My Story – AKA, The Day the Bastards Stole My Soul

March 24th, 2018

I'm going to lie to you.

Not on purpose, I'm sure, and not right now, but eventually.

I went on a few dates with this guy last semester who liked talking about heavy subjects. Like politics and the future of overpopulation and the problems of having religion and the problems of not having religion and all kinds of BS that made him sound like a pretentious prick. He once lectured me on memory and how tricky it can be. See, there are these things called 'false memories' and 'supressed memories' and 'cognitive dissonance' and 'Dunning-Kruger' and all this crap. Talked like he was the first person to ever hear of this shit before. As if I'm some dumb chick who needs the complex world explained in simple terms for her.

You understand why we only went on a few dates...

Anyway, he did enlighten me in one way. He told me about this thought experiment some professor or other came up with. It goes like this:

Most people will agree that nobody is perfect, right? Even the creamiest of the human crop is flawed in some way or another. Thomas Jefferson owned slaves, Einstein thought black holes were impossible, and the rasta-god preaching the most about love, Bob Marley, regularly cheated on his wife.

With me? We're all ignorant, hypocritical dick-holes in one way or another. Everybody, no matter how intelligent, no matter how careful, is wrong about something. Everybody. Which includes YOU and ME. So the thought experiment is "What are YOU wrong about?"

Go ahead and roll that one around your mind. I'll wait.

No idea, right? If you knew what you were wrong about, you'd correct yourself and you'd no longer be wrong. And that's the damned hitch, isn't it? We can't know ourselves that well. We just can't. Exterior input is required. So chances are pretty good that I'm going to say something that isn't true and you're either going to catch me doing it, or you're going to assimilate that bad information and then you too will be just as wrong as me.

Good. Now that we're on the same page - that we're all lying whorebags - you'll forgive me if I tell my story as I know it to be true. Maybe you have a different truth, but guess what? I don't give a flying shitcicle. Write your own fucking blog.

(Some real truth is that I feel crazy talking as if someone is actually listening, like I have a bunch of fans waiting to read my every word, but I think I'd feel even crazier if I didn't pretend this was intended for an audience. There's something infinitely sorrowful about people talking to themselves.)

Vultures

March 22^nd, 2018

I’m back. Don’t know why, but I am.

Scratch that. I do know why. My shitty shrink thinks I’d benefit from “cathartic writing” because “we all need a non-judgmental confidant.” I told him my parents were paying him a lot of money to be my “non-judgmental confidant” and he said, “I am, I am, for sure you can confide in me, but sometimes people filter themselves, even with a psychiatrist. Some feelings are too real to share with anyone, so a journal might help in a way I can’t.”

What a shitty sack of shit. Doesn’t he know I can get that kind of vapid, hole-in-the-head advice from television?

But hell. That’s when I thought about AdaEyes. Total page views since April 2016: 1. And that was me making sure my post went up. I was so sure I’d write everyday on my new blog. But I was a junior and didn’t know shit about shit and I basically forgot about it the second I finished my first post. So I guess Shitty Shrink had a point. Here I am, writing. Like this is some super secret medicine that’s going to cure my sick soul and bleed all the bad from my life and just make everything sparkly and new. Like it never happened.

But something did happen. Fuck did it happen. No amount of writing is going to change that. None. No amount of anything. It’s all over and done and I’m still here and still fucked and I just want to fucking SCREAM, but this is on a fucking COMPUTER and CAPITAL LETTERS just don’t FUCKING do the same FUCKING thing as FUCKING SCREAMING.

Fuck.

I’ll try it, though. Might as well. Nothing else going on.

But not today. Today, I’m going to find the thickest pillow in the quietest room and I’m going to scream my fucking head off into that pillow until my throat is raw and I pass out from breath loss. A couple of days. I’m going to come back and sit my happy ass down in front of this computer and I’m going to write it all out. Everything that happened to me and everything that happened to the other people and it’ll be like screaming into a pillow – empty and silent and maybe, but probably not, cathartic.

Damn I hope Shitty Shrink knows what he’s talking about. Because if screaming doesn’t work and writing doesn’t work (and these friggin meds sure as shit aren’t working; just make me feel even lazier) then there’ll be nothing left but an endless road paved in pain and regret and that just sucks the big one.

For now, I'll leave with a poem I thought up after seeing a vulture on the side of the road on my way home today:

Carrion wings blot out the sun

But for that,

I do not care

Let them come,

for at least some shall be spared

Test Post

April 4th, 2016

Well yippie-ki-yay MFers!!! Ada Sanz here with her new blog!!!!

And guess what!?! It's called Ada Eyes because Ada sees and knows all! Mwuhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha--
*cough, cough*

Woof, okay, sorry. Got carried away with the evil laughter.

Anywho, everyone has a blog these days, so why not me, right? Seriously, why not? Although I'm not  really sure what to do with a blog. But you know what they say. If all your friends jump off a bridge, you'd better do it to because life sucks when all your friends are dead.

Har-de-har-har!!!

Gems like these are what you can expect from dear ol' Ada Eyes, Queen of this here blog.

Stay tuned, guys and gals, more jokes, more insights, and more ooey-gooey goodness to come from your Queen. I might even tell you about my new boyfriend. Maybe. If you're lucky. And the only way to know if you're lucky or not is by checking back regularly. Gimme those page clicks baby! ;)

Ta-ta for now you lousy MFers!