So I come into work today. I was called in last night. Wasn't scheduled originally, but this was going to make things easier for the music department, where I work a lot. It was a lot of work, but I didn't have a problem with it. It actually felt pretty good. I got to work with someone I enjoy working with and the time pretty much flew by, even when my back would hurt from bending over again and again.
Near the end of the shift, (actually a little after the end, I had started a small project and wanted to finish it before I left) my coworker compliments me, saying that I worked hard and that she's glad I came in. She says, "you're a rock star." Just kind of the sort of thing she says. I smiled and probably would have kind of hemmed and hawed about it, not really a big deal. But then one of my managers, one I actually really like working with, was apparently leaving to go to lunch through the music department. She overheard this, and not a second after my coworker said it, my manager says "He's not a rock star. Don't tell him that."
Suddenly it feels like my heart has just been kicked into a pit, and it fills in the words 'He doesn't deserve it.'
I know she meant it as a joke, but it just felt horrible to have a compliment ripped away like that. I'm pretty quick to throw myself under the bus as it is, I didn't really need the help. So now the good feeling from before is gone and it feels as though everything is just dragging now. And I can't help the thought from appearing, "What if I'm right? That everyone does hate me, and I'm just a fucking loser who does nothing but get in the way."
And I don't know what to do now. Because normally that manager and I are always ribbing each other, taking pot shots at the other, and it's all in good humor. I don't care, because we're just fucking around, having a little fun to make the shift go faster. But this felt like I was handed a really meaningful gift, only to have it ripped out of my hands before I could even feel its weight.

It Wouldn't Leave Me Alone, So I Finally Wrote it All Down

Back in First Grade, I was really proud of my ability to read. I loved it, and really felt good about it. Of course we were all still learning, but I was the type of kid to want to learn spelling lists before we were supposed to get to them (got a teacher's aide in trouble for giving me the next week's list early because I wanted to learn). So when we were given an opportunity to show off what we had learned, how far in our reading we had progressed, I was excited. We were going to read a book together as a class in front of our parents in the gym. Sheep in a Jeep. I still remember the title. The teacher had one of those really big copies, so all us students could see the words and read along. So, being excited and proud of this, I told my mom, asked her to come see me do this with the rest of my class. She promised she would make it. That she would get off of work to come see me read with the rest of my class.
So, when she didn't show up, I was heartbroken, I was devastated. I didn't participate I was so distraught. I sat outside the gym on a bench and bawled my eyes out. She didn't even show up late or anything. I heard my classmates reading along just fine inside the gym, and she didn't bother turning up. I'm not stupid, and looking back, I'm sure she got caught up in work and forgot. Happens to all parents, right? But also on looking back, it just seems like the first in a long chain of events that resulted in zero trust in my mother, and an often overwhelming feeling of worthlessness.
In sixth grade, I failed my first class. Health. Yeah, I could blame it on the fact that it was about the kind of changes I was going through, and it was really awkward for me to focus on. Or that while in elementary school, I had some semblance of friends, even if I wasn't really close with anyone, now I had no one. I had zero friends and no idea how to make any. Whatever the case, I failed, and it was ultimately my fault. When report cards came home, and my mom finds out about my F, she doesn't talk to me about or talk to someone else about it discreetly. She gets her sister and goes on a walk, bringing my three siblings and I on this walk on a big bike trail. The four of us are trailing behind, not that I can't hear her telling her sister how I got a "fucking F." Like I couldn't fucking hear her. I get that she was disappointed in me, but I just remembering feeling like the worst person in the world, because who else would be forced to walk while having your crimes so vehemently proclaimed to a relative? Not like I didn't already feel awful and horrible about the whole situation or anything. She couldn't have left the four of us home and gone to talk with her sister? Was it really necessary to humiliate me in front of my siblings as well?
The summer after seventh grade. I had decided I was quitting band. I hated it and I sucked at the trumpet in any case. I was done with it. I told my mom, and she asked me what I was going to do for an elective instead. By seventh grade, I actually had a friend. My only real friend. He was in choir, and so I thought that I could do that too. I tell her I'm thinking of trying choir in eighth grade. She immediately bursts out laughing. At me. Like I've just told the biggest fucking joke. No, more that I am the biggest fucking joke. So, caught extremely off guard and very embarrassed, I laugh too. Because clearly I couldn't have been serious. Clearly it wasn't a matter of trying to find something new, and having a class with my friend.
Since entering middle school for sixth grade, I started swimming competitively. I loved it. It was awesome, and it was mine. My brother had his sports and I finally had mine that I was good at and I liked. Of course, my mom puts all of my siblings in it as well, and they're good at it too, and that's fine. Easy to have us all in the same sport so she doesn't have to drive herself nuts trying to get us everywhere. I can deal with that. This was still something I did first, and finally a physical activity I enjoyed. My younger brother still plays soccer though. He's done it for years, and he'll continue to do it for years. In eighth grade, my last year swimming for the middle school team, I'm excited to be swimming at conference. We had a huge team, and it was co-ed. I was excited to be swimming in the final meet of the year. There was no state competition for middle school. Instead, I get to do warm up for the meet and then am told by my mother that my brother has a soccer game in Denver (probably a good hour, if not longer, drive away). I tell her that I'm staying because I really want to swim. This is important to me. I'll find a ride home if I need to, but I really want to stay and swim. I am instead herded in to the van with my siblings and am shuttled to Denver. Because my brother's sports are more important and come first, and this is clearly some sport that I'm going to give up after this, just like the other sports I tried and didn't like. That it wasn't something I really enjoyed doing. This is, of course, how I feel looking back on it all. Because when we get to where the soccer game is supposed to take place, only then do we find out it's canceled. It wasn't even an important soccer game, just another one placed throughout the season. Not like the end of the year conference swim meet I was forced to miss for absolutely nothing.
Since kindergarten, I knew I wanted to write books. I love the hell out of them, and so growing up I would write stories all the time. Though it took a long time for them to grow beyond the pages given to us by teachers as an upper limit. But eventually our family got a computer, and I eventually got my own. I would get on whatever typing program I knew about at the time, and I would go at it. Throughout middle school and high school I write bigger things, and I was again excited about what I could do. So, when I'd ask my parents to read things, I understood that they'd worked all day and wanted to relax for a while. They'd tell me to leave my stories on the counter in the kitchen, and they'd get to it. I wanted my mom to read them most, because between her and my dad, she seemed like the one who'd actually want to read a story. She'd written her own children's book when she was in college, and she was the probably the one who was the reason for the books on our bookshelf. I'd wake up in the morning, hoping to get some feedback, wanting to know what they thought. But they'd never mention it, and I'd realize over time that my printed out stories never moved from the spot I'd put them on the counter, sometimes over several days. So I'd silently take them down and try with something else, some other story. But the result was always the same. They never talked about it, and they never read them.
There were other events in my growing up, like being told my ideas sucked and were stupid when I tried to add some creativity to a group map project. It was supposed to be an older map, of old sea routes or something. I thought it'd be really clever to draw in a little sea monster or something, because I'd remembered seeing some maps like that having "Here Be Monsters/Dragons" for areas unknown. I thought that'd be a nice touch. Of course I was told it was a stupid idea (thus starting my hatred of group projects). This was just one of the non mother-related times that slowly and subconsciously taught me I was worthless.
Over time I just grew to believe that my ideas, my actions, and just myself, were worthless. Not worth the time to pay attention to, or to be proud of. That it was wrong to be proud of them, because no one cared. "And why would they?" I'd ask myself. It was just me. I'm not worth the effort. No need for anyone to get excited about me.
It's all convened in to the fact that I don't trust my mother with anything about me. Because every time I felt most proud of myself, of who I was, or where I was going, what I was going to try to find out more about myself, she told me that I was worthless. She told me I wasn't worth the effort of caring. So, I eventually stopped feeling pride in my accomplishments and trying new things.

Because clearly, I wasn't worth it.

I made food?

So, I don't think it qualifies as ambitious, but I'm kinda proud for actually doing it. I made fudge tonight. Yay! Too bad I won't get to have any until tomorrow, but oh well. Should be good anyway. Maybe now I can actually work my way up to making other things. We'll see.

Random Prompt - Alone

He sits slumped over, head between his knees, his hands lying atop them. He is a haggard creature, long unkempt hair on his head and face. The stone wall is warm, but he does not feel its heat. He stands and leaves the bare room that was once his cell. It's not like there is anyone to guard him or even to stand in his way. There is no one. He walks the stone corridor, head still hanging. It's been months since he's seen another living being. Plenty of food though, but that doesn't count for companionship. No, as long as he wills himself to eat the stale food, he will not starve. Today he passes the much cooler stone room containing his rations, heading for the entrance to the complex. Entrance would be a better word if there was a way to access it from the outside. The path leading to it was blown away, leaving the opening intact, but no way up, or down. He leans against the wall instead a proper door frame, crosses his arms and stares out. There's not much to see. The bombing has left the forest a dismal place. Any trees are gray and lifeless. The fire spread by the attacks consumed the whole area. The attacks were what left him alone. He was a prisoner transferred to this secluded location. Escorting guards and a dozen other high security convicts exploded off the side of the mountain along with the only path out. Rope was easy enough to wear away with time, leaving him without bindings. He learned the layout of the place he had visited only once before. Back before the war had officially started, if it had ever 'officially' started, he'd been brought here as a spy. "It was meant only as a layover, to hold me somewhere until they could move me somewhere else. Of course, once they realized my allies wanted me just as dead as they wanted their enemies, did they try to put me back in this hole. I'd be secure, and safe, and where they could take their time torturing the answers they wanted out of me. They didn't realize I didn't know any secrets of my side. I'm supposed to learn of my enemies' secrets, not my own. I guess -- Shit! I'm talking to open air again!" His mind was deteriorating. Not having contact, even if it would have been torture, was making it difficult for him to cope. He pushed off the wall and reentered the complex, aiming for nowhere in particular. There hadn't even been anything to read, not even boring reports from lower officers to their higher ups. They abandoned the place when the fighting began.  They supplied rations for the prisoners, but there was little else to do or see. A niggle of weariness pulled his thoughts to the small armory below where he could end this slow crawl toward oblivion. No one was coming back, they thought the entrance destroyed. "Both the enemy and my allies. There is nothing here worth value in any case. They'd just been trying to rid the world of my existence...or maybe one of the others, since I don't know anything. Doesn't matter now, seeing as I'm fucking narrating again!" He slammed his fists and arms into the wall next to him and he could feel his bones ache from the blow. He rolled over so his back pressed against the wall and slid down to a seat. Without noticing he resumed the position he held before, head between his knees with his hands on top of them. His sobs echoed into his empty unconsciousness.

Oblivious to the Outside, Flourishing on the Inside

Can energy be destroyed over time or lose its potency? For example, I have seen many anime and video game examples of attacks that just seem to keep going unless they strike something. If this energy were fired off into space, would it continue on forever if it never struck anything, or would it lose strength over time as it gained distance from its point of origin? Would it matter what the energy was supposedly made of? Just from Pokemon, I can pull three different kinds. Hyper Beam, Ice Beam, and Solarbeam. Obviously that last one is probably made of light. Would a laser keep going or could it lose strength? I wonder because I thought about the beam attacks in several anime being shot into space, many of them devastating in strength. If they struck another planet after traveling who knows how many light years, would it still be just as strong and do damage to that planet?

Can lightning strike something that won't conduct it in the least? Such as a pole of rubber? What if the pole of rubber was the tallest thing around? Would it try to strike it and then go lower for a target it can hit? Can a lightning bolt be divided or hit multiple targets at the same time? Why is it we don't try to farm lightning for our electrical needs?

On that note, how do solar cells and solar energy work? Do hurricanes and tornadoes do anything beneficial for nature, or are they purely destructive forces? The only thing they do to benefit nature, and it's a bit cynical, is to rid the planet of humans, who do the most damage to nature. If they were to be disrupted so they don't cause damage, would that screw up some big atmospheric pattern?

On a similar note, how do back burns work? That might not be the right term, but setting a fire so it consumes a previous fire and they burn themselves out. I'm now wondering if you could do something similar to that with an earthquake. Probably not, but if you had enough warning...?

How are forest fires fought? They always seem (at least where I live) to be in really hard areas to get vehicles and even to climb on foot, especially with all the gear a firefighter would need to wear just to stay alive. The planes and helicopters dropping chemicals and water on the fires just seems inefficient. I just wonder if there could be a better way to do it. Of course, my idea involves hercules beetle mechs armed with cannons firing mud and water and a chainsaw horn designed to cut through trees that have fallen over, or to remove fuel from the path of a fire. The horn can also grasp, able to pick up and move trees that may have gotten in the way. Six legs help it keep balance even on steep slopes, while the pilots are safe inside the armored cockpit. The biggest problem I see is energy concerns, and then of course, having water to fuel the cannons and create the mud. You'd need pretty big tanks just to carry that. I'd like to know if there were a way to steal energy from the fire you'd be facing and turn that into fuel for the beetles, but I'd have no idea how to accomplish that. Would the beetles be able to move quickly enough to actually fight the fire, or would they end up having to be used to contain the fire at areas fire trucks and other vehicles can't reach?

Another idea I had for resisting forest fires involves merely protecting the homes and buildings threatened by the blazes. Would there be a way to magnetize dirt and have it rise into the air to create a wall of dirt and earth, blocking the progress of flames? The reason I suggest just for protecting buildings is that the energy costs would probably be fairly high. If that weren't a concern, perhaps you could circle an ongoing fire with the dirt, activate it so the fire doesn't spread, and then you have the fire just burn itself out. Acres of forest and habitats for people and animals could be saved with something like that. Alternately, if we could figure out force fields and not just have them be science fiction, you could probably use those instead. I'd just be worried about a spark escaping through something most forms of media suggest can only hinder physical forms. The dirt would be scorched, but it couldn't catch on fire either.

So much I want to learn, and all of this the result of a few thoughts driving home from work.

My Imagination, My Own Worst Enemy

So...I have no need for outside interference to terrify myself. I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own. Just bring in a windy night, preferably an autumn night so the leaves can rattle, and let me go for a walk. My imagination has a habit of seeing things that aren't there, or attributing creepiness to things that don't need it. While I'm on the walk, throw in a set of wind chimes to jingle just as I walk by, they'll set me on edge even faster. It doesn't help that I'm either receiving a message telling me to call someone when I get said message, or I'm sending it but interrupting myself before I find out who its recipient is. This is the second time that it has happened. The same message, typed out three times in a row. Both occurrences happened while on a walk late at night.

Call me when you get this message.
Call me when you get this message.
Call me when you get this message.

Three times, in an outgoing text message. Sure it's a template on the phone, and I'm sure it was just my keys pushing some buttons. But really, three times, on two separate occasions? Sets my mind to searching every shadow for an assailant, or every rustling leaf an approaching footstep. Tonight's walk also had the pleasure of being graced by a creature of the night. I don't know for sure what it was. One moment I'm walking down a sidewalk, and then I see a blocky figure where the sidewalk ends. I get a strange feeling from it and go to move to one side of it, but for some reason I convince myself to stay on my path. Surely it's just one of those electric pole box things, right? But no. About ten feet from it, it bolts across the road into some heavy shrubbery. The next thing I find? On a sign behind the creature is a Lost Cat poster. It's such a weird coincidence that it sort of sets my entire mood for the rest of the walk. Tinny sounds echo down the deserted street as the wind brushes up against metal signs on pole and ropes on a flag staff. The music playing in my headphones is no longer comforting, but a barrier to sounds I should be listening for. The short distance through a shadowless expanse of sidewalk, buried in the void between street lamps, is tense and I wait for something to rush me. Even mostly closed curtains on houses I walk by have a hidden threat, vigilant eyes watching me as I go. I complete my walk, still spinning every so often, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pursuer I'm sure is there. The door unlocks with some effort, and while most of the house is dark, I sigh in relief that I had left my soft lights on in my room to welcome me home for the night.