Jaune Chat's Life, the Universe, and Everything

This episode scared me. And not because of the “Saw” references.

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In which many questions were answered, and far too many more were posed.

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And I didn't want to throw anything at the TV! Yay!

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(And that title is not really as creepy as it sounds. It's a song by Saliva.)

I'd like to talk about blood. I donate blood. I have since I was sixteen (which is, in America, the earliest you're allowed to donate). I'm just short of my three-gallon total, though I could be higher if I'd been more diligent about donating when I was in college. My dad has donated blood for a long time, as long as I can recall, because his blood type is one that can be used by a great many people.

As a point of information, no one in my immediate family has ever been in a major accident or had to have a surgery that required a blood transfusion. Very few people in extended family have been in that situation. One of my aunts died of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (essentially a blood cancer), and while I miss her, I know she was not in my direct bloodline (thusly I should not have to worry about developing the same disease).

What does all that mean? I have absolutely no passionate personal story about why I donate blood. I have never been the recipient of another's blood to keep me alive, nor has anyone in my family, nor has any of my close friends. I have no personal stake in wanting to get needles poked into my elbow and have my vital bodily fluids drained so strangers can make use of them.

But I do it anyways. Let me tell you more about it. ( Blood doesn't grow on trees, you know. )

Happiness is...

A freshly mowed lawn (and the knowledge that you don't have to do it again for a week).

A newly-organized bookshelf.

A whole bunch of shows to watch on TiVO and all day to watch them.

A fresh cold can of the caffinated, carbonated beverage of your choice.

A nice cold glass of iced Mystic Chai.

A newly-made bed with fresh sheets that you get to sleep in first.

When the cat decides to cuddle with you, and purr, during your entire show.

When the cat decides not to purr in your ear at 1:30 a.m., but still cuddles with you.

When those bulbs you put in the ground some months ago and totally forgot about bloom into the most amazing profusion of flowers you've ever seen.

When you see a recipie on a cooking show that not only looks delicious, and not too expensive, but actually like something you could do without having to go out and buy new appliances.

A freshly vacuumed carpet.

A drainer full of clean dishes that you didn't have to clean.

Spontaneous cake. Or cookies. Either is good.

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So, what random thing is happiness to you?

This is a depressing story. In here I speak only of the bad parts of my life. Know that even though I only write sadness here, I have had many good and happy experiences in my life. But it is in my nature to dwell upon my mistakes and my sorrows, particularly at this point in my life when knowing how they came about can help me understand myself.

What I write about is not the worst that can befall a person, and compared to many of the tragedies in the world, is but a tempest in a teacup. But maybe it will give you some insights as to how a person can become convinced they are worth nothing, through a slow build-up over many years.

This is the story of why I became depressed, why it went on for so long, and why I almost chose to remove myself from the world. Everything you read is true.

( To the Bullies of My Childhood )

The players are in place. The dice have been rolled. And Sylar has gone A-1 bonkers.

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Good acting in the face of bad plotting. And HRG still rocks my world.

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Several awesome moments of acting, and one instance of wanting to slaughter a clock.

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