Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) |

Shinigami

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:32:34 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:32:34 GMT -6

Shinigami's Emo Corner:
OK, cards on the table-- I'm not remotely high right now. But I have to say, after everything got all real up in that memory cave last weekend, I haven't had sleep this good in two years. I don't want to make it seem like I was sleeping terribly though-- it's just surprising, in that ostensibly my life's been so upbeat lately and I was so used to just passing out and waking up in a rote fashion I didn't remember sleep could be this rejuvenating. I don't feel weighed down in the slightest and my thoughts are so UN-muddled. As such, I apologize profusely for the self indulgence to come, but I want to give this a try and see how things go. I promise to do my best to make this interesting self indulgence at least.

Thank you as always for your time and understanding.

How my Cat Saved My Life.
In my nomadic family's prime spanning 1969-1999, we acquired nine different cats-- in order: Baltimore, Brandywine, Anastasia, Angela (the former two the only blood related felines), Teeheuwitt (named after eponymous Robert Loggia's T.H.E. Cat-- T. Hewitt Edward Cat--an acrobatic bodyguard), Chauncey, Figaro, Margaret, and PJ (I.E. Prince John). This is about Figaro, who joined our family in October of 1986 and lived until January of 2007, the longest life of any pet we had.

Shinigami

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:34:36 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:34:36 GMT -6

The Runts of the Litter:

    Figaro was a raven black haired Maine Coon cat. She was very small when she first arrived, and easily spooked (my mother wanted to call her Spooky). My sister had picked her out and was dead set on calling her Windy, but Mom pointed out the twins had never been around for a new pet, so we got dibs. We had just seen Pinocchio, so despite the fact that said cinematic Figaro had been male, my brother and I gleefully and inadvertently condemned our cat to a lifetime of oblivious gender identity issues at the hands of confused pet sitters and
vets.
    My sister had our family determination though /praise. She didn't take defeat lightly. She still called Fig Windy, and grabbed her at every chance to keep her locked away in her room. She didn't play much with Fig-- she just didn't think it was fair everyone else could hang out with someone she chose. My older brother felt differently, or rather precisely the same way but in an opposite direction as my sister-- he'd grab Fig and lock her in HIS room to the same effect. And my eldest brother just liked having a new cat to sneak up on and shock with the occasional water gun or deep bellow.
And the culmination of Fig's survival for this first month? This was back when we still had our cats play in the backyard, and she ended up befriending a skunk that liked her a little too much. She had to be washed in tomato juice thoroughly. Sufficed to say, the vets we took her to in those first few months said if she couldn't stop randomly urinating and didn't learn to process her meals properly, she wasn't going to last more than a few years at best.
    Now I don't want to paint my siblings as monsters here-- they were simply coping with a chaotic upbringing by grabbing sources of stability where ever possible. The problem was treating Fig like a commodity-- a means to an end instead of just letting her exist freely and giving her comfort and good will. And this universally applied tunnel vision was suffocating her.
    As for myself-- a small digression. The scariest scene in The Shining for me? Most certainly not the twins talking in unison, nor Jack's meltdown to Wendy, nor the bloodied hallways. For me, it always has been and always will be the scene where Danny wants to get a toy from his parents' bedroom at the Overlook and Jack happens to be awake, mandating Danny sit with him. That scene gives me the shivers. It nails that feeling exactly-- Danny's already lost the situation the moment Jack asks Danny to come and he hesitates ("What? You don't trust me? I'd NEVER hurt you! Come over here!"). The perpetual anxiety there as a youth isn't about the punishment-- it's about the inevitability of making a mistake that will lead to it. A child tries so hard to rationalize what can't be fully processed-- if only I act perfectly, if only I find a perfect balance-- I won't have to worry anymore. But the tension never leaves. And every interaction is unsettling and unnerving.
    Digression over-- I found out decades later my mom had threatened to leave if my father didn't agree to stop working so much and would promise to spend more time specifically with my brother and me. I laughed rather hard when she bragged about this position and informed her of the two fold ramifications in reality. One-- that the other siblings were pissed as hell Dad was spending time with us and not them. And two-- that Dad was a draconian warden at any task assigned to him, going through the motions as strictly as possible to gain what he really wanted-- the opportunity to go back upstairs from bedtime reading in the basement and talk with my mom for the rest of the evening about his day. So I never asked why the eggs were green or how Horton had such good hearing, that's for fucking sure.
    As such, that evening when I first found Fig under my bed, any filial piety altercations where a scarcity-- but I was still anxious and sad and despondent. But what really surprised me that night wasn't that she'd hidden under my bed. It's when I looked into her eyes and I saw she wasn't scared at all. She wasn't shaking, she wasn't ready to zoom out of there like she was at every other time I'd ever seen her.
    She was perfectly calm and just looking softly back at me. Like Gordie with the deer in Stand By Me-- I didn't ruin the moment by trying to speak or touch her. I just looked back for a bit. And all my anxiety was gone. I don't know how to truly describe such resonance-- it was simply the idea of someone saying silently "I see you." And that was enough. I felt so much better.
The next night she was there again. And the next night after that. And after a week of gazing calmly, she came out from underneath the bed and slept at its side, even allowing me to lightly pet her. After a month of that, she slept on my bed at its foot. Another month still and she curled up next to me. And after a year, she was so used to my pillows that she slept on one as it lay on my chest. And what really shocked everyone after that first year was she when finally started to purr.

Last Edit: Jun 7, 2013 15:35:32 GMT -6 by Shinigami

Shinigami

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:37:33 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:37:33 GMT -6

Quantifying Affection:
    Now, purring isn't automatically or even a clear sign of cat affection.
Kneading is the go-to action for depicting a cat's happiness. And Fig did that in spades, much to the detriment of our furniture. And being a Maine Coon, Fig didn't talk much anyway-- they don't usually meow so much as murmur or rasp utterances. But when she started purring, she didn't stop. She purred for everyone-- she was content and she wanted everyone to know it.
And moving around so much over those years, I didn't even realize the special relationship taking place. She sat in my chair with me at the dinner table. She slept on my lap when we watched TV/movies. And I became a very light sleeper once I got my own room-- so I needed to keep her out at night (for the uninitiated, the majority of cats just can't stay stationary for too
long in a given night-- they sleep ALLL over the bed/room and get up and down in spurts to press whiskers against their territory and survey things out).
    As such, much to my father's frustration, she wore out the carpet entirely underneath my door trying to dig her way in. And the back house glass door underneath my room was where she stood guard, as it were. She was very timid until an animal came anywhere near that door, that's for damn sure. Be it a fellow cat, a bird, a raccoon, or a deer, she started howling and trying to literally ram the door with her head. That got my attention immediately, hahaha. I had to zoom downstairs fast to calm her down so she wouldn't break the door or her skull keeping invaders away.
    Point is, it wasn't until much later in my life I realized how unique a companion she truly was. I saw other cats that just happened to be roommates in their owners' dwelling. Or stray cats taken in that never really adapted from being isolated, insular, and removed in personality. It took her awhile to blossom from that frightened runt of the litter, but Fig ended up energetic, pleasant, caring, and devoted. Her happiness was infectious, and when the older cats died, she was the first lead cat I'd ever seen that didn't have a pecking order for meal time. She was driven to eat as soon as she could, no question about that (all cats are /cheer). But she wasn't about keeping other cats from eating-- she waited her turn and at worst paced about frantically anticipating her share of the feast.
    I don't mean to blabber on about these details as if they quantify her affections, but all I have are her actions to define her cheerfulness and her spirit. And when I returned home from college, she surprised me again. I decided to leave my door open and spend a whole day petting her on my bed, like old times. Dinner time rolled around, and my mother popped up from the kitchen--
certain that Fig had died-- she never missed a meal and an hour had passed with food untouched.
My mother brought in Fig's food dish and yet Fig still wouldn't eat right away. It was like she was scared to choose the food and get distracted and she'd end up losing me or losing the chance to stay with me again. I teared up like crazy and gave her the food myself slowly with a spoon while petting her. I wasn't going to leave her alone again after that.

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:39:41 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:39:41 GMT -6

Reciprocity:
    A few years later, the best I can guess at what took place was the following: a late 2006 December tropical storm rolled into town-- the last remnants of a rambunctious hurricane season. There's this opening between the front lanai and the screened wall for my mother's old condominium where only cats can fit. A lot of dirtied and fertilized soil stained water gets in there following a major storm. Usually I can keep Fig from doing her Guard Duty there and drinking any of the water. But whatever she drank or even if it was just old age-- I'm guessing she had massive renal failure. But much like Gary in that Taxi horse eulogy from
Jim Ignatowski, Fig wasn't really aware what was happening to her-- in her mind, she was still a kitten full of cheerful spirits. But in reality she'd lost control of her rear legs completely and she wasn't processing/digesting anything she ate.
    We'd had a hard enough time going to hair cutters or vets for any external issues since they always wanted to strap Fig down or were afraid to drug her and be liable for her not waking up again at her age. So I didn't argue with my mother that the best course of action was to just let things play out and do our best to make Fig comfortable. The roughest of it for me was when Fig would be in the living room and see me coming-- she'd lighten up and try to get to me, be perplexed that her legs wouldn't help out, and try to drag herself across the carpet. It horrified me from the first time it happened-- so I learned quick if I was coming home from work or leaving my room, Fig was going to stay with me on a pillow so I could keep her comfortable. I only left her outside when I had to go to sleep.
    After about six days of nothing but the same old cheerful Fig levels of energy, that weekend I found her silent outside my room in the morning. She was just resting but it was clear she wasn't feeling well in the slightest. I only tried once to wake her up. I got some water, chilled it with an ice cube like she preferred, and petted her slightly to wake her and see if she wanted to drink. If she wanted to keep going. She opened her eyes slowly and murmured in pain. I was broken up inside but I stared calmly back at her. I don't know if she understood what was going on, or if she just wanted the pain to go away so she could go back to being happy, but I saw her calm gaze return for a moment, her anxiety dissipated, and she went back to sleep. I gently placed her on a pillow, carried her into my room, and left her on my bed for the rest of that hour before she finally passed away. And then I cried terribly.
    But I don't post all this to be a Debbie Downer for a Friday to a week of nothing but pleasant news. I mention all this because I want to make it clear what she meant to me. When I asked my mother if I was good son, and if I did the best I could for Fig, she mentioned how reliable, convenient, and easy to deal with I always was. Like a Vulcan calling a human's efforts
"satisfactory" and meaning that in the highest praise, I smiled for her kind words. And I didn't need more emotional fulfillment than that growing up. But still, no one goes through life hoping to be compared to State Farm Life Insurance in an emotional relationship. And my father had love to spare, but spite in spades-- to hug you or sit on you in equal measure of his chaotic temperament.
    And I don't know how universal this experience is or how all encompassing my ignorance is on this-- but to me the conflict of that emotional divide, the uncertainty of reciprocity, makes one feel like his or her love is tainted, damaged. Broken. Like Sawyer says on LOST's S1 episode Exodus: Part I-- "kids are like dogs. You knock them around enough. They'll think they did something to deserve it." I wanted to keep things together and be strong and mend what I could. But the emptiness of that abyss just makes you ache over time and it unnerves you. No matter how minute the emotional divide it widens over time and eats away at you.
    But Fig made me realize my love wasn't broken. That I could give to someone else and it wouldn't be rejected or spat upon.
That it could simply be accepted, cultivated, and inspire joy. No matter where I was in that abyss or how much of it surrounded me-- I saw her and she saw me. It was that simple and it was all I ever needed. It wasn't my parents' or anyone else's faults for not supplying this-- it was simply a blessing that I got something so wonderful to begin with. And more importantly, that I got to appreciate it for what it was while it was with me.   So in the Tao of Jeff from Early 21st Century Romanticism, or Tom Hanks' character with his last package from Cast Away-- if I can't say it here in this lovely CZ hearth we have, I won't be able to say it anywhere else.

Last Edit: Jun 7, 2013 15:40:14 GMT -6 by Shinigami

Shinigami

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:41:46 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:41:46 GMT -6

Knowing you saved my life. Thanks, Fig.

Fig Photos: Fig as a kitten (about 4 months old, Christmas '86):
pic100.picturetrail.com/VOL580/2507576/23549686/406874155.jpg

Fig Photos: Fig Chillaxin' (5 years old, Christmas '91):
pic100.picturetrail.com/VOL580/2507576/23549686/392905451.jpg

To all the pet owners here today-- love your saviors. They deserve it /cheer.
And thank you as always for listening. I really needed that.

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:49:49 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:49:49 GMT -6

Follow Up Comments #1:

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Semi-bored torontonian
I really don't know what to say, other that this was beautiful, and moving, and it made me cry. Thank you for sharing. You've made this board a better, more interesting place, Shinigami.
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Shinigami Apple Merchant
/hugs. And all I can say is I'm just trying to emulate and uphold the beautiful standards you all have cultivated here over these past two years. Thank you for making this place open to sharing and connecting on so many intellectual and emotional levels.

Without that this'd still be something I keep in the back of my head and reflect on just to make things seem less dreary on the murkier days. You can't tell many people out there about this stuff without it coming off like "if it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college." (no offense to Lewis Black meant-- that is a hilarious bit).
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Semi-bored torontonian
Thank you. I don't consider myself an especially interesting poster - my style is dry and academic, and I've never been especially creative. But being on this board has been a remarkable experience - even a therapeutic one on many levels.

I've always been a really lazy writer; it takes me forever to write an article, I get easily distracted (SQUIRREL!), and I'm really skeptical of the value of my own ideas. But it occurred to me a few days ago that for the past couple of years, I probably expressed myself more in writing than I did talking. It's not that I don't talk, but I have been writing so much here, and it's a kind of liberating experience that I'm not exactly accustomed to. And the flipside of all that is that I get to read great stuff like your posts and others.

When I said that I wanted Community to get renewed so we could keep this place going a bit longer, I wasn't kidding (of course, now that Harmon's back, I have a reason to look forward to the show too). What was I saying? (I told you I get easily distracted). Oh yeah: without making it sound like we're just patting ourselves on the back, this place is very special, and waking up to posts like yours, and having a better morning just because of that, is part of what makes it so.
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Shinigami Apple Merchant

Anyone who can compare the the sincerity of Community to the heartfelt murmuring of Hannibal's tragedy so succinctly and poetically most certainly has creativity in abundance.

And /comfort on writer's internal skepticism.

I think the underlining problem in the academic field of today's society is we've slowly gravitated from trying to spark, generate, and encourage new ideas to being anxious and fearful of making mistakes or missteps of any kind. It's either reinvent the wheel or pounce on the nearest weaker dissertation to assert dominance.

It's the age of universal innovation but at the same time it's the age of over saturated indoctrination. Countless studies countering other studies. The majority of new advancements are building better mousetraps of previous discoveries so everyone's just trying to avoid hitting a whammy on an Academic Version of Press Your Luck.

But the ideas of what you think and what you say definitely hold value here-- immeasurably so, I assure you. And I concur-- it's great having this place around with Harmon to boot for another year at least /cheer.
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Semi-bored torontonian

I can't entirely blame my academic training for my boring-ass style; my congenital laziness has always gotten in the way of the constant practice I needed to actually develop as a writer (I've been getting somewhat better by posting here, actually).

But yes, academic writing has gotten dry and uninteresting, and it's not just fearfulness (honestly, that's not as big of an issue as you think, at least not in the humanities where people write about the most insane things imaginable). It's the pressure to publish to advance, and the measurement of one's worth in the quantity rather than the quality of publications. Coupled with the glut of academic journals, it makes for a rather dispiriting landscape. In addition, Anglo-Saxon academia has often looked on style as at best a distraction, and at worst an affectation - there's a weird, quasi-Puritanical mindset, that seems dedicated to removing any sense of pleasure from the act of analysis, as if learning needs to be painful to be effective. This produces some unspeakably dry prose - doubly so if mixed with the word salad of the poststructuralist/ postmodern theoretical vocabulary. I much prefer the French - at least they understand the value of good style.
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Unregistered Guy Named Eric
FWIW, I don't think your writing has the problems of dry academic writing at all (the endless listing of examples without evaluation is one; also the total unwillingness to take or accept big leaps in logic unless someone else has already done so and can be given a footnote). Generally, your personality and opinions come across strongly and clearly. The formalism you do have tends to work in your favor, as far as structuring and clarifying your ideas. If anything, it's a refreshing contrast on the AVC where, for all the talent and intelligence of their writers they have an imperative to befriend you/sell you on what you're about to read in the first sentence or two. Your writing seems more sure of itself.

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:54:13 GMT -6 Stephen77 and Traegonometry like this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:54:13 GMT -6

Follow Up Comments #2:

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Dr Regina Phalange
*hugs*
You are amazing. Really amazing.
I'm going through a similar thing with my dog right now.
(here's a picture: imgur.com/qPzEbQw)

He was very close with my Nana and since the day that she died, he's known something was up. I swear that pet owners hold some form of ESP with their pets, because he was always there with us. He may have been shivering a lot of the time, but he was going through the same emotions as we are if that makes any sense.
He's right now so scared, he's fallen asleep on my bed. He never does that.

Fig sounds like a beautiful, loving caring cat that anyone would've loved to have. I'm so happy that she brought you so much joy. And thank you for hitting the nail on the head in terms of the pet and owner relationship. It's a bond. Family members joke that my dog, Max, is my brother. I always laugh them off, but it's kind of the truth. I'm an only child, so he's kind of all I've got in terms of siblings. And in a way that's one of the best things ever.

There's an episode of one of my favourite TV Series that I think you'd like. It's from The Vicar of Dibley, which stars Dawn French as an Anglican vicar who is sent to a small country parish. In this episode, she decides to hold a service for the animals of the parish. It sounds like something that you'd appreciate.
Luckily the full episode is on YouTube!

Thank you for sharing. You're moving me to tears every time you write an amazing extend post. Thank you.
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Shinigami Apple Merchant
/comfort. I'm so sorry again for the loss you, your family, and your brotherly canine have to endure at this time. The youngest of our pets, Prince John, bonded deeply with my father. And when Dad passed away, PJ went from being an aggressive, rambunctious, adventurous cat to very removed and reclusive.

His constitution had always been weak because of his goat mentality (he consumed anything in his vicinity-- plastic containers and cloth alike). He frequently became ill but my Dad nursed him back every time. Being down in Florida for a year with only my Mom around, PJ just wasn't the same anymore. So the next time he fell very ill, she just had him put to sleep to minimize his relentless pain and grief (he wasn't even eating remotely regularly anymore and hid under the bed constantly).

But it all goes back to those bonds-- different pets form different bonds with different people-- all in unique ways. Some are babies to their owners, some are siblings, roommates, comrades, and confidants. Your brother Max is so lucky to have you right now, and you him. As you well know /comfort.

And thank you for the link and good wishes. Blessings to you as well.
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Teah-Timeh

Excuse me...did you say "washed in tomato juice"?

That bit about how soothing it can be to simply stare into a pet's eyes...it's spot on. My go-to calming excercise is to remember my dog sleeping stretched out on the lawn. It's almost surprising how effective it is.
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Shinigami Apple Merchant

I did indeed. Fig stunk so bad she reminded me of my Stinkor He-Man action figure. It was horrendous. My parents had to fill the bath tub with tomato juice to get the stench completely off her (Venture Brothers got that bit right) and she understandably despised the whole experience.

Plus I don't remember this but my mom said later Fig had some sort of infection or something and needed to take pills and my mom was the only one who could do it effectively.

Long story short, Fig hissed at my mom instinctively on sight until the day she died-- not out of hatred, but merely as a defense mechanism from that whole traumatic experience.If mom didn't let Fig smell her hand first before moving to pet her, Fig was freaked she'd have to get bathed and force fed pills again and recoiled.

And yep, /hugs all around for pet soothing solidarity. It got to the point in high-school/college when I was tense/stressed I'd have dreams of a panther (or black spotted snow leopard) staring at me peacefully from a shroud of darkness. All my tension would go away staring back. There's just something about that connection that never goes away once it's formed. It sticks with you.
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Semi-bored torontonian
Wait, so Fig lived to be 20? That is A LOT; the oldest cat I've ever known was 18, and at that point he was just a sleepy mess.
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Shinigami Apple Merchant

Yep, she sure did. Take that, vets of the 1980s! And I swear until that final day she had nothing but spunk in her step-- it was amazing.

pic100.picturetrail.com/VOL580/2507576/23549686/392905453.jpg
Our second oldest was our sweetest Siamese, Teeheuwitt. He lived to be 17. By comparison he was eternally elderly, but a real sweetie.
Not a mean bone in that cat's body. Not even to intruders. He was perpetually freezing though. Hence why he was the only cat who loved to sleep near the babies.

Perpetual cycle for him-- sleeping near a kid or fire, getting woken by the kid crying/moving or the fire sparking on him, grumbling a little, then sleeping right in that spot again and purring. My favorite Siamese and male cat by far. Even if no one could spell his name right /comfort.
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Semi-bored torontonian

So, which one is you?

(that is a great photo; cats aren't usually so tolerant of babies, maybe because babies like to pull and tug on things)
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Shinigami Apple Merchant
I'm the one currently giving Teeheuwitt body warmth. I was a very messy eater so any pic that had dark clothes or bold shades was definitely me.

And yep, if it weren't for his eternal cold shivers, Teeheuwitt probably wouldn't put up with any baby antics. Still, he was always in a kind, mellow grumpy mood.

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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13) Jun 7, 2013 15:58:02 GMT -6 Stephen77 likes this

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Post by Shinigami on Jun 7, 2013 15:58:02 GMT -6

Follow Up Comments #3:

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e pluribus anustart
Did you declaw any of your cats?
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Shinigami Apple Merchant

Most definitely we did not. My sister did for the two strays she took in. And I'm personally vehemently against that practice. The following reasons come to mind (just my personal opinion):

1. Bone structure. No matter how well done the procedure is, declawing cats from what I've read and seen messes with the fundamental bone structure of cats' limbs. They don't walk the same way, they don't interact with their environment the same way-- it's an onychectomy-- their paw bones are being literally amputated. And the procedure itself is apparently severely, tremendously painful. Even if we don't count the chance for inflammation or infection. In terms of the importance of the developed tendrils in place for the growth of a cat, I'd say it's like clipping a bird's wings completely off.

2. Kneading. Now maybe my sister's cats are an exception (they were 3-4 month old strays when she found them), but from my experience-- declawed cats either don't knead at all, or it's severely reduced in frequency. Yes, they can still mark their territory and stretch their limbs with their whiskers, nose, and general flexing. But again, this is a central component of modern domesticated cat existence being cut down to reduce damage to a person's furniture. My sister's cats still purr. They are still content. And maybe it's just me-- but they feel more emotionally neutered then, well, when they were sexually neutered.

3. Biting. Cats instinctively use their paws to defend and establish boundaries, even when being playful. From my experience with declawed cats-- they don't even swat things playfully as much as they just trounce stuff with their body weight. And if they're upset, be it minutely or extremely, they go from deadbeat purr to bite at the drop of a hat. Everyone in my family had scratch marks from our lovely pets, but only my sister and her nieces have bite souvenirs.

Maybe there's a painless way to do it. Maybe some cats can handle it and still live productive lives unfazed in the slightest. Maybe my sister's pets are an isolated incident. I've no clue nor have I done any studies. All I know is every cursory item I've read says it causes numerous harm psychologically and physically for the primary benefit of simply preserving furniture slightly longer than usual. It's just not worth it and then some from my perspective.

Just my 2 cents. Sorry for the Animal Planet Police Squad Speech there.
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sll03
I had the absolute pleasure of reading your AMA a few days ago and have since then been waiting for an opportunity to arise wherein I could properly thank you for it; it seems I have found one.

The admiration and respect I have for you is ineffable - though ironically, I suspect your unparalleled writing capabilities would find it very easy to articulate - and I cannot fathom how you manage to stay so constantly positive and upbeat considering some of the hardships you have endured. Your presence is always comforting. Your insight is always eye-opening. Your attitude is always inspiring. Thank you for taking some time out of your days to spend them with all of us. We are better for having known you; you are a truly remarkable human being.
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LloydBraun
*belches*
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sll03
You jest, but oh how I've missed that Lloyd Braun eloquence!
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Shinigami Apple Merchant

Thank you so much for your kind words. It really means a lot to me.^^ In reality I'm definitely more a misanthrope and not remotely that optimistic about things, particularly social interaction. I'm mainly David Mitchell ala Would I Lie to You? (as opposed to David Mitchell ala Peep Show). His "look of resignation" here pretty much sums me up:

So yeah, in reality-- David Mitchell and Alex Rieger. Or Sawyer (for self deprecation and instinctive mistrust) and Sayid (for cold objectivity and neutrality) using LOST parallels. Definitely got some of that Dan Harmon "wires with fraying ends" problem myself. But I'm trying really hard to be Hurley or Jim Ignatowski at least. It's only the open and friendly atmosphere you guys promote here everyday in your discussions that makes me want to try to be better about things because you show it CAN be better. I want to live up to that.

But someone says they have the sniffles here for instance, and I immediately get insecure thinking: "if I say /comfort will it come off as BS? I don't even know these guys as much as everyone else here. I sure hope this doesn't come off as phony. I have to try. Great now you're over-thinking it again, too. Wait-- cure cat pic! Booyah. Everyone loves those! Thank you, saviors!"

And I have a feeling that if that AMA had included "what's the worst thing you've ever done," that'd put me in a more realistic light to be sure (especially since the worst thing you can do about the worst things you've ever done is not want to take it back if/when given the chance). Nothing terribly egregious or illegal (especially compared to my parents). But nothing remotely pleasant and white lie-based either.

In any event, everyone here is sensational from my perspective. We may have our downsides or disagreements, but we each exhibit the fundamental buttress of human existence-- empathy and understanding. Through mutual acceptance, those shared eyes of our perspectives make us Britta's cats-- together we can do anything! /cheer
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sll03
Your well-wishes never, ever come off as BS; don't you think that for one infinitesimal second, mister. Every single comment you make rings true with only the most genuine sincerity. On these here boards, you always exhibit the demeanour of Hurley, the dapperness of Sawyer and the genius of Dan Harmon. That, my friend, is a diabolical combination in the best possible sense.

As for your concerns about judgment in regards to "the worst thing you have ever done" - the fact that you may have made some mistakes would not change anyone's high opinion of you. I said you were a remarkable human being, but the emphasis was on both "remarkable" and "human". To be flawed is to be human, silly! We've all been there. That's why we're all here.

You just stay awesome and keep being exactly who you are.
/cheer right back atcha!
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violincatherine
the ones who are really nuts are the ones who never doubt themselves.

/comfort
/cheer
*BIG HUG*
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Shinigami Emo Corner- Cat Chat (06/07/13)

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