad replies matter-of-factly. That’s nothing to feel ashamed about. We all want to pretend we feel something even when we don’t when we’re as young as you are. It’s called life. Learning to understand your feelings is more or less what life is all about. And when you die? You still won’t know for sure that all those things you felt were actually really true.

—

A few days later, it ended in tears, followed by a few big bangs. I did what I usually do whenever I don’t have a clue as to what the hell is going on: I blame someone else. Pointing fingers is something I happen to be really good at, you see. Pointing fingers moves the spotlight away from yourself, forcing it to focus on someone else. But it wasn’t solely her fault, as the people around me said. She was a weird piece of human, that’s for sure. An odd-ball, different than any other girl on this planet, but she wasn’t wrong. She was sweet, intelligent, and dealing with some really difficult things in her life - just as I was (and still am) dealing with some really difficult things in my life. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong people, wrong everything.

Oh, and she started dating someone else, which, oddly, kind of didn’t help the situation. And to make matters worse, I wasn’t in love with her at all, just as I feared. It took me a little while to find out, but there was another girl in my life. A girl that made me forget everything that I had learnt up until then.

—

I’m not an easy person to live with. Sure, on the outside, when you first meet me, I’m all easy going like The Beach Boys on Sunset Blvd, but when you want to get too close, when you want to know more than just the 5-10% that’s stuck to my outer self, you’re in for a hard time. I don’t let people in easily. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that my past left such a big mark on me, and seriously damaged the trust that I should put in those close to me, that I’d much rather build a little wall around me, with just one door that opens from the inside only. No windows.

That is, until I met her - and more importantly, her. The former fixed the door so it could open from the outside too, and the latter put in windows, and removed the lock from the door - in fact, she tore down the door, put a big sign on the doormat that reads “Welcome!” in Trebuchet MS, brought in a postcard with a ‘thank-you-for-being-you’ note, and then cosily put a comfortable chair inside of it for her to sit on whenever she felt like it.

The first girl? She was the one who I mentioned earlier, the other girl, the girl who I was actually in love with. This wonderful woman made me realise that I had so much more to offer than I gave myself credit for, she tapped into that sense of playful arrogance and pride that was lurking deep within me. She opened my door, and allowed me to be me for the first time. And I loved her so much for it.

But I didn’t want to know. My friendship with her was so close, and it meant so much to me, that I didn’t even realise that I was actually in love with her. The girl who I talked about with my father? She was a surrogate. And a surrogate that couldn’t even hold a candle to the real deal, no matter how hard I forced myself into believing that she could.

It would take me years to figure all this out. Surrogate girl didn’t become surrogate girl until only about two years ago. My friendship with non-surrogate girl (blogging without names sucks major ass) watered down rather quickly when she changed schools. I’ve been effective at pushing her away, and she has been effective in accepting that.

By the way, she never knew. And still doesn’t.

—

The tearing-down-doors-and-bringing-in-postcards-and-comfortable-chairs girl? That’s a completely different story, and she actually has a name.

—

I look back upon the last five years as somewhat of a revelation. I’ve changed dramatically - for the better, I think. I’ve become more open, outgoing, and I actually learned a whole new word, a word that opened so many doors for me, a word that made me realise there’s more to life than doing what people ask of you: no.

Still, I’ve got a long road to go, a lot of things to learn. But like my dad said - learning what your feelings mean is more or less what life is all about. More than ever, I now understand what he meant when he said that. I’ve got so many years of learning and mistrusting my feelings ahead of me, and you know what? I’m looking forward to it now more than ever. What’s happened has happened, what’s coming is already on its way, with a role for me to play.

I’m me, I’m open to suggestions, but I can’t guarantee I’ll take them into serious consideration. That’s life, peanut!

Please, do tell.

Why do Republicans have so much issues with helping their fellow Americans? Why is it that they are not willing to share their wealth with their fellow countrymen, their fellow countrymen who probably need it more than they do? Why is it so difficult for Republicans - who are probably devout Christians - to actually practice what Jesus preached, namely to help your fellow man?

I live in a country where 45-50% of your income goes to the state. This sucks balls. Seriously. Paying taxes sucks ass. However, it makes me happy, and somewhat proud, that most of that money will go to making my country a better place to live for everyone. To make it prettier, healthier, cleaner.

But most of all, I’m happy that part of the money that I earn will go to my fellow Dutchmen and women who need it most, because they don’t have the means to take care of themselves and their families. It makes me happy that my money goes to that single mother down the street (I really have a single mom living down the street) who can use it to give her kids a decent education, or to buy a car so she can increase her opportunities for a job.

It makes me proud that my money goes to the sick and the ill, like my aunt, who was struck down by cancer ages ago, and who can now only work a few hours a week - I know that it is my money that makes her financial situation much, much better. I am thrilled that with my money, the mentally handicapped have the opportunity to contribute to society, so that they can feel dignified and a part of it. I am proud that with my money, we can build and fund schools so we can educate children with special needs who might otherwise end up in crime, poverty, or welfare.

It fills me with joy that my money is used to make sure that everyone has proper healthcare, that everyone, no matter how poor, rich, unemployed, or sick you are, you will always be treated, taken care of, and looked after. It makes me proud that because of my money, lives are saved. It makes me proud that with my money, the elderly, who have built this country, can live a relatively worry-free life.

Sure, this country isn’t perfect. Tax money is sometimes wasted, and it sucks that the people actually have little insight of where their tax Euros end up. But overall, I know that in a few years, when I’m done with university, and when I have a decent paying job, I won’t be working just for myself, or to make my own life better - but that I’ll be working for everyone, to make this country better for everyone.

What these Republicans don’t seem to understand is that if you spread the wealth, you end up with happier people. And happy people are more productive people. And more productive people are wealthier people. And wealthier people spend more money. And people who spend more money are good for the economy.

Everyone wins!

I really don’t get it. They say they’re Christian, but judging by their actions and beliefs, they’re about as far removed from Christianity as you can get.

It’s all just so confusing.

Back in high school, I had a friend (he’s still a friend, although we don’t see each other very often) who was quite intelligent - as in, cum laude university. This is one of those people who are always right, no matter the subject, no matter the state of intoxication.

Except for this one time, like 6 years ago, where I totally omgPWNIES! him.

Him: “Damn, normally I don’t have many issues with Spanish - I usually understand most of it - but this Aserejé song, I don’t have a clue what they’re singing about…!”

The frustration was clear.

Me: “Uhm, dude…”

Him: “Yes?”

Me: “…that isn’t Spanish.”

I’m a firm believer in the fact that boys should always remain boys. At least, during some moments. Told you I’d buy it. And build it. In 6 hours.

110 EUR. Am I crazy? Of course I am. That’s why everyone loves me.

You wanna know what I’m gonna buy tomorrow?

This.

I so totally earned it for facing my demons.