To make it complicated, I haven’t yet decided if I’m happy about it. If people have regrets on their death bed, the most common regret is having lived the life everyone else wanted instead of chasing dreams. Well, I’m just about to enter a life of compromises.

I get a ring, from a man, and I get to say I’m engaged. And that’s just about it. No real changes in my life. I will still live with my friend and probably never marry. My fiance won’t introduce himself to my relatives and there won’t even be an engagement party. Well, since I could use my birthday as an excuse, he is most likely coming to eat some waffles with me and my flatmate. All hail the luring power of waffles!

The proposing was most romantic. Me and my ex were both online in World of Warcraft and chatting and I mentioned him I’ve met another possible mate candidate. He seemed slightly annoyed and questioned my attempts to change my life. I told him that I’m not going to live my life without getting married or at least engaged. He asked what “being engaged” means and if there are any legal procedures involved or possible loss of welfare benefits. I googled the reply which was pretty close to “engagement is just a lose agreement with not legal merit. It won’t take any of your money unless you buy rings.” I guess he liked the reply, because he said “Well, if it matters so much to you, perhaps we should get engaged.”

He would have done a Kneel-emote, but we weren’t in the same place in WoW, so he just wrote *kneels* in chat and asked if I would get engaged with him since it matters to me so much. He emphasizes that every time our upcoming engagement is mentioned. He is compromising and doing something he hates just because he wants things to stay as they are. My flatmate also wants things to stay as they are and thus she thought the engagement is a good idea if it makes me any happier.

I haven’t decided if I’m happy. It took two weeks of heavy arguing to convince my fiance that getting rings means nothing if he isn’t going to wear his. Since I only see him once a week, I have of course no way of knowing if he keeps his promise and wears the ring. But here’s the funny part, the thing that sets him apart from all the other men I’ve ever met and is the main reason I ever promised to be his betrothed: I trust his word. He very grumpily compromises and makes few promises, but that is mostly because he never wants to break a promise. He does what he says he will do, and I gotta respect that.

Respect and trust are two words often used and rarely meant. I might not get everything I’ve ever desired, but here in my tiny corner of the world I have not one but even two people who will protect me and attempt to make me happy. My friends actually need me and most importantly, they will be there when I need them, even when it is most inconvenient for them. Could I find a better spot for myself? Would I risk this spot just to chase after dreams? What really matters to me?

The answer is sitting a few centimeters to my left, I guess. I have finished 22 pages of script for the next part of the Pointless Adventure (or Päätön seikkailu for those who understand Finnish) and there is much more work to be done. It is one of the least read comics in the Net with four fans and four other readers. Yet I think it is a brilliant work of art and it truly is what matters to me most. Staying right here between my friends is the best way to ensure that I will be able to continue making the Pointless Adventure even if I never earn a penny with it. They respect my work and that is something rare indeed.

Those who have followed my blog for a while know that my betrothed-to-be hates my blogging. He thinks it is stupid to write any personal stuff on the Net and ever more stupid that you are reading this. Why would anybody be interested in the words of a nobody? Well, that was what my blog originally aimed to find out. I found out that indeed anyone with anything to say can find an audience and that is truly wondrous.

I also found out that I don’t really want to blog if it gets on the nerves of my future fiance. The funny part is that he doesn’t follow my blog and no one tells him what I write about. I guess he just thinks I can’t have anything to say that could interest anyone? I’ve been thinking if I could respect his disrespectful opinion and I think I do. I want to be a good mate, whatever that in my twisted way of life means. If he disapproves of me blogging, I cannot blog.

So, until he thinks I might have something interesting to say, I won’t be doing much blogging. I’ve always thought the world would be a better place if people respected their mates more. I guess I should even try practicing what I preach.

But there are a lot of games that are not sad stories. The first game to make my Top3 at spot 3 is Star Control II: The Ur-Quan Masters. It’s a game I never thought about buying, but Gravis Ultrasound thoughtfully provided a demo and I was totally hooked. The game was colourful, funny and difficult without being frustrating. And it can still be played on new systems thanks to the Ur-Quan Masters project. The best things in life actually can be free. “Here’s a ship, that’s space, please save the human race!”

The spot 2 in my ultimate computer game countdown goes to Monkey Island 2: LeChuck’s Revenge. It was the most fun I ever had. I banged my head to the keyboard for a month until I finally realized how I might have a chance at the drinking contest, and that is probably the most satisfying problem I’ve ever solved. The first two Monkey Islands were and are classics: clever, funny and challenging. Oh, and I still have a crush on Guybrush.

So, what is the best game ever? What game manages to steal the crown from the golden locks of Mister Threepwood? Well, I once heard about a game called King of Dragon Pass… and I never stopped hearing from it. Again and again the game manages to get installed, fills me with dreams of peace and battle, and makes me hum the tunes when I wash the dishes. The reason? King of Dragon Pass is a real roleplaying game. Basically it is just a long series of multiple choice screens, but while some choices make your life easier than others, here’s the catch: no choice is wrong. Your hero on a hero quest can  do the exact opposite of what historically happened and still pull it off. Or he fails but comes back home with interesting results. Or he dies and things look really bleak but the darkness still brings a new, previously unseen twist that leads to even greater glory if you just play your cards right. And that is what really makes the game so terribly catching and that’s why I never hit “load game” when something seems to go wrong.

I was once playing Dungeons & Dragons with my friends. We won a mighty battle and a mighty ghost promised to give us all mighty armour enchantments. My priest nodded, didn’t remove her armour to save time and just threw herself on the anvil and said “Sure dude, bang me.” There was a loud murmur among the players until the game master finally said: “You can’t do that. Your character has too high wisdom to do stuff like that.” I protested and then I protested some more, but my character was GM ruled and forced to do things differently. I remember muttering that “King of Dragon Pass never told me wise people can’t ever do stupid things.”

While I rarely advertise anything, I have to mention that King of Dragon Pass has just been released for iPhone. I don’t know if the new version is any good, I don’t  know what technical and legal stuff I should put here to please everybody, and I don’t even know what an iPhone looks like. I just know that King of Dragon Pass is my favourite computer game, a rare treat that gives and receives a lot of love.

But a week’s rest was like Cure Moderate Wounds on my knee and another week’s rest was like Potion of Cure Disease on my particularly nasty cold, so I’m almost up and running again.

At least I’ve had time to read the news. I avoid tabloids and try to focus on Real Serious Newspapers, thus it never stops to amuse me what they write about. And this is coming from a girl who can rant for weeks about double-faced cards ruining my Magic the Gathering experience.

A doll was recently pulled back from stores in Sweden because it was too thin. Now they are seriously discussing if it is anorexic and gives a bad example to children.

When I was a kid, I had dolls of every size and type and I never heard them encourage me to anorexia or obesity. Dolls don’t do stuff like that. My role models were my parents and the people they considered to be their role models. If a child’s role model is a doll, isn’t it really sad to point the finger at the doll?

The Teletubby Tinky Winky is targeted again, this time in Poland. Indeed the boy carries a handbag and thus they are now examining if “Teletubbies contain hidden messages that encourage gayness”. Did I read that correctly? Did I translate that correctly? Indeed I did. Oh dear.

A recent survey uncovered a shocking truth: a third of Finnish children, aged 9-16, have encountered sexual material in the Internet. Since only 20% or other European youths have done the same, this must be a national emergency. Countermeasures are taken so that children are better educated in school about the safe use of the Net. According to experts children that are exposed to sex are in serious danger of becoming porn addicts.

*facepalm*

*long facepalm*

*extreme Picard facepalm makeover*

Where are the newspaper articles that tell that parents should be bigger role models than dolls?  That being gay is ok? That it would be extremely odd and alarming if youngsters weren’t interested in sex? There are none, because according to the newspapers, thoughts like mine are destroying the next generation. Well, according to me, thoughts like the ones the newspapers give are much more harmful to children than mine. But I am losing the shouting contest, aren’t I?

Right now I feel so alone.

It’s autumn. It’s cold and wet and dark and he sky is grey from day to day. People complain a lot about the weather, I don’t know why. Warm cloths have been invented and darkness helps sleep better. And there’s the trees… They are yellow and orange and red and brown. Who cares about the weather when the trees are so pretty?

The new Magic the Gathering set Innistrad was released and it brought us double-faced cards. I’ve heard much moaning about the ugly checklists or having to turn cards in tight sleeves and possibly harming them. Tournaments had problems when people forgot to turn the cards around the right way between rounds. And I was supposed to write a fiery blog article about how double-faced cards are an idea that should’ve been killed at birth or at least limited to online play. But I can’t do it. I can’t find my angry mood.

Sims Medieval bugged badly again yesterday and screwed up two hours of playing. I didn’t even blink or shrug, I just loaded games until one save slot didn’t have the bug.

It took a lot of time and effort last week to advertise my new comic book pages. I mailed a lot of stuff on Friday to everyone who might be interested. On Saturday my internet provider messed up big time. We were just supposed to get a faster connection, instead we got double-billed and then triple-billed, they admitted after 1,5 months that they sold us the wrong modem, oh and on Saturday they deleted my email address and home pages. Without even warning about it by letter, email or phone call. I didn’t know they can do that. I guess they can. Although they are pretty sorry about their error, they are saying the domain might be not be available ever again, and the data on the pages is lost anyways.

I should be furious, but for some reason I’m more amused than angry. I’ve attempted to complain about possible publishers and readers clicking the dead link and how I’m missing a lot of opportunities. Without a doubt I’ve lost a few chances, I’m now just The Dead Link Dude. Yes, its sad. But frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

The trees are beautiful and some day my web pages will be online again. Meanwhile I have a lot of pretty Innistrad cards to play with, and Sims Medieval works better than when it was released. The third part of my comic book now has thirteen pages of readable script and the ideas on them are original and smart. I’m a bloody genius.

I apologize to those who follow my blog for the bitching and moaning. When I feel good about myself and I’m enjoying my work, absolutely nothing can bring my mood down.

Your turn, world.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to translate pages 45-94 to English because… well, because in three years I haven’t got a single feedback on my comic book from anyone who didn’t understand Finnish. I guess I made a bad book? Or perhaps just my homemade translation is bad? Oh well.

I’ve been making The Pointless Adventure for nine years now. It is a ridiculous amount of time and effort to put into 94 finished pages. Since I’ve just started making the script for pages 95+, I am of course wondering if it’s worth it. Is my comic book worth all my time and effort, all the ache and tears? Am I wasting my life?

I decided to go through all the feedback I’ve got from Finnish readers, all dozen of them. Everyone of them is a relative / friend / friend of relative / relative of friend of mine, so I’m not sure I’m too proud of the “audience” I’ve gathered. But feedback is feedback and considering it’s coming from people I know, it has been surprisingly nasty.

(imagine 20 lines of bitching, moaning and complaining from both readers and from me here)

A surprising number of people have told me I should ditch fantasy and do a comic about my own life. They tell me I should stick to what I know best. This cliche comment amuses me, but people don’t really get it, do they? The Pointless World is my world. I pay much more attention to it than to the real world. The lead character Yuli is my kid, and the home the adventurers are building on page 95 is more my home than this white-walled apartment where I am typing these words.

In the real world I can walk with my eyes shut and my ears closed, but in Pointless World I have to pay attention to every detail. Every person who walks on the streets on the background of the pages has a name and a birth date. I know why they are there, I know how they are feeling. And it is not sad to live so deeply immersed in a fantasy world. It is not even pointless. It is my job.

People have spoketh: my work sucks. I have spoketh too: I love my work and I will continue doing it. I think it is brilliant. I think it is fabulous. I seriously believe the tales of all these imaginary beings is worth telling.

If it sucks to be me, why am I having so much fun?

Then the patch came. I had high hopes, especially after I noticed Create a Sim and saving/loading sims finally worked and I didn’t have to starrrt all characters from sketch for every campaign anymore. After a few hours I wasn’t as impressed. While I was doing a quest with the barrrrd, the monarch killed the Tredonian princess by throwing her into the Pit. Now, that is not acceptable. It is like doing an away mission with Sulu and while you are not controlling the captain, Kirk decides to throw Spock out of the airlock. The game thought so too and the constable got stuck at the Pit. And because the quest required him to arrrest the bard,  the quest was as lost as my four previous save games.

However, things got better. All the old bugs are still there, but they raise their ugly heads less often. This game might still make you cry a bit, but you’ll get over it. Watching the little fantasy idiots go through their fantasy routines is relaxing. The game even gets pretty realistic when your happy couple can’t have any sex anymore because one of their kids is always doing something in the bedroom.

Pirates & Nobles is the first expansion pack for Sims Bugieval. It features highly detailed and cute Noble items that will make any princess squeal with happiness, and gnarrrly and brutal Pirate items straight from the pirate cliche factory. You can never have too many skulls hanging from your furniture, right? Putting make-up on the sims is now an option, not to make girl sims happy, but to make your male pirates look like Jack Sparrow.

Talking about birds, Pirates & Nobles has them. The hawks can hunt for meat, but parrrots proved more useful. You can dig around for treasure for hours, but your parrot will still prove to be the better treasure hunter of you two. Our real canary also reports that the parrot whistles and squawks are absolutely realistic and will make you go nuts.

The best thing about Sims Medieval is humour. Pirates & Nobles features a lot more of it, even every item description is worth reading. However, there was also some pretty immoral stuff, and this is coming from a person who is already used to quest objectives like “make that guy drink poison” and “have sex with that girl”. For example one quest didn’t give me any other option but to kill just about every person I encountered. They weren’t even evil, at best slightly annoying. I didn’t really see them as a  “threat to the kingdom” or “dastarrrdly backstabbers”. Is killing people for bad reasons some sort of weird American humour?

Pirates & Nobles is mostly about pirates. I love pirates. I give this expansion the highest amount of arrrs possible.

(tries not to think about what that sounds like when pronounced)

Some years ago my little brother noticed my tooth. “Why is your tooth like that?” he asked. I told him it had just decided to grow to a wrong direction and the only way to fix it would be removing the whole tooth. “But it’s not harming me or the other teeth and it is healthy. So why would I attack it? Besides, I’ve always assumed it protects me from dragon fire.” My little brother was convinced: “Cool. My sister is a half-vampire!”

Few years ago my little brother noticed my tooth again: “OH MY GOD! Do you know your tooth is broken?” And this time there was no way to convince him to accept my tooth. The cool half-vampire was now just a weirdo. He decided to take a better look at me altogether. He was disgusted by my hairy arms. “Why are you hairy?” he asked. I told him all people are hairy. “Then why don’t you shave?” he asked. I told him I don’t have the best of skins and I don’t want to irritate it just because of vanity. My little brother looked dismayed: “Why can’t you be like normal people?”

Few days ago my brother asked if I could go to an amusement park with him. I told him I might do that and he eyed me with all his eleven years of experience: “But you can’t go like that. You must get rid of those eyeglasses. Hair differently. Get contact lenses. Black clothes with staples. And most importantly: you must never go to any public place if your shirt says “Meat is murder.” I almost laughed but then I realized he was dead serious.

I managed to mention that I eat meat and don’t own shirts like that, but then he and his five-second attention span where in another room doing something else. I don’t even know what I would have said. I could have been a lame adult who lectures about respecting other people. Or I could have snapped back by mentioning that he still hasn’t apologized for stealing from me, but our parents have asked me not to bother him with it anymore, because it makes him angry and upset.

I might say my brother is an idiot, but my idealistic ideas have been called idiotic too, so who am I to judge? I might say my parents are not raising him properly, but I would probably do worse, so who am I to judge? I might say my brother is growing up to be a bad person, but since I’m sitting here doing art at the expense of my family and tax payers, who am I to judge?

We are all born willing to accept people as they are, why must it vanish? Why do we have to fight so hard to regain that quality? Am I a good or a bad person if I call someone else a bad person? Can I be a good example in anything if I can’t be a good example in everything?

My brother is hitting puberty soon and then I might not see him for a decade because I’m lame and not normal. All I can do is cross my fingers and hope for the best.

The tradition of people meeting in bars is not long. Many parents and grandparents and grander parents before them have met dancing. I could use the words barn dance, but that instantly makes me think about hillbillies stomping the floor and yelling  yeehaw to girls in cowboy hats and jeans. I could use the words ball or celebration, but they sound festive and jolly. The direct translation is platform dances or stage dances, but don’t think about long rehearsed dance moves and brilliant coreography.

We are talking about ordinary, awkward people and easy steps, like the most basic waltz you can imagine. Waltz is popular, so is tango and some other dances, all in their simplest form. It wasn’t about dancing, it was about meeting people. Once upon a time young people danced together, fell in love, got married, had kids and told their grandchildren how they met dancing.

That is in the past. Boys don’t dance anymore, they are taught from young age that it is humiliating to dance, especially in public. If you dance, you are a wimp and most likely gay. Girls still like dancing but old-fashioned dances are old-fashioned. It is possible to see a young couple amongst the dancers and even then it is obvious that the man has been forced there by his wife.

How do I know? Well, because many of these dances can be seen on tv. I wouldn’t watch them but my mother does, and thus I take a peek now and then. These shows don’t make me happy or sad, excited or desperately bored. I am only left wondering why people participate in these dances and why do other people watch these shows.

We are not talking about polished glamour, this is not Dances with Stars. Middle-aged and older men comb their hair to some direction if they have any, women put on a slightly better dress and a bit of dull lipstick. They are not pretty, they are not graceful. They are sweating, huddled so closely together that dancing is almost impossible. Some just love the camera and aim to dance and wave in front of it. If the camera catches a child or a youngster, funny faces and an embarrassed run for cover ensue.

What about the performers? They sometimes have their hair and make-up done by a professional, but not always. The acoustics are terrible, the machinery second class. Usually there are real people playing real instruments but they play with no ambition. It is their job to make some light noise at the singer’s background. Some of the singers are good and have charisma, but they still couldn’t have an international career.

The hosts of these shows aren’t something you see in American tv shows. With very little make-up they can be as wrinkled and fat as they get, they talk with a nostalgic tone but don’t have much to say. The jokes are a nice try, but nobody is laughing.  People stutter when they are interviewed and look extremely nervous in front of the camera. Everything looks plain and simple, cheap and amateurish.

Do these shows capture the essence of Finland or should we be ashamed of this part of our culture?  I haven’t decided.

The show “Summer Night’s Waltz” was cancelled at the end of this summer. I recorded the last seven shows for my mother when she was ill and we are now watching them every Sunday. The host is starting to look old, she looks really grey and tired and even sad. She interviews the people taking care of the dance place. I hear the man telling how the floods were so heavy this spring that he had to stop milking the cows to go and catch the ferry that was floating around the parking lot.

Floors and walls made of wood. Birches and hay. Rivers and ferries. Cows and old people. That is how the summers of my childhood looked like. To see that world still existing is as comforting as it is creepy.

The artists don’t ring any bells. Even my mother doesn’t recognize them. She says that getting famous artists is not always an option, sometimes the shows have to settle for cheap local talents. The girl sings badly. The band members attempt a smile when the camera passes them. The dancers are exceptionally sweaty and ordinary. I don’t have trouble realizing why many call these shows sympathetic crap.

But these are not sympathetic crap. These are one of the most popular shows on television. The last Summer Night’s Waltz gathered 422000 viewers. That is almost a tenth of Finland’s population.

“Why are these shows so popular?” I ask my mother.

“Old people LOVE dancing and these shows! Many met their partners in a dance like this. It’s traditional.” Her eyes are fixed on the tv screen. She sees something I do not and for a little while I feel nostalgic.

Nostalgia. Yes. When I was little, the dance floor was filled with people around the age 45-75. Thirty years later the floor is still filled with people around the age 45-75. Young people don’t dance but young people get old and then they apparently start dancing.

The tradition and these television shows didn’t die in a generation. The Summer Night’s Waltz has been cancelled, but there will be other shows. Finland is far from dancing its last waltz.

My final paper has a 10 because the teacher liked me. I didn’t deserve a 10. I skipped some of her classes because seven hours of school was too much and I sometimes got too tired I was lazy. I also once forgot to read for an exam and told her I did poorly because “the subject hadn’t been thoroughly debated in class and thus I hadn’t understood it”. However, because I still feel guilty about these things after sixteen years, perhaps I really did deserve a high number in ethics. I have high ethics. Too high actually to thrive in a world where lying is an accepted way of making money. Luckily I still have people around me who protect me and my idealistic ass.

If I could have debated about my sports grade, it would have been higher. But alas, debate was not an accepted method at sports class. I wasn’t athletic or enthusiastic about interrupting my studies to run around, and thus my sports grade hovered between 7 and 8. Why did I have a 6 in my final paper? Well, it is a long story.

My last sports teacher is the only person ever that made me instantly realize we wouldn’t get along. She gathered us girls to introduce herself and made some basic rules. One of those rules was “Periods are no excuse for skipping class. Only exception is swimming and even then you are not skipping class but making a very vigorous stroll around the city.” I stared at her, then blinked, then thought “Is she nuts?” I went home and very tentatively asked my mother what she thought about the sports teacher’s rule. Her first comment was “Is she nuts?”

No, I don’t think she was nuts. I think she just had easy periods. My periods still don’t go easy on me, but during my teen years they were absolutely terrible. I was feverish and sick and despite medication I was in a lot of pain. Teachers had been understanding and thus this new teacher scared me. Luckily my mother had a clear opinion: “If your new teacher won’t allow you to take it easy during periods, then you will SKIP ALL SPORTS CLASSES during periods. If that leads you into trouble, then you will NOT GO TO SCHOOL AT ALL during periods. My mother never forced me to go to school when I was in pain. I will not force you to go to school when you are in pain, especially if your sports teacher is an idiot. You will not be tortured. Use your own discretion. End of discussion.”

I learned that sometimes people cannot understand you because they haven’t experienced something. I learned that my parents trusted my discretion. However, I was also left wondering why my mother didn’t call my teacher and negotiate the matter. Perhaps she thought the matter was not open to discussion? Perhaps she thought negotiating this thing would humiliate me and make me stand out? Well, in any case she was a good mother and I was never tortured. However, I felt sorry when I had to miss non-sport classes that I would have managed to attend just because I had to avoid the sports class on the same day.

My sports teacher was not an idiot. She noticed that I was often missing and decided I was a rebel. She included me in the same sentences with the true school rebels, and I don’t know how to express how infuriating that was. She gave me the same grades as rebels. However, I thought she would still stick to giving me a 7.

To be honest, I sucked at sports. Because I was very short, I did badly at basketball. Because I didn’t play any ball games during my free time, I didn’t know the rules for football and I most certainly couldn’t hit any balls with a baseball bat. I still attended, I still tried. My teacher was frustrated with me. She checked her notes and asked if I cared at all about how high or long I can jump. Because I was too honest, I told her that no, I don’t care about stuff like that, I’m just jumping because she wants me to. She wasn’t exactly happy with that answer.

Simply trying was not enough. I once decided that I would actually test my limits during a skiing trip. My skis got very slippery when the day got hot, but I still pushed on with all the vigor in me. I sweat so hard that the sweat dripping from my brow froze in my hair. I sweat so hard that all my clothes got soaked through and my friend giggled at the large wet patch at my back. Was my teacher pleased? No, she passed me on the road, stopped and said: “What the hell are you still doing here? The other girls are a mile ahead of you. Can’t you really do any better?”

I remember turning back and taking the lead in our small group of loser skiers so that they wouldn’t see me weep. I learned that some people have expectations that you cannot ever live up to. I learned that it is actually possible to sweat through three layers of clothing including a super thick padded coat. And I also learned that getting soaking wet during winter is not a good option especially if you still have a lot of school classes ahead of you, and will result in a flu, high fever and many missed classes.

Did I mention skating? Skating meant that the boys get to play ice hockey in the best ice rink while the girls do figure skating stuff or play with sticks and rings  at the scrubby piece of ice behind the school. I thought it was not right and unlike my ethics teacher, my sports teacher didn’t like it when I had opinions.

One time we were finishing playing baseball and the girls were heading back to school one by one. I wasn’t the first in line, I wasn’t the last in line, but the teacher pulled me to the side and started scolding. “What do you think you are doing? I need people to carry the balls and bats back to school! Start carrying?” I mumbled something about all the girls being equally guilty of overlooking such matter, but it didn’t help. I didn’t mind carrying stuff around, of course not, but I didn’t like it when the scolding was deliberately aimed at me.

From that moment I at least knew I had been picked out. The teacher made it very obvious. If others forgot their skis and skates at home, they were allowed to go pick them up. I lived almost closest to the school and the trip would have taken me five minutes, but I was not allowed to leave the school premises. “You deliberately left your skates home so that you don’t have to skate. Thus you will now start walking around the school area so that all can see you. Start walking and if you have not done four lapses when—”

Was I really surprised when I got a 6 out of sports? I guess not, but it didn’t feel fair. I tried. I had always had a 7 or 8 for sports, always, even half a year before my final paper. This 6 was the only 6 (or worse) that I ever saw in my papers and it will forever grace the last paper I got, the only one that really matters.

It haunts me. It doesn’t say “You sucked” or “You should’ve tried harder”. It says “You know you did your best even in sports, the subject that didn’t interest you one bit. However, you failed to get along with your sports teacher. See this number? This is not a way to tell you you tried. This is not a way to tell you you suck. This is not a way to encourage you to do better. No. She thought you were a lazy skipping rebel bastard. This 6 at the finishing line is an act of HATE. She DESPISED you.”

I did very well in ethics. My ethics teacher taught me to always consider what the other person is going through. That the people who pick on you have most likely been picked on themselves. Perhaps my sports teacher had been tortured with sports during periods and she thought it was the right thing to pass on to future generations? Perhaps she often needed someone to vent on, and I just happened to be in all the wrong places at all the wrong times?

I will never know. Even after all the sports teacher made me go through, I never learned to hate her back. I didn’t write this blog entry to tell you that my sports teacher was a monster and I despise her. I wrote this to tell how sad this lonely 6 makes me every time I remember it. I was never worth a 6 in sports. I was never that bad. It doesn’t even say “6 in sports” in my eyes, it says “6 in people skills”. I feel sorry that my teacher had to feel that way about me. I feel sorry that we couldn’t be friends. There is no hate in me, only sadness.

And perhaps some day after all these thoughts, after all these steps of growing as a person, after all these attempts in trying to understand people instead of hating them… I might eventually earn the 10 my ethics teacher gave me. Like the 6, it wasn’t a number. It was a message that said “You have opinions and don’t let anyone tell you that is a bad thing. You know what it right and what is wrong. You are a wise and good person. Don’t ever let that change.”

Anyone can get a 6 at sports. It takes a lifetime to earn a 10 in ethics.

First solution: more painkillers. The pills I use are fit for babies but to my ultra-super-hyper-mega sensitive body they are hot stuff. I don’t need stronger stuff. Even now I’m scared of getting a painkiller headache. Being scared doesn’t help the pain. The headache keeps returning every day.

Second solution: bitch, whine and cry. Telling about my problems always helps, right? My family and friends are a bunch of lucky bastards, they get to see all my tantrums. So I tell them that my life is miserable to get rid of the headache… although the only thing really bugging me is the headache.

Third solution: get rid of all stress. After all the whining and tears, I give up. Again. I can’t take any stress. I have a migraine week every month (thanks, feminine hormones!). It is mild if I’m happy and it won’t go away if I’m stressed. Thus I admit that I am week and unable to do even the simplest things. Happy happy joy joy. Rainbows and unicorns. I forget all responsibilities and pamper myself.

The evil people call me weak, the bored people call me suicidal and my friends call me delicate. I call myself The-girl-who-wants-to-get-rid-of-headache-no-matter-how-weak-suicidal-and-delicate-I-have-to-end-up-looking-like.

During these weeks I often wonder how normal people do it. You know, those who have to get up early and go to work every day. How do they do it? Don’t they have headaches that won’t go away?

I’m feeling slightly better today. I guess. I hope.

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be healthy. It’s one of those things that you don’t even notice before it is gone.