Oh goodness gracious--just for the record if there were a blog olympics for writing this while cats jump all over me and my laptop I would have a gold medal. I will illustrate for you. A small, not so bright cat, a bright screen with a flashing line moving all over, obviously it is a toy! I'm not a cat person. I'm simply too nice to kick them out on the street.

Now for the good news. I successfully managed to link my old computer to my old where I proceeded to transfer files. I even managed to transfer my music which is hellacool because now I can make cd's with all those cool songs I downloaded oh so long ago. On the bad side, one of my disks has gone bad which means I have lost the most updated verision of my 43 page story. Yeah, that put a damper on the night. I have it printed out and I was going to work on it so I suppose I can just revise as I go but that really isn't very cool.

I say god damn, these cats are getting sold to the nearest Chinese restaurant. Their fat; I need the money. Sounds like a plan.

I am definitely enjoying my new toy. I enjoyed it so much on Christmas day, in fact, that I forgot to sing Happy Birthday to my father. Way I look at it, he never wants to stop watching whatever sporting event is on the television during my birthday so we're even. He and I are in agreement that singing the birthday song to someone doesn't exactly define a relationship. We're both just new age like that.

I had a fairly disturbing realization this Christmas. I'm starting to forget my uncle. For those of you just tuning in I will enlighten you--my uncle died when I was twelve. My only real memories are that he always seemed extremely refined, very cultured, slightly cold. I know had I the chance I would have really enjoyed him when I got older. What still pisses me off to this day is that he didn't have to die. The man had AIDS--there was no way to save him and no reason for him to die.

It is a strange thing that I have had these thoughts. At twelve his death didn't affect me much. I was too young to know him, and too young to care. I don't think I really ever missed him until about two years ago. It was then, finally getting to know my aunt, his older sister, that I realized how cool of a person he was. I realized how much fun I doubtless would have had with him just as I was with my aunt. Talk about delayed reaction. Eight years later I miss the bloke. How fucked up is that for emotional development? I suppose it all makes sense in some way. Now that I'm older and a tad wiser I know what I'm missing. Ignorance really is bliss.

VH1 had an AIDS special on the some morning. A tribute to all those dead and dying, an educational speech or two on where we as a country stand concerning the disease. It is disturbing to not be educated by the show, but reminded of the past. Growing up I spent a whole lot of time thinking "wow, I'm glad I'm not one of those people. It would be terrible to know what that feels like." Now I spend a whole lot of time wondering when I became on more grieving relative and faceless vicitm. I'm a statistic. It seems with every year I add to my tally, I prove another theory.

I sat through a sermon once, I remember one specific idea from it. The pastor discussed meeting people and how boring it is to meet someone who has never experienced anything. No one wishes tragedy on another, but how dull are the people that have never suffered? Is that because we percieve ourselves as having suffered and thus want someone to empathize with? Or is it because with suffering comes the hardest, purest kinds of truth and all people of a questioning nature crave that kind of wisdom? When tragedy strikes we want to know two things. Why did it happen to me and how can I feel better. Anyone can tell you it happened because "that's life" and you won't feel better until a period of time has passed. That's common sense. A sympathetic fellow, however, somone who has suffered before you can vocalize your feelings. Their wisdom isn't in knowing the answers it is in handling the pain. They've faced their demons, walked over the coals and come to terms with the ordeal. They can vocalize the roiling pain inside the chest that never seems to abate. They have the words for the feelings othesr are afraid to express. Listening to them you can stop feeling ashamed of your pain and understand it. Let it flow over you until you too have learned the art of survival. I think that is why people who have suffered are "interesting". Because if they've grown from their pain, not been destroyed by it, then they are living proof that life does go on. Sometimes when you're hit for the fist time you need that--you need to be reminded that the sun does rise tomorrow with or without your consent. A person at peace with her pain shows others there is a better life than simple survival. She is interesting because she is amazing.

I'm not sure what is too be learned here except some pains never go away. More amazing, though, is that old wounds always break open. The Christmas season is terribly hard for that. I doubt there is a person alive who doesn't feel alone one way or another through the holidays. How important it is, then, to let those you care for know you are thinking about them. How important it is to be understanding of everyone. While life can always be better what must be remembered is that it can always be worse. I don't know if that is optimistic or not. I'd rather think of it as plain old common sense.