I can’t get the archive style sheet for the new bookblog to reflect the same look as the main page. Arrrgh. The HTML portion of things is fine, apparently, but I’m missing something - and I’m certain it’s obvious and easy to someone who’s an honest-to-goodness web programmer, tech-savvy designer or Movable Type/CSS expert.

No point getting stressed over it, though. It won’t solve anything. I’ll sleep on it and perhaps wake up in the morning, flip through the O’Reilly CSS Pocket Reference guide I have here in front of me (quite literally - leaning against my keyboard) and figure it out.

I watched “Shaun of the Dead” with my brother and his girlfriend tonight. We baked brownies with little pieces of Andes mint candies sprinkled all over them. I had some Earl Grey tea. It was a nice, quiet evening.

I didn’t start my paper - but with good reason. The entire class got an email from the professor indicating that since she was unable to participate fully in this week’s online lecture and give us direction regarding the paper (due Feb. 16th) that we would recap this Thursday and the paper will now be due Feb. 23rd. She’s going to divide us up into groups and have us do an “exercise” to grow accustomed to policy recommendation and analysis.

Since I have a copy of the group assignment, I might take an hour or so tomorrow to see what kind of information about pre-existing policy, legal decisions, etc. I can find on the group topic. The whole online grad school thing is actually pretty cool in this regard: if I connect to the school library via proxy server, I can access all the awesome resources they subscribe to for free. That includes things like the Wiley Interscience database, the OCLC catalog, WorldCat and lots of other subscription-based services that the university subscribes to and that are, consequently, open to me as an FSU distance-learning student. It’s like a whole other world of research goodies!!!

But much geekier research goodies than I’d find elsewhere. I mean, I printed out an article from the Depression & Anxiety Journal entitled, “Are There Gender Differences in Objective and Subjective Sleep Measures? A Study of Insomniacs and Healthy Controls”, as well as one called, “Blogarians - A New Breed of Librarians.” That one is pretty interesting, though written several years ago.

It’s stopped raining, unfortunately, and I didn’t have any reason to set foot outside the house during the rainy part of this evening… and it would’ve been too dark to photograph my umbrella anyway. Boo hiss. This whole week is going to be cold and sunny. I guess I’ll have to check the 10-day forecast and see when my umbrella will be utilized… possible snow showers Friday and Sunday. OK. I can work with that. If it gets warmer or stays as mild as it has been, that’s rain.

You know what’s interesting? I was telling my parents how I got a really good review at work, and how I did well on my first grad school assignment. Rather than being happy for me or showing the tiniest bit of pride or simply saying, “well done”, my father said, “Let’s get you back down to earth - how are you going to pay for next semester? How are you doing with your credit card debt? Have you saved up any money for a car or to move out? Because you know your brother’s moving out in a week.” I just sighed and walked away.

It’s pretty shitty of him/them (my mother was there; didn’t say anything good and just asked me how I’d pay for car insurance). I mean, if *I* as the overachiever can’t impress them or make them proud or even moderately happy in a purely PARENTAL way, how must my siblings - who have a hellish road paved for them by my overachieving ass - feel? Or maybe they don’t care? I don’t know. It brings me down, though. Then they complain that I don’t tell them what’s going on in my life… and I feel I have good reason. The promise of misery.

If I share something that’s made me happy, they’ll make damn sure that they bring me down off of my little cotton ball of a cloud and make me feel shitty for feeling happy about *anything* when my life is clearly full of so many bigger problems that should prevent me from feeling any pride or happiness about anything I do. It’s been this way all my life and only now am I realizing how harmful, unfair and emotionally/mentally draining it is.

If I got a B, why wasn’t it an A?
If I got an A, why wasn’t it an A+?
If I got on the honor roll, why not the HIGH honor roll?
If I got a promotion, why wasn’t it to a better position?
If I got a new job, why isn’t the salary higher?
If I got on the Dean’s List, why wasn’t I offered more scholarship money?
If I lost 10 pounds, why wasn’t it 20 or 30 or 40?
If I made a good dinner, why wasn’t it low-fat or why didn’t it have more garlic or why did I foolishly spend money on artisan cheese?

When I got the highest possible score on the AP exams I took (a 5) or was the only kid in my school district to score a 12 on the district writing sample or got bunches of scholarships or moved out into my own place when I was 23, I heard nothing. That was as it should be and deserves no mention.

No wonder I’ve got some issues with self-esteem, accepting praise or compliments, and - oh, yeah - clinical depression. Sure - fine - same old bullshit, blaming it on the parents. I know that the depression and most of the other things are not their fault exclusively, but they certainly didn’t help and they’re not helping now… too bad parents don’t take an oath like doctors or police. “First, do no harm” - or the “protect and serve” bit. No, I’m not saying that parents should “serve” their children, but they shouldn’t treat them like crap either.

Considering that, is it really any wonder that I don’t want to have children? Natural, adopted or otherwise? It’s HARD work. It’s a lot of responsibility. For the same reasons I don’t want to be a heart surgeon, neurosurgeon, EMT, etc. I don’t want to be a parent; someone else’s life is in my hands. And not for the few hours it takes to complete a procedure where I have a staff to assist me and remind me not to leave a clamp or a sponge in someone’s abdomen… it’s for the rest of your life… you are responsible for that person - your child - in some way.

I have the utmost respect for people who fully realize this and choose to take this upon themselves - knowing it won’t be easy, knowing it will be a struggle in more than one way, and knowing that it’s a life-altering choice. I have the most bitter disgust for people who do it without thinking and then subject their children to lives of neglect, disinterest and sometimes, unfortunately, abuse.

My parents, after all is said and done, did a good job with me and my siblings. None of us are derelicts, addicts, abusers, or in jail. We’re all smart, relatively sociable and pretty well turned-out. And we’re totally f’ed up in the head, too. You don’t grow up with parents fighting all the time and always threatening to divorce each other (perhaps just as harmful and negative as an actual divorce) and making accusations and being abusive (all in front of the kids, mind you) and using you as go-betweens without developing some sort of insecurities and issues. Hell - maybe some people emerge totally unscathed just because they’re stronger and not sensitive. But I am who I am and my siblings are who they are… like it or lump it.

Too much. Blathering. Stopping now. I’m 27. I shouldn’t care anymore.