I had an interesting conversation with OddlyFamiliarGirl a couple of weeks ago. I think it's worthy of a blog entry, it's just that I don't feel particularly worthy to write the entry. But, you've got to work with what you have, and I've got me.

Speaking of worthy, that's kinda what we were talking about. Self-worth, specifically. Everyone has a sense of self-worth. Sometimes it's right, and sometimes it's wrong, but everyone has one. And most of us get clues or validation for that self-worth from other people.

I say most because there are certainly some people who neither need nor want nor consider any external sources when they think about their self-worth. Those people are a minority, I think. Mostly Buddhists and/or assholes. Most people don't live in a vacuum. Mostpeople live in a society.

First, I'll briefly write about the normal people. The stable ones. The ones who are perfectly reasonable about their sources. These people look to their significant others, maybe to their immediate family, maybe to a few very close friends.

If one of these people has a falling-out with someone close to them, they feel bad. But they don't start questioning their worth as a person. They've got others who still think they're great.

If those normal people occupy the middle ground, there have to be people on both sides. The second group of people I want to write about is the group of which I'm a member.

One person. That's it. One person, whether he or she wants it or not, or whether he or she is deserving or not, gets the honor/privilege of determining the entirety of the sense of self-worth for you. If that one person likes you, then you're golden. But if that one person has a problem with you, well, it's pretty much devastating.

It's like I was telling OddlyFamiliarGirl, if she and I had a falling out and she started hating me, I'd feel sad about losing a friend, but I wouldn't suddenly start to think I was a horrible person. I'd get over it. Because she's not the one person for me. She's not my mirror.

The trick is choosing the right person. I, myself, have chosen poorly over the years. No wonder I'm such a mess.

At the other extreme, there are people who get their clues from literally everyone they've ever met. These people have a desperate need to be liked by everyone, no matter what. They try to stay friends with people who they should loathe, lest that person dislike them otherwise. A girl could be Miss America, but let her go home and hear from her boyfriend that she looks fat, well then she's fat as far as she's concerned. Any disparaging remark from anyone, and these people crumble. Their self-worth becomes their worst enemy.

This last group, I can't help but pity them. They' have the toughest time of all. Because it's a no-win situation. Nobody is loved by everyone. Nobody. And so these people are doomed to hate themselves simply because they're not universally loved.

I wish I knew some solutions. I really do. Both for my group and for this third group. But, I don't have any solutions. I'm just muddling through like I always do. And, right now, I seem to be looking for someone new to tell me what my self-worth should be. I sure as shit can't figure it out on my own.

I don't like it. I'm not entirely sure why I don't like it, but I don't.

It's just been too long. Too much water under the bridge, as they say.

I'm concerned, I think. I don't know what's going to happen next. Could be good, could be bad, could be nothing. I don't like this uncertainty. It, like I said, concerns me.

Plus, I'm a different person now than I was back then. I think I'm a better person now, though anyone who knew me back then might disagree. I'm certainly not the same person. Not even close.

And I don't really like being reminded of how I used to be. Oh sure, I might have eventually gotten around to doing the right thing, 20 years ago, but I should never have let it come to that point. To where the right thing was so fucking painful, I mean.

Could have been worse. I could have stuck around, kept hiding things, eventually exploded.

That would have been gross.

He clings. To whatever is left of himself, he clings.

I go down there, every now and then. Just to check on him. We were friends once, after all. I go to see if he's still breathing. Or if he'll say something. Or if he'll fucking eat something.

Over three months now since I made the toughest decision of my life. That's how long his hunger strike has lasted, and how long his voice has been silent.

He makes no sound when I approach. He shows no emotion or even recognition. He simply stares. At me, or maybe through me. I can't tell. His eyes. His fucking eyes. So much hate in those eyes. And so much sorrow.

So much determination, to outlast me, to outlive me.

To win.

You know what's worse than screams?

He stays down there almost all of the time lately. Down in the dungeon of my mind. The doors are not locked. He's free to come and go as he pleases. But he seems to prefer it down there. Or, at least, he prefers the darkness to the light.

His screams were so loud. They cut straight through me.

I feel for him. I really do. After all, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. Faced with that which neither of us could survive alone, the two of us together somehow pulled through. An unbeatable team bound, for a while at least, by parallel goals.

To endure. To live. To persevere. To exist.

To wait.

His screams were so piercing, but at least they showed strength. A will to keep trying, to keep fighting. His screams reminded me of those long-ago days and nights when we screamed together in horrible harmony.

You know what's worse than screams?

All I hear now is soft sobbing. And it keeps getting softer.

Ready to die, in fact, but not until he knows that he'll outlive me.

To love so strongly, no matter what, to never stop...

I admire him as much as I pity him. That poor magnificent bastard...

I think I've said something like this before. I always think that, though. I might be wrong. I know I've thought about it before, at least. And then Saturday I was reminded.

At my cousin Jamie's funeral, his sister (also my cousin) Danielle stood up and spent 15 or 20 minutes reading about her brother and his life and what various people had meant to him. I thought she did a great job, and I'd like something like that to happen at my funeral in the unlikely event that I die someday.

I want to nominate RockGirl for the writing assignment. She's by far the best writer I know, and she knows me pretty damn well even though we've never met. The thing is, RockGirl doesn't attend funerals. So it might be that one of my sisters will need to read RockGirl's words. That would be acceptable, I think.

I thought I'd make an attempt to standardize temperature descriptions. Please feel free to print this out and keep it with you at all times.

110: really fucking hot
100: fucking hot
95: too damn hot
90: hot
80: warm
70: nice
60: cool
40: chilly
25: cold
15: really cold
10: too damn cold
-10: fucking cold
-20: fucking arctic
-25: you've got to be kidding

I'm hopeful that this will be a nice weekend.

It should be, except for the funeral Saturday and then having to work Sunday afternoon. The nights should be good, especially tonight. I get to meet her daughter. I hope she likes me, and isn't a brat.

It used to be all so effortless, even to the point of bothersome. But it was okay. It was who I was. How I was. What I was. I was that guy.

This morning it's taking an actual effort. I can do it, sure, but it's quickly wearing me out. It's worth it, though. To feel like myself for a while.

Last Sunday was magical. My mind would return there, as always, but those thoughts didn't hold my interest at all. For the first time in years, my mind wandered.

Just found out that one of my cousins died. Weird. That's the second person from my generation, I think.

Happy birthday to my dear friend RockGirl!

I was just reading about how they think they have the technology to clone a mammoth, and there could be one born (using a regular elephant as a surrogate mother) within four or five years.

I think it will be cool when there are enough of them for me to go on a safari and hunt them with spears, just like I did in my youth.