Panic

It's been a hellish day.  It's been a hellish four days.  I really don't have too much more than that to say.  I could say plenty.  But god knows I don't want to.  There are things I don't want to think about, things I don't want to talk about, and things about which my mind has literally been numbed.  There's nothing I can think, nothing I can do, nothing I can say...that's frustrating.

I've probably cried more in the past four days than I have in the past year.  Given that this is me, knowing just how much I do in fact cry sometimes, that says something.  That says quite a lot, actually.  This is also the most panic I have experienced in...probably about that same duration of a year.  Which also says something because I panic over everything, and I mean literally everything.

I don't know.  I'm just trying to fill space.  Anything that I want or need to say isn't going to be said here, and I know that.  So apologies for anyone who still bothers to read this, but I am quite literally filling up space again.  The only difference between now and the usual is that this time I just want to avoid saying anything that shouldn't be said rather than lacking in anything to say. 

Please

I'm not the type to beg easily.  

It fits the initial author of that statement well.  Days like today I begin to truly realize just how well it fits me too.  Because it would appear that I don't appreciate how much I don't do something until I find it occupying the entirety of my thought process for what seems like an eternity.  I guess that's how I figured this all out today, though.  Through doing things I usually don't and making declarations I'm no longer ashamed of.

Begging.  I don't like to do it.  I usually don't do it.  In part because I don't like to, but also in part because it's not something I'm often in the mood for.  Begging strikes me as pitiful or pathetic or otherwise something that serves little to no purpose in the long run.  Well, usually.  Admittedly, that has its exceptions, but they seem to be rare and it seems to me that begging leads to fewer resolutions than reasoning things through.

I don't really know what happened today.  I don't know how it happened, although I do know why it happened, and I don't know what, if anything, came out of it.  At this point, I don't really need to know.  Maybe in a couple of days or weeks when it's all over, I'd be interested to know what came to pass.  But not right now.  Right now I just need to sleep and I need this to go away and I need everything to be fine after a day like this.

I begged.  In case I haven't mentioned recently, I don't usually beg.  Maybe it was because I had no reason left in me, given that I was senseless at the start of the conversation anyway.  Maybe it was just that something primal kicked in, although I don't know when I started considering begging to fall under the category of something primal.  But hey, whatever...I'm just trying to make guesses at my emotional responses here.

Long story short, it was a long, long day.  I begged, which I don't usually do.  I cried.  A lot.  Which is something I seem to do fairly often these days.  But it is what it is.  I'm still here, still fine.  I'll take what I can get.  

Weeks

Thinking ahead.  It can be argued that I do so too often.  I dwell in the future or in the past, depending on circumstance, and currently all of my thoughts are stuck on what happens next.  When will this end?  How stressful is this going to be?  Is everything going to work?  What will I have to make up as a result of such things? 

I don't know.  These are the things I can't keep track of, can't know.  They are all in the future.  They are beyond my control at present.  I cannot possibly know what will happen.  All I can do is prepare, buckle down, get ready for everything that may or may not happen.  Hopes, dreams, anxieties.  All of it hangs in the balance.  That sounds overdramatic, and yet...in a way, it is entirely true.

It's odd to think of what will happen next as opposed to everything that has happened.  Things that were once a big deal now seem like insignificant specks in the eternal flow of time.  While what happens in the next week will have a significantly greater effect on my future, after a while, I know that it will cease to be perceived as important in and of itself, it will merely be the consequences that affect me.

Yet looking forward toward it now, it seems almost like the biggest thing in the world.  It seems terrible yet wonderful, frightening yet enthralling.  Part of me just wants to get it over with so that I can stop worrying.  Part of me doesn't want to have to deal with it.  In the end though, I have no control over when it will take place.  I can simply take it as it comes and make the best I can of it. 

Pillows

Pillows are soft and they are comfortable, and oftentimes they add significantly more to the sleeping experience than a mattress or a comforter ever could.  They are the epitome of essential sleeping devices, so to speak.  They can be made of all different materials and serve all sorts of different purposes.  Being thus customizable, pillows are beyond compare when it comes to sleep.

They're soft and cozy and comfortable and fluffy and fuzzy and warm and in every way imaginable absolutely and completely conducive to sleep.  One can use them as something to support their head, or under their stomach or back for spinal support or as something to hug in order to fall asleep.  They make great emotional buffers, so to speak, in sleep and otherwise.

I never understood the value of sleeping with more than one pillow until I stayed in a hotel with five pillows per bed and an entire bed to myself.  Suddenly, I figured out the incredible virtues of these delectably soft fluffy things and haven't turned back.  Now, I sleep with two pillows on a regular basis and more when I can get my hands on.  I'm less concerned about being on soft ground or covered with a blanket than I am with having a pillow I can hug properly.

More important, perhaps, is the adaptability of people and other various objects to be used as pillows.  Humans for example, make some of the most comfortable pillows in the world.  They're huggable.  They're soft.  They're warm.  And you can usually find at least a part of them that is exactly the size and shape you need for your ideal pillow.  Other objects can function similarly but aren't nearly as much fun to use for pillows as people. 

Summary: pillows are awesome. 

Well Damn...Again

Alright, I'm tired and short on time and would really like to get to bed because I'm exhausted and barely dragged myself out of bed this morning so I'm going to do this as quickly as I can and I apologize in advance because I know the quality will be terrible.  It's just another one of those days when I neither have much to say nor any particular desire to be up late for the purpose of blogging.

Two people now have told me that yesterday's post was either good or pretty (I forget which term either of them used, but they were aiming at the same point, so whatever).  I definitely didn't see that coming.  I guess that maybe I did put a bit more thought into it than I usually would for a haphazard blog post (pretty much like this one), but it wasn't anything stellar, I don't think...

At the same time, I'm proud of that.  I don't know that I asked either of them to read it specifically, although I'm almost positive that they're the only two who read on a regular basis so that doesn't count.  But it's still nice to know that some people at least still read my writing of their own accord and not because I asked them to or anything.  That and, it's been a while since I've written anything particularly well, it feels good to hear someone say something along those lines.  So thank you both very much.

Remember

Do you remember that day?  Did it stick in your mind like it did in mine?  The way the light fell and the way the sky cried.  When your mind opened up and your mouth echoed my prayers.  When we said goodbye and it was okay.  Do you remember how I looked at you?  And when we first faltered, let the facade fall away.  Opened our eyes to the strange new day.

As the day's first grey light consumed the darkness of night, and the entire world rattled as the wind took flight.  Then the droplets began to pour out from the sky, their collisions with earth made to deafen and pry.  With the sorrow of wailing, the rain and the storm, in the hollow of morning, before all arose.  Life bloomed in each alley, each niche and each nook, opening windows like story-books.

I woke up that morning, having barely closed my eyes.  The thoughts in me raced and emotions took flight.  All relevance drifted away with the light.  As I breathed in the air, the freshness, the calm, I rememberd like yesterday how it buffered my fall.  I wonder these days what it felt like then.  How the morning air resonated with my breath and the chilling showers of nature rang against my skin. 

I want to remember.  I still want to know.  How that happiness felt.  And where did it go?

Motivation

I don't know why I write anymore.  It never seems to be anything worthwhile by now.  Admittedly, I'm completely exhausted at this point.  I really haven't been getting very much sleep and it's definitely been showing in my behavior, my performance, my attention, and, perhaps most importantly here, my writing.  I just feel like the past few weeks if not months have simply been me spewing nonsense at the page to fill it.

I need to write.  There is a part of me that really needs this release right now, probably because I am so exhaused and not sure what else to do with myself, but I need to do something, and I want to write.  If I was logical, I'd just not post today, and go get some sleep, and wake up feeling better tomorrow.  The odd thing is, today was a perfectly good day.  Things went well.  Nothing bad happened.  Plenty of good things happened and I was quite happy throughout.

But now I'm sitting here looking around trying to figure out why I'm not satisfied with things.  I imagine it is mostly because of sleep, but still...something feels off, and even if I can explain why it feels that way, that doesn't mean I'm okay with it being so.  I need the sleep.  The weekend after this coming one is very important for me, and I need to be sleeping well and feeling well at that point, so this ridiculous sleep schedule and lack of control will really have to stop. 

I know I'll get past this and figure it out, I really have no doubt about that.  In fact, I've been productive lately, and it's a good feeling.  But the exhaustion...it's this endless cycle feeding on itself and I need a break.  My writing still feels like it's terrible, and I still don't know what to say anywhere about anything, with the possible exception of rambling about myself, but that gets a bit old after a while of having nothing really to say.

Sleep

It's been a long couple of days.  The weekend, first of all, was full of ups and downs and reflected a certain sense of pain in not getting nearly enough sleep.  I slept 3 hours, then 8, then 4...that's been my past three nights right there.  I'm tired.  I'm ready to collapse and sleep right now and I really wish I didn't have obligations tonight so that I could.  But, unfortunately, I don't have such a choice.  I now have obligations to take care of, so I'll get to bed eventually.

Yesterday...that was a mess. I didn't know what to write and anything I could say I didn't want to put down in words because they would have hurt someone, be that myself or anyone else.  I had no desire to put anything down.  I just wanted it to fade away, to be forgotten.  I can't really explain how I felt because I don't really know.  I know I was a mess.  That much I can say for certain.  But beyond that, I really can't say anything at all.

And then today was the complete opposite of it.  It was wonderful.  There were no odd breaks, no disappointments, no dissatisfaction that I can think of at all.  The last night of being up obnoxiously late, seemingly getting nowhere, seems to have led somewhere.  I'm afraid of admitting my mistakes because I feel foolish once I finally fess up, but I might as well say it now, since there's no real reason not to.  I'll change.  I think I started today, but if I didn't, then I will, whenever it comes up.  I've come to understand by now what it means to change my behaviors for others when I really want to.  And I am in fact willing to do it for certain people.

I feel better.  I also feel a little bit like I'm about to pass out and not at all in the mood to finish any sort of homework, but that's beside the point.  That's due exclusively to sleep and at this point I'm a fair bit beyond caring.  But I feel good.  It took a while, but I do in fact feel better now.  So I'm going to go to sleep as soon as I can tonight, and see how I'm doing tomorrow.  Good night, all.  Sleep well.

Theft

Is it possible to steal time?  Time is not something that can be owned.  It simply flows.  Humans have no control over it, nothing in the world can change it.  Why, then, do people always talk about how people, things, and events all steal their time?  Even volunteering campaigns and such things are always about "giving time."  But it's not possible to give time.  Technically, going by the definitions of the words, it's not even really possible to spend time.  But it can be used differently, so I'll let that one slide.

The problem with this is that we can't change time.  We can only choose what we do with it.  But that's not the same thing as giving time or saving time or stealing it.  It doesn't work that way.  There's no way to give time or take it away.  It is possible to alter how much time remains in an individual's life, either by killing them or encouraging them to maintain better health or other such things.

But that's not the same as giving time or taking it or stealing it.  Humans have this odd illusion that they are actually in control of things in the universe.  And the thing is, they're not.  Things happen.  Sure, humans add to that, but the most major things that happen, we have absolutely no control over.  Time goes on.  It will always (maybe) go on the way it has.  The best we can do is determine an arbitrary measure for it.

That may give the illusion of control.  But illusion and reality (as well as we can perceive it) are very different things.  Unfortunately, that fact seems lost on many people.  So much so that it has become incorporated into society and human culture as a whole.  Thus we sometimes think that we can in fact steal time, even though that just doesn't work.

Comfort

The thing is, it's been a while since this was really fun.  I don't mean blogging. I still enjoy spitting my thoughts out into the internet without restrain, no matter how much it sometimes seems to irritate me.  This refers to an activity I took part in today for the first time in a while and enjoyed more than I usually have in the past few years.  Those who know me will understand, those who don't...either don't need to or can ask.

It used to be enjoyable not only because of the complexity and the challenge, the intellectual stimulation I so much appreciated at the time, but also because of the cooperation and friendliness that was such a part of it.  I recenterly started really disliking this activity.  It started to wear and I no longer looked forward to any of it.  It was miserable and unpleasant.  The thought of it annoyed me in and of itself and that's just sad.

But tonight was a pleasant surprise.  Despite being on only about 3 hours of sleep, I thoroughly enjoyed today.  It all started with the tasty, spicy salsa.  Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's actually true.  That set the night off to a good start.  Well, it was rather a conclusion, but it made up for anything bad that happened today.  I'm sorry, too tired...need sleep.  Hopefully blog better stuff tomorrow.  Good night.

Solitude

Solitude is a thing to be cherished.  It is pleasant and appreciated and to some people even necessary.  I am one of those.  I like my time alone, when nobody can touch me, when the rest of the world can't get to me, when I am free to think or do as I wish.  In this way, solitude makes me happy.  It lets me develop myself as I wish, without being shaped by the rest of the world.

I don't often really seek solitude.  I let it find me.  I don't like denying people when they express a desire to talk to me or spend time with me or anything.  I believe that the concerns of people I care about are more important than my own, so I can sacrifice some of my time.  I'm of the sort who believes in going with things, letting them happen as they do.  If I really need solitude, it will, in time, find me when I need it.

That's how I live my life.  When I need the time, it will find me, or perhaps I will find it, but I will do so passively and quietly, without disrupting my life or that of anyone else.  I used to actively go out of my way to avoid people when I felt bad or not be seen when I needed to be alone.  Occasionally, I still do, but it very much depends on the person and why exactly I'm not feeling myself.

Some people I simply don't avoid.  They know me well enough that I don't see a benefit in hiding myself from them.  The majority of humanity I still show a blank face to and don't allow to see just about any emotion.  They don't know me well enough to need to see my legitimate concerns.  And there are, of course, some people who fall in between.  Who I won't allow to see my deepest of worries, but will gently reveal my more shallow concerns to.  It all depends on who it is and why I'd consider revealing anything. 

Bent Not Broken

This was the title of my writing last night.  I'm not going to post it here because it not only betrays things about me but also reads in a way that shouldn't be floating around on the internet with any possible link to my identity, if only because of the people I currently associate with.  Having said that now, it's only fair that I explain what I mean.  That's not exactly what I'm going to explain, actually, but it applies. 

That's how I write.  Most of what I put down is sad, or angsty, or generally depressing.  Some of it probes topics people aren't generally comfortable discussing, reading, or sometimes even simply thinking about.  It's all part of me.  Any of my writing, no matter how good or bad, comes from me.  It draws on things I have seen, heard, lived, done, considered, wondered about.  Some of it is painful, even for me.  Some of it I don't really understand.  But it's there, so I write about it.

Many of the more depressing things I write don't apply to me right now.  Not in the same way that they used to.  Right now, I feel good about my life.  Things are going well.  I am happy more often than not, despite the fact that it's winter and I've been particularly prone to winter depression for years.  A lot of my writing right now, especially the more fictional works, does not tell the story of my current life.  It looks, at least indirectly, into my past. 

And yet, a lot of the things I write are still depressing and angsty and lay out things that people aren't comfortable with.  But that's what's easier for me to write.  First of all, the depression is always going to be a part of me, even if I don't feel particularly depressed or unhappy.  Second of all, dissatisfied topics are simply easier to write about.  There's a lot more expression, in my experience at least, that can be covered with sorrow, whereas happiness is, while not completely restricted, still less expressive than dissatisfaction. 

That's all my opinion, of course.  But it is, after all, my writing, so my opinion is what determines the way my writing goes.  Anyhow, this is an explanation for anyone who is worried about me because of the things I may write or anyone who is interested in how my thought process works in trying to crank out writing.  I hope it's worth something to someone.  Apologies if it's not. 

Requests

So I'm taking a creative writing class, of my own accord.  Yes, me.  God no, I'm not a writer.  I'm anything but, really.  Some will claim that my blogging every single day for over a year now makes me a writer.  I've had people tell me my writing is good.  I doubt it, all of it.  I'm taking the class because it's good for me.  I do, in fact, enjoy writing.  It's just not something I could do with my life, so I might as well take the class while I can.

One of the assignments is to take ten minutes every single day in the same place at the same time.  Well, that's not too bad, except for how irregular my schedule always turns out to be.  But I can work around that.  The problem with this is that instructions state to write "anything."  Anything at all.  In large part, though, that's what my blog is for.  This is where I spill my thoughts and throw down my ideas.  So I have no idea what I'm going to write, because I'm not just going to stop blogging because I have to start that all of a sudden, and I'm not going to reuse my writing.  If I like something I write, I might post it.  If not, then I won't.  It's as simple as that.  For all intents and purposes, these are two independent writing projects. 

So what will I write about?  I'm not really sure.  Because it's a creative writng class, the purpose of which is to develop creative writing, I don't think it's going to be like another version of this blog.  I want to try and write original, creative pieces as much as I can, by which I mean more fictional stories, poems, plays, anything.  If anyone has any suggestions, I'll gladly take them.  Just let me know.  After all, I have to do this every day for a couple of months.  I'll have time to fit it in. 

Yet Another

It's just another day, in all actuality.  And I don't have much of anything to say.  Or rather, I have plenty that I could say, but none of it matters, I don't care about any of it, and I'm worn out.  So I'm not even going to bother saying anything.  Not that any of it is worth reading in the first place, so I don't know why I'd bother putting it down at all.

So sure, something started today.  Something I've been sometimes anticipating, sometimes dreading, sometimes simply existing with.  It doesn't actually change anything.  None of it does.  This is just my fatigued rambling by now.  It doesn't mean anything.  It's just me throwing down words to make up sentences that don't even flow because I keep telling myself I have to write.

And I'm sitting here listening to conversation floating around in the background, seemingly too much of it about me.  None of it hidden, none of it negative, even.  But I don't want to join in.  I want to curl up and sleep.  It's been a long day, as most beginnings are.  And yet, oddly enough, it feels like nothing changed at all.  Like I'm simply continuing to exist here.  Which, in all actuality, is all I'm doing at all anyway.

Evenings and Pains

It's been a long day.  I don't know how many posts I've started with that line by now and I don't really care.  The fact is, it's true.  It has been.  It's been up and down and all over the place, and I'm not entirely certain what I think of it anymore, to be perfectly honest.  I give up.  I don't want to think right now.  My brain is dead.  I have no excitement left.  Simply anticipation.  Anticipation because I need this to start already. 

I went out into the snow today.  Late at night.  After everyone else was indoors.  I theoretically had an obligation to do so.  I could have gotten out of it, though.  But I didn't.  I went ahead anyway.  And I took my sweet time about it.  In the weather hovering right below freezing, with the cold, white powder floating down around me, blissfully leaving a blanket over my face, my hair, my clothing.  It's been a while.  It's been a while since I've been outside, a while since I've been quiet, a while since I've been alone. 

And that makes me wonder, and it makes me scared, and it makes me hate myself and everything in the world in general.  I don't want to admit it, but it's true.  Even if it hurts, this blog wasn't created to avoid pain.  I think I'm back to the same mood I was in when I started it, the point where I need to put something down, just spill out the truth in writing because the words just don't work for me in speech. 

I give up.  I don't want to think about it anymore.  I don't know what it is.  I don't care.  I'm tired.  I don't want to think, at all.  And I'm hitting the point where I just don't give a damn.  I haven't been there in a while.  I know it's not a good place to go.  No, I stand corrected.  I do still give a damn.  I know I care because of the pain and the tears and the wanting to forget and wanting to run and wanting to stay and hurting and crying and not being able to move because it hurts too much even though that's the one thing that might make it better.

I had to stand there and watch.  I do mean watch, not just listen to, because I saw it move.  That hurt.  It's been worse, but it's also been better.  Then again, maybe it needed to be worse only because it's been a while.  But I couldn't move.  I couldn't.  I was frozen.  And maybe I messed up then, maybe it was my fault.  I said this at the beginning and I'll say it again, I hurt too, I have needs too.  In a different setting, I would be willing to put all of that aside.  In a different setting, I was willing to put it all aside, I did.  But this is different.  In a way, this was a promise to me, a promise that it wouldn't all fall on me.

I won't place blame because there is none to place.  I'm more than happy with things as they are, more than willing to take the burden, to help where I can, to do anything I can.  But I have limits too, and I have needs, and I need that to be understood if nothing more.  So I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I can't do more.  I'm sorry I can't fix things.  And most of all, I'm sorry for anything and everything that's ever hurt, especially because of me. 

In the Beginning

"The beginning is probably easier to follow...I actually wrote complete posts back then"
Didn't we all?

The past few days have been oddly nostalgic for me.  Both for things I have personally experienced and things I haven't.  I'm not sure how the latter is really possible.  It's not actually nostalgia if you have never experienced it, is it?  But there's some feeling there, definitely, and it sure as hell feels like nostalgia, even if it isn't, so that's what I'm going to call it, for lack of a better word.

In part, I am brought back to where I was a year ago.  How it was different from this.  How there was less panic and fear and paranoia and how it was all somehow so much easier.  And yet at the same time I can't say I miss the hurt, the heartbreak, the brokenness.  There were days when I would cry without stopping and not be able to explain why becasue I didn't want to cause others pain.  I don't necessarily miss those.  No matter how comfortable and familiar those feelings became, they are not ones I would willingly return to. 

On the other hand, I miss this place as it was ten years ago.  I wasn't here then.  I didn't know it.  But a fairly large part of me is absolutely convinced that I would have liked it so much more than I do now.  No goddamn stupid restrictions that are worthless, no ridiculous rules and regulations and pure nonsense, and a lot more of an opportunity to have an impact, to belong to something bigger than me, to find passion.  I never knew it as it was then, but those who did tell me I'd have fit in more than I do now, that I would have enjoyed it more than this.  I can't help but believe them, because from what I've seen and heard, it's true.

So is the world really all going downhill or have I simply reached the age where it all appears to be following that downward trend?  I am a pessimist in most circumstances.  There is no denying that.  But I can't help but wonder if this doesn't stretch beyond my usual pessimism into an actual decline.  I've heard many individuals significantly older than me constantly bemoaning modernity and futuristic advances.  Am I becoming one of them?  Is this what making one's own way in the world is really about?  Because if it is, that's sad.  And I don't know how to change it. 

Paranoia

Hi.  I'm paranoid.  Just in case any of you didn't already know that, you most certainly know it now.  Because, well, you know, I just said it.  Paranoia has been a common theme for me today.  I do stupid things sometimes, or occasionally even not-so-stupid things.  And then I panic about them.  I mean I really panic.  I freak out and hyperventilate and fear the end of the world.

So everyone who has ever seen me in one of these moods has probably come to hate me for it.  Because I get bad when this happens, really bad.  I freak out over nothing at all sometimes and it's painful and miserable for me and everyone around me who has to listen to it.  Since I'm partially in one of those moods at present, I'm going to go ahead and apologize to anyone who has had to deal with me today (well, namely one person) because that really can't have been pleasant.

Anyhow, I'm just writing because I have less than twenty minutes in which to finish all of this.  I deal with paranoia by taking it out on people or trying to hold it in and just waiting for it all to end.  That's all I can do.  No meditation or relaxation or distraction ever manages to actually get my mind off the things that bother me.  So I wind up dealing with them by waiting for them to end.  That's the stage I'm at currently.  Although I'm not nearly as paranoid right now as I have been in the past.  Thank goodness for that.

Infrastructure

The world is connected.  There is a metaphor claiming that it is getting smaller because it no longer takes us several months to get across the ocean and only seconds to get a message halfway around the world.  We are all becoming closer and closer.  Communication is faster and easier than ever before, so not only are cities denser, but it is also becoming difficult in first-world countries to find any time for oneself, without emails and text messages and related elements of "keeping up with the times."

Everywhere you look, there's this constant need to keep ahead, messages buzzing back and forth at ridiculous rates.  It's impossible to keep track of everything going on in the world.  By the time you finish reading one message, you have four more waiting for you in a never-ending sequence of current events flooded in your direction.  Everyone is perpetually connected, everything is tied together in a massive web of emails, phone calls, texts, IMs, and countless other things.

And every once in a while, you'll stop in the middle of it all.  Turn around and watch it all rushing on and on and on around you.  Everything passing by at this ridiculous rate, none of it stopping or caring about you.  Suddenly, you realize just how small a part of this world you are.  Just how much it all goes on without you, how much you don't matter to it.

That's when you feel lonely, and alone, and disconnected.  Of course, the next minute, you pick up the phone, open the computer, do something, anything, and once again feel like a part of the world.  Does it matter?  Does it make a difference that in that one moment there was nothing to feel and nothing to do?  That moment could have come and gone hundreds of thousands of times, but in the end, it has no result.  It end up where it all began.  Back in that rush of communication that forever runs our lives in this day and age.

Clarity

Standing there.  Water raining down.  Heat, humidity, scalding water, burning steam.  Falling down, down, down.  Coming into contact with flesh, bouncing off, leading pink in its wake where the heat brought blood to the surface of the skin.  All quiet except for the noises of the water, hitting skin, tile, plastic, pouring down the drain.  A symphony of steam.

In that moment, everything else is gone.  Nothing else matters.  The rest of the world is lost, abandoned, incapable of permeating the sweltering depths of the shower.  Time ceases to pass.  All that is left is me and the water.  Fighting against my body, yet helping it to attain health.  The heat is suffocating, stealing breath and life, yet relaxing, causing tense muscles to melt and soften, smooth and relax.

It's a time to relax, to think, to not be disturbed by anyone around me.  It's an opportunity to forget the rest of the world.  And it's wonderful.  There are days when that is the best part of my life, and days when it's simply a hassle to get over with for the purpose of getting clean.  But for the most part, I love just standing there, feeling the water hit my skin, the heat stifle my breathing, and just think.

Showers are my little moments of clarity.  They are sometimes the only times I get to myself, and for that, I adore them.  They are my rest, my relaxation, my meditation.  They are, arguably, as good a medicine as I could get.

Ad Nauseum

So I'm sitting here right now, tapping on the keys, having no idea what to write really, and wondering.  And for the most part, I'm wondering why I still bother writing.  Because to be perfectly frank, my writing has absolutely sucked lately.  Even I wouldn't want to read it.  Which tells you just how much I really shouldn't be writing.  It's not even putting my thoughts out or making sense of anything or, well, just about anything.  That bothers me.  Quite a bit.

I don't want to just stop writing until I have anything better to say because I know myself.  I know how unlikely I am to actually ever write then.  That's probably the whole reason I started this blog and made myself write every single day.  If I don't have something like this on a regular, routine schedule, or at least with a very regular requirement (like once a day), it's never going to get written.  Or perhaps I'll write a bit here and a bit there, but the end result will be the same--it'll fall apart and I'll stop writing.

I don't want to do that because I think that more than once, writing here has made things better for me.  It's helped me sort out my thoughts on various issues (even if the post themselves gave no indication of the presence of such concerns), it's led to me becoming more conscious of the way I write and things I do too much or too little of.  Often enough, this isn't my best writing, but that still allows me to see aspects of my style and composition as well as to correct the errors I may have made.

Recently, I've just felt like this has been a waste of space.  I used to write posts that had a point, or that I was legitimately proud of, or that I wanted people to read.  And that really just hasn't been the case lately.  I'll figure out if I do in fact want to continue this or not, but in the meantime, I have no real reason not to, so I guess I might as well.  Apologies to anyone who still reads this for the absolutely terrible quality of posts lately.  Here's hoping it gets better in the near future.

Shades of Grey

The more we go through life, the more we stop seeing things in black and white.  I know it's cliche, but it's completely true.  Everything becomes a gradient, with no distinctly separate yes and no, but rather many shades of maybe and I don't know.  We seem less inclined to make definite decisions and stick to anything with any amount of certainty, and rather more likely to hesitate and give an indefinite answer to things.

Do we really see more or are we simply more afraid of being wrong?  As a child, they always teach you to express your opinion, share your views, stand up and not be afraid.  They tell you that mistakes aren't bad, that they happen, that you learn because of them and can get better.  Some people take this to heart and become vocal contributors to their communities in many respects because after all, even if you make a bad decision, it's nothing you can't fix and it teaches you something.

As adults, we begin to realize that there are certain things that can't be undone.  Decisions become more serious.  Certainly, we still have to decide if we want to eat an apple or an orange at a given time and it's (probably) not going to be disastrous.  But when we realize that now we're the ones making life or death choices that affect not only ourselves but other people with their own lives, suddenly it becomes more difficult to be as firm about a decision as we were as children.

Those who were always indecisive tend to maintain this trait as they mature.  Those who were so bold and outspoken sometimes retain this confidence.  Occasionally they become hesitant when the true gravity of their decisions hits them.  And sometimes they don't see anything coming until something goes tragically wrong because of a decision they made and never looked back on.

It seems that most people see the world in shades of grey as adults.  That even more simple decisions sometimes take on a level of complexity that they don't merit because of the tendency to look at everything in their lives with this deep contemplation and consideration.  This is the colloquial definition of over-thinking something.  Is it bad?  Do our lives develop in us this tendency to look at everything as being more complex than it is?

Significance

Does this matter?


It's the question of a lifetime really.  The thing that everyone wants to know because...if it doesn't matter, why would you bother with it?  Hell, does anything really matter?  I see mostly people with one of two opposing views.  Either they consider that generally everything matters or that nothing matters at all.  Theoretically, there are any number of other options in between.  But, maybe it's just the people I spend time with and talk to, I don't seem to find many with anything other than the two aforementioned.

Opinions seem to change on this quite a bit, too.  I guess in large part it depends on the way things are going in a person's life, the people they associate themselves with, and given incidents that may influence their opinions on such things.  It seems, though, that there is this particularly strong emphasis on whether something does or doesn't matter.

Admittedly, under certain circumstances, whether something does or does not "matter" with respect to a certain reference point can change things that may come to pass.  The virtue of raising such questions is dubious.  At points, I guess, it does in fact make sense.  But at the same time, it seems like such things often cloud anything of necessity, anything worthwhile.  I know I'm thoroughly guilty of this...and it's something I really should work to fix, or perhaps am starting to now.

Return

Well, I'm back.  Back where I arguably feel most comfortable.  It's a good feeling.  Certainly, I've been anxious the past two days because I don't like these transitions.  They're uncomfortable for me and generally cause more stress than they're worth.  I twitch and panic and say stupid things and just generally can't really get my mind to work properly in the days leading up to each of them.

And now, two hours (or probably more, in all actuality) after I started writing this, I'm distracted as all hell and really not in the mood to write.  I've got a couple of things I really need to finish up in the next week, and I don't know how well I'm going to be able to do so...and I don't think that sentence actually made any sense.  Nor do I actually care right now.

So I'm just going to continue filling up space until the end of my self-defined space requirement.  Because honestly, at this point my mind really isn't working well at all and it doesn't matter and I'm just fine with it all because I'm happy.  I'm glad to be back, because the rosy tint hasn't faded yet, and probably won't until tomorrow morning...so it's all good.  Screw it, I'm done trying.  Good night.  Be happy!

Words

One of the problems with the ease of communication these days is the loss of personalization.  Maybe that's not the term I'm looking for, but it's the only one I can think of at present.  What I mean is something that maybe only happens to me, or perhaps it is more widespread.  In talking someone excessively online I tend to forget that they are in fact a real living person, a human being.

I'm not sure how to explain, exactly.  But it's as though the words, the phrases, the odd quirks I see only in their typing are an individual of their own, oftentimes completely removed from the real human I know to exist in this physical world.  And every so often, I have this odd moment of awakening that makes me realize that this person is real, that they exist and I can come face to face with them...that they are physically present in this same world as me, and it feels odd almost as though I had forgotten this fact.

I realize when talking to someone that they are in fact a real person, that I may see them in a given number of days or whatnot.  But at the same time, the person I talk to online and the person I see and talk to in real life are never quite the same.  They're part of the same individual, certainly...they have similar characteristics and mannerisms, but sometimes it is as though the two tell me different things, or at the very least convey them differently.

This dichotomy is a given considering that the physical person can give a look, or a touch, whereas the online persona is restricted to words, which can't even have inflection.  But at the same time, that shattering realization of "that person exists" never fails to phase me.  It catches me off guard and makes me reconsider what I may have said.  Did I reveal to much?  In the end though, I figure that it doesn't make a difference to me.  The two are, after all, a part of the same person.  If I trust one of them with given information, I have no reason to doubt the other.

Hurt

"No one ever wants the person who hurt them to ever see how badly they really hurt."


I started writing this morning when I ran across this quote.  In my experience, it holds true.  But maybe that's just me.  I saw it and realized that if I had any chance of writing a decent post today, it would be about that statement.  I've inflicted a lot of pain and I've hurt quite a bit myself.  That's the only way I came to understand what this was saying.  I don't think it's something you can understand particularly well unless you've been there.  Especially if you've been on both sides of the hurt, then it really starts to make sense.

The thing is, I initially wanted to write this as a more artistic post.  Use it to tell a story.  Relate a relevant event, a time of hurt, something to fit the quote.  So I sat here, looking around me and remembering all of those moments of sitting here, or there, or somewhere else, staring at my screen, crying.  I remembered the times of stepping around the corner and pressing against the wall, tears running down my face, the bitter words that led there, the pain that kept me rooted in place.  That's how I realized that I couldn't write a post like that.

If I tried, I could get the words out.  But I realized a long time ago that saying the words and expressing an idea well are far from one and the same.  So now I'm sitting here singing songs that make you slit your wrists and trying to figure out how to write this so as to still do the subject justice without bringing back the things that really hurt because I know the wounds are still there.  They may have scarred over and even been covered by fresh tissue.  I know though, that scar tissue is weaker than the skin it replaced.  And I know that opening those wounds afresh would be only too easy.  Which is why I'm not going to.  Or at least I'm going to try not to.

I've hurt a number of people over the course of my life.  Some on purpose, but most not.  I've also let any number of people hurt me.  Some of whom were worth it, others who weren't.  That's how it goes.  We live and we learn.  As it turns out, part of that is being hurt by those we love.  The bitter stinging takes a while to subside and sometimes it doesn't really go away but only gets buried until the next subtle wound is inflicted, when it comes back stronger than ever and hurts even more.  The thing that I've found is that if we think it's worth it, we make it through anyway.

Despite all of this hurt, I can still sit here and smile.  It works out in the end.  I promise.  Do the best you can with it.  That's all anybody can ask.  Oh, and props to anyone who caught the reference up there...apologies to those who didn't.

Days

Well, I feel like shit.  I knew that was coming, though.  I just didn't expect the associated nonsense.  Yes, I am trying not to swear, how could you tell?  Whatever.  At this point, I just want to finish this goddamn post and curl up somewhere and forget the rest of the world exists for a couple of decades until all of this goes away and stops mattering.  No, I don't actually mean that.  I know that.  But I'm in a bad mood right now so I'm saying things I know aren't pleasant and might hurt just because I don't want to think about whether I mean something or not.

That made no sense.  Or rather it did, except that it's still a terrible excuse and I know that.  Hell, even if it was a good excuse, the fact remains that it is in fact an excuse.  Excuses are bad.  Explanations are one thing, but excuses are what happens when it's been taken just a step too far.  At least that's the way my mind is currently making that particular distinction, and I don't particularly care if that's technically correct or not.

I know I was going to say something else.  And then of course I got distracted by email or something of that sort.  I think it was something pertaining to the title of this post.  But I don't even know anymore.  So sorry, but I'm not even going to try to fill this space with rambling nonsense.  Yesterday did enough of that and there's really no good reason for me to write anything reasonable at this point.  So that will be all now.  I have nothing more to say.  Good night, I guess.

The Difference Between Love and a Relationship

I've got two ideas for posts in my head right now, both having entered my mind at various points today, both seeming slightly too short to write about adequately in one post.  So instead of being intelligent and writing two shorter posts, I'm going to put this all into one lumped-together mess of a blog post here.  I wish you luck in making sense of what this jumble of a post comes out to be.

I'm glad I made this decision.  It's one of, if not the, best decisions I've made in my life.  I've learned about myself, learned how to get by, figured some things out, gotten hurt, fallen in love, made mistakes, paid the price.  I've done a lot in that time.  Particularly, I've done a lot I wouldn't have done if I hadn't pursued this possibility, taken this up.  Some things about me have changed, while others haven't.  I guess that's just how it works.

One of the silliest, most stereotypically young-adult phase sorts of things to change was that I learned to talk to people of the opposite gender.  Well, actually...I'll amend that.  I learned to be friends with people of the opposite gender.  Prior to all of this, several years ago, all of my friends were the same sex as me.  I could interact just fine with everyone, work with them when necessary, make idle chatter in the minutes between obligations or over work.  But I'd never been friends with them.  Hell, they were almost a different species as far as I was concerned, that's how little interaction I had with them as far as their potential to be my friends.

And yet, interestingly enough, my opinion on relationships hasn't changed much.  It's developed and deepened as I've gained experience, but it hasn't changed.  I remember how at the beginning of all this, in one of those conversations you have to have when you first start something, I said (I no longer remember in what context this came up) "I think relationships are different than being in love.  Love is a feeling, it's an emotion or a set of them.  It may come or go but doesn't require any action to maintain.  Relationships, on the other hand, take effort.  You have to put effort into them...just being in love isn't enough to stay in a good relationship."

I didn't really know too well what I was saying at the time, but ironically enough, younger me had a good idea there.  One that I still believe.  Relationships take work.  If I've learned nothing else in the past few years, I've come to really appreciate that thought process.  Any sort of relationship takes effort, commitment, and sacrifice.  Be it a romantic pursuit, a friendly one, or a professional one.  One of the most prominent examples of this is evident in romantic relationships and the road that they seem eventually to lead to--marriage.

This thought about arranged marriage was dropped into my mind today and somehow I remembered back to that one statement of mine way back when, which is the only thing that really ties this at all into the post...anyhow, back to actual writing.  I read somewhere that arranged marriages have a lower divorce rate than, how to put this, others made by free choice.  That, in my mind, supports the idea that making a marriage, or any other relationship, work is contingent on effort and cooperation, willingness to sacrifice and tolerance, rather than being in love or believing in fate.

Most arranged marriages (to my knowledge) are made in cultures that view this as essential and look highly unfavorably upon separation.  That leaves the participants with few options beyond the obvious "make it work."  So they do, most often.  Yes, there are certain intolerable individuals who could not be in a successful relationship under any circumstances.  But in most cases, both parties are willing to work out their problems, cooperate, sacrifice, and make the marriage work.  Sometimes love winds up developing out of this mutual effort toward a common goal.  I'd imagine that other times it doesn't...but that doesn't stop the relationship from working, from being functional, successful, and oftentimes giving rise to intelligent or successful children.

In marriages of choice (excluding those made for the sake of financial convenience, pure greed, lust, etc.), the primary motivation to keep the relationship functioning is the feeling of love.  When things stop working and that feeling seems to dissipate, no matter how temporarily, the option of separation is always available, and people are more likely to take it because there is no cultural pressure on them to necessarily stay together.  Certainly, people change, sometimes there really is no going back to a functional relationship, but in most of these situations, if people understood that all it took was a bit more compromise, effort, and sacrifice to get the relationship functioning again and get over a rough spot, how much more often would people stay together?  But that's just my musings on the subject.  Having no experience with marriage, I can't really claim to know much of anything about it.

It's interesting to think though, that after all of these years, the things I have learned most about, some of my views on really haven't changed.  Most everything else about me really has.  I'd like to say it's for the better, but goodness knows I've done things I'm not proud of, made mistakes I never figured I would, and hurt people in ways I wouldn't have thought of before.  Yet sitting here, years later, looking back on the experience, I realize that all of the blood, sweat, and tears brought me where I am today.  And I daresay that's a better place, or certainly a more experienced one.

I don't know about anybody else, but I don't find ignorance to be bliss.  I like knowing things.  It hurts me more not to know anything than to know things that may hurt.  If I know what is before me, I can face it and figure out what to do.  I don't like ignorance.  I'd rather see the hell I'm walking into than have it obscured by a fog if that's the way it has to be.  And honestly, I'm proud of it.  I'm proud of the person I've become and the things I believe.  I'll rarely admit it, but there it is.  I am.

Grievances

I have two posts to write at particular points in time.  Two.  One of them I know the title of, the other only the general gist of the contents.  And they both deal with sorrowful topics.  Not that that's surprising considering that this is me, after all.  But in a way, it's rather sad.  I don't really wish I had happier topics to write about in the future.  The thought just strikes at times like this that a bit more happiness wouldn't hurt on occasion.

That may very well be the case.  The thing is, I've been happier recently than I had been for quite a while prior.  Many things have changed in my life.  Most of them have changed for the better.  I can't really think of any off the top of my head that have changed for the worse, although there probably have been a couple.  These past couple of days, or more specifically nights, have been odd.  They have left me confused and flustered and overwhelmed.

My thoughts have been racing for no good reason.  I've been thinking about any number of things and there has been nothing that could calm my mind.  That there is frustrating.  Lying in bed for any number of hours, unable to fall asleep because my goddamn mind refuses to calm down.  All of the good old tricks of yoga, meditation, relaxation, and just about anything else seem to take far too long to work.  Yes, I do wind up falling asleep eventually, but only hours later, leaving me with too much stress and not enough sleep.

While this break from everything has been nice and much appreciated, I'm more than ready for it to be over.  I need something to do on some form of schedule.  I need some sort of routine.  More importantly, I need everything that is currently lingering in the *near future* to hurry up and start already.  I need to get this transition over with and move on with my life.  This stress is causing me to lose sleep and get increasingly frustrated, and I'm sick of that.  

Anyhow, this has been a completely rambling and irrelevant post that I just wanted to hurry up and get done with.  So I guess that's that.  My apologies for not having anything better or more relevant to say, but I don't know what to say and my brain is hell knows where right now.  

Hm...

Well then...it's almost the end of the day.  I still haven't blogged.  And I've been meaning to for about four hours now, too.  That's frustrating.  I always hate ending up in this situation because I pretty much know at that point that my post isn't going to be good.  But I make myself write one anyway, so here I am spewing the contents of my mind into a little box on my screen.

Last night was odd.  I'm not sure how much I did or didn't sleep.  I figure I slept enough, considering that I'm still fairly awake right now.  But I feel like I spent more of the night thinking than sleeping.  I was in one of those weird states where asleep and awake blend together and you don't know which is which.  Or maybe that only happens to me.  I don't know.

It's that odd state where everything feels like a dream, everything is fluid and melds and intertwines in ways that wouldn't work in real life.  But all of the thoughts concern things that pertain directly to real life--things that have happened or might happen or you want to happen.  Everything comes together in this twisted web of truth and illusion, and in the morning you wake up not knowing what just happened, wondering if you slept, trying to understand if you were actually thinking or if it was all a dream...or if there's even any difference.

So that's how I felt this morning.  And a quiet part in the back of my mind has been trying to understand this for most of the day.  I still don't think I've gotten anywhere with that train of thought.  That's alright though.  Things don't always need to be sorted out.  I'm fairly relaxed right now, so that's all I'm really concerned with at present.  The rest can wait.

Osmosis

People around me have often been known to want to absorb knowledge by osmosis.  And then they get hit over the head with the very book they're trying to learn from by me, the biologist, saying "no, damn it...osmosis is the movement of water, anything else is passive diffusion."  So perhaps I should have titled this post Passive Diffusion instead.  I'm not sure why I didn't.  It's an elegant process, regardless.  In referring to everything in colloquial use correctly, I seem to be losing the elegance of osmosis itself.

Anyhow, that has absolutely nothing to do with what I want to write.  I don't particularly want to spend a post rambling about biology, because hell, I could spend a couple of years doing that before I run out, but that's not the point of this blog and I don't think anyone really wants to read it.  With the possible exception of desperate biology students trying to pass a class.  But I don't know any of those who read this blog nor are they my intended audience.  Okay, really done rambling about biology now, moving onto legitimate content.

I think that too often we consider people as entities with rigidly defined characteristics.  Person A is honest.  Person B is whiny.  Person C is sensitive about anything involving relationships.  Maybe it's just me, but we don't seem to consider the fluidity of such traits nearly as often as we should.  Because really, there are underlying reasons for all of these things and they can all change as certain influences in our lives come and go.

Characteristics and personality traits, in effect, are largely influenced by the individuals we encounter in our everyday lives.  The people we interact with the most are the ones who have the greatest effects on us and who we ourselves wind up changing, whether we recognize that fact or not.  In a way, then, we can consider personalities to be composed of traits that work by way of passive diffusion.

Studies have shown that when we are with people we like, we change our behaviors to match more closely to theirs.  After a while, these similarities accumulate and not only do our behaviors change in the short term, but also in the long term.  Before we realize it, our personalities have become more like theirs and, if this appreciation is mutual, theirs have become more like ours.  It is like taking two substrates, one which is initially "your personality" and one that is initially "their personality" and beginning each with a concentration of your own.

As you get closer and get to know each other better, passive diffusion takes place, you absorb bits and pieces of "their personality" from them and they start accumulating some of "your personality" from you.  You never completely lose all of yourself, because the exchange hits equilibrium when you are approximately 50/50, an even split of you and them for the both of you.  This is evident in people who have been friends for a while and couples who have spent most of their lives together.  Sometimes they understand each other without the need to speak, and their mannerisms and habits become extremely similar.

The people we surround ourselves with ultimately change us.  Sometimes it's for the better, other times it's for the worse.  The two are difficult to judge anyhow.  We sometimes find ourselves wondering how we got where we are, what happened to bring us there.  More often than not, it's people who shaped us.  Those we loved and those we hated, all interacting with us in ways that led us where we are today and will continue altering us for as long as they surround us.

Day 1

It occurs to me that titling a post this was is an indication that I'm going to number every day this year and title all of my posts this way.  I assure you, that's not the case.  I'm still trying to figure out if this morning consists of a fresh start to me at all or if it is nothing new.  I'm trying to figure out if I acted differently or if I would have followed the same course some time ago.  And I'd say blame it on it having been three in the morning and the alcohol in my system, except that there wasn't enough alcohol to affect me and 3 am has become normal for me.

They say that how you see in the New Year is how you will spend it.  I think I may have very well written that same exact sentence, or at least something damn close a year ago.  Regardless, moving on with this post.  At midnight, I was happy, I was excited, I was hopeful.  I was slightly fearful, no sense in lying to myself about that. So hopefully that's how I'll spend the year.  And then from one to four, it all went straight to hell.  That there is not how I want to spend my year--hurting and frustrated and not knowing how to fix it.

I think I'm going to attribute this morning to exhaustion and flaws in self-censorship.  I'm hoping that's for the better.  Then again, occasions when I not only think, not only type in my own private archives, but actually say "because I don't want to answer, because I don't want to tell you things, because I want to pull back into my own shell and never trust again, and I'm making myself say things anyway so sometimes they come out awkward or crude or hurtful or incorrect and I'm sorry, I'm trying" don't tend to bode well for me or anyone I'm talking to.

Yes, that probably needed to be said.  But not at 3:38 am on the first day of the new year.  I went to bed feeling alright, I woke up feeling alright, but I knew then and I know now that everything isn't completely alright, because to be perfectly honest, all of what I just quoted still applies.  I must admit though, I needed the sleep.  It didn't give me a magical solution or a permanent cure to anything.  It just gave my mind a much-needed break.  No, everything isn't fine yet, but at this point, I believe that it is in fact possible for it to be, which is something I was certainly starting to doubt before I went to bed.

I'm going to take this slowly, one step at a time.  Looking at it from that perspective then, this is progress.  This is getting better.  Maybe that's ultimately why I titled the post the way I did.  Because right now I'm going to take this day by day, and go through everything slowly and sequentially and hopefully get better.  It might take a while, but I'm hoping it works.  I'm not sure what to do if it doesn't.