Throw

I don't know what to call this.  Arguably it could be referred to as apathy.  But apathy isn't this active.  Then again, neither am I.  I have the strong desire to go outside and shatter glass.  To watch that shower of crystal bounce back from the point of impact.  I want to see it break.  Or maybe that's just a physical metaphor I am applying to what is very solidly an emotional desire.  Fine.  I'll assume this to be correct (no guarantees whether it is or not) and run with it.

I want to break something.  Something metaphysical.  I want to mess something up.  I want to see something shatter.  I don't care if it's by my hand, but I feel almost compelled to do it myself if some other force doesn't.  I'm frustrated by the stasis.  Right now, it's just a matter of having to literally just get by for the next two months.  I hate thinking about just getting by.  I hate realizing everything I cannot do.  I hate knowing that if I slip up, it's all over.  Again, perhaps not literally, but I'm taking it and running wherever my mind takes me.

I want something else to think about.  Something entirely different.  Something to change things up.  To a point, I want drama.  Not my own, but someone I'm close to.  I want her to lose it a little bit.  I want him to do something utterly ridiculous.  I want them to be afraid of something terrrible.  Anything.  I don't care what it is or who, but I just need something to take my mind off of the waiting.  I need someone close to me to have an intimate personal crisis so that I can help them with it.

I can't work.  I can't focus.  I'm sleeping later than I ever have and it's not because I've been staying up late.  I'm restless and completely unable to concentrate.  I'm afraid to drive because I can't seem to make anything focus in my field of vision long enough to be confident in my driving abilities, which I know to be damn decent.  It feels like a fever without the raised temperature.  I'm restless and twitchy and completely caught up in this nonsense. 

I like it when those close to me have something they ask me to help with because it means I have something to focus on exclusively.  Everything else just goes by then.  All of the work somehow gets done in the intervening moments, and before I know it, the months are gone.  I just need a distraction.  Maybe even a personal project, but it needs to be urgent and I need to be passionate about it and it can't be at all related to anything I need to get done because then it's never going to happen. 

That's how I got by through the entirety of last year.  I was worried about x and y in someone else's life.  I had things to focus on that were unrelated to things that needed to get done and everything that needed to get finished was.  Unfortunately, I don't have that distraction this year.  Maybe that's why I'm hoping it gets broken.  I need something to think about.  And I know that of all things to break that's the wrong one, but it's so tempting and it shouldn't be.  I'm so sorry.

Sweet Lies

Lying there, shrouded in warmth, surrounded by comfort.  Motionless.  Eyes open, you stare at the ceiling.  Not at the light streaming through curtains the color of night, nor at the hands of the clock, ticking away, conducting the disappearance of the day.  Only the ceiling, the paint a shade of white, artistically named and slapped its own original number for the purpose of seeming sophisticated.  And as you lie there under it, all you can think is, that's a hideous shade of white.

All the voices slowly whisper in your ear, don't get up, don't get up and you can't help but ask them what would happen if you did.  So they tell you, they whisper frantically, they tell you, you will die.  You wonder then, you wonder if you wouldn't still die if lay there for all of eternity, staring at the blank canvas of a ceiling, waiting to be painted with fresh blood.  No, they tell you, if you stay, you will fade, but you will not die, you will not meet a bitter ending and you know it isn't true.

But oh the sweet, sweet lies they feed you.  As you lie there and watch the ceiling, unchanging despite the neverending passage of time, you wonder if maybe you could make it true.  If maybe, just maybe if you stayed there, the lies would turn into truths, and you lie there, missing the smell of steel tinged with blood.  You turn your head slightly and trace over the scars with your eyes, wondering why they're still there, why you're still there, why you haven't faded away yet.

The phone rings dully in the background.  One ring, then two.  You know you should pick it up, but what does it matter if you don't?  You're on your way to fading already, and fading quickly at that.  Three rings.  You resume contemplating the scars.  Four rings.  Blissful silence.  Even the voices have stopped and you beg them, please don't stop, please come back, don't leave me here.  But they don't return, so you surrender once more to the silent screams and the pretty lies that sharp edges have told to you before.

You lie there, wondering if maybe something is going to change, maybe something is going to move, something is going to get better.  And you don't fall asleep because you are afraid of what might find you if you do.  So you let go, and you collapse across the sheets, the cloth so pristine, wanting to soak up the stains of life and loss.  You don't fade.  But you don't die either.  Not immediately anyway.  You listen for those sweet, sweet lies for a minute longer until you finally understand that they're not going to come.

They won't save you.

Promises

I promised myself that after that, I would get better.  I would learn things.  I wouldn't go with things just because or try to make them work when they weren't working.  I got better at that.  I made enough mistakes that now I know how to avoid those specific errors that I encountered.  The thing about making mistakes is once you've made them once, you at least know what to avoid.  But when you're so carefully avoiding those, you fall into other traps, you make other mistakes, you come across other pitfalls you didn't know existed.  And who knows...maybe these are so much worse than the ones you just got out of.

I was supposed to learn to respect myself.  It's always something I've had issues with, like the whole self-confidence deal, but it was manageable.  Then two years ago happened.  Two years ago tore me apart.  It was a bad relationship.  I knew that at least on a subconscious level.  I didn't let it register because it was changing and I was trying new things and it felt like a worthwhile experience.  So I blocked out every reason to not be there.  We all know where I ended up as a result of that, because those who know me still see me picking up the pieces from that even today.

The thing that really bothers me about this is that I'm in a different place now.  I know what I should do.  I know what everyone's advice to someone in this situation would be.  I know it's the same advice I'd give to anyone who asked.  But as usual, I'm not taking my own advice.  I know it's stupid.  I'm hoping for something to get better even though I don't think it's going to happen.  I said at the very beginning of this that I'm going to be a person who does deserve better.  I have it in writing.  And because I'm just taking it, that goes to show that nothing's really changed.  That I'm not any better than I was two years ago.

I need something here.  I'm grasping at straws.  I've got a few reasons not to end this:

1. I love you
2. It would break you

Or maybe it would break me.  But I really don't think so.  I think one of the things that has changed from two years ago is that I'm strong enough to make it on my own.  I have a path in front of me and I know what it takes to follow it.  I don't need anyone holding me up along the way.  That was unrelated.  In any case...I have significantly more reasons to end it right now.  One of those being that bit of advice that I would give to anyone in my position.

I know it's foolish of me.  That doesn't help the situation though.  Going in with open eyes will only make it turn out more bitter in the long run.  You asked me a year ago if I believe in second chances.  I said I didn't know because I've never been in positions to grant or be granted such opportunities.  Now I am.  So I know the answer to that question.

I do believe in second chances.  And third.  And fourth.  I may spend my days lamenting about the faults of humanity, but in the end, I'm willing to let people try again.  I'm not trying to be all high and mighty and I-have-power-over-you right now.  I'm just throwing my thoughts at a page.  I'm going to keep giving you chances, even if you keep messing them up.  But you know as well as I do that my faith in humanity is tenuous at best.  So please, don't make me question it again.  Don't give me another reason to listen to my own advice.  I have enough already.

Morals

I'm doing a lot of writing about writing lately.  Which I know bothers some people significantly.  Then again, most of the people I know who have issues with such things don't read my blog anyway because they're generally the same people who have issues with the angst and controversy that I seem to allow free reign in my writing and my life.  Anyhow, this is going to be more writing about writing.  Feel free to tune out if it doesn't interest you.

From elementary school, you're taught that stories have a moral and a purpose.  One of the questions most commonly asked of children after they've read something is "what did you learn?"  Well what if there was nothing to learn?  Not every story comes complete with lessons built in to educate the youth of the world.  The stories that are most like real life don't have any resounding morals built into them but are rather stories for the sake of being stories.

That's the thing with real life, though.  You do learn things as you go, but they don't come in neat little packages.  It's hard to judge the beginning and end of an event when you learned x or y.  In some cases, sure, it's not particularly hard.  But on the whole, looking at the expanse of a life, how do you divide that into distinct sections each with their own lessons and morals packaged in?  You don't.  It doesn't work that way.  You live an you learn.

That's why writing fiction with a purpose was always so hard for me.  I started seeing things from an existentialist standpoint quite some time ago.  That's when I started to doubt that little clause about morals and purposes.  If life doesn't have a purpose, why would any story?  This is why so much of my writing is in little purpose-less blurbs that float around and do nothing.  I don't see life as having a purpose, I see it as a puzzle composed of little pieces called events.  So that's how I write it.  Because, in case you didn't read my last post, I believe in writing the truth.

How To Write The Truth

She told me once (or maybe it was the room in general and I just happened to be listening particularly attentively) that it's easier to write if you're a little "messed up," so to speak.  It's easier to put in twisted plots and convoluted emotions if you've been through them or understood them or at least had the imagination to think them up, because even that takes a bit of non-standard thinking on the part of the author.  That's why she said it's easier for her to write, because she's questioned her sanity and accepted the quirks as part of her personality, as tools in her writing.  They help her come up with stories and put them into words.

I have to wonder what people think of my writing.  More importantly, I wonder what they think of me, or how my writing reflects on me as an individual.  I think at one point someone asked me how I can write the way I do.  I don't remember how I answered (or even if this was a legitimate question or merely a figment of my imagination), but I think I've figured something out.  You write the truth.  You write the things you know, the things you've lived through, the things you've spent nights dreaming about. 

When you spill your soul into writing, you soak it through with truth.  Because it actually happened, because you really felt that way, it has to be real.  There's no way it's not because, well, you've been there, you've done it, you've lived the experience, the thought, the emotion.  And sometimes people will question it anyway.  They'll tell you that your characters are unrealistic, that people would not respond to a given event like this because it's just not how people are.  Then you have days when you want more than anything else to correct them, to tell them, to throw it in their faces and scream at them. 

"This is the truth.  This is how it works.  I'm not guessing or creating, I'm writing what I know because people don't always react the way they're supposed to and things aren't always going to have a clean beginning middle and end.  Sometimes everything just goes to hell and more often than not you have no choice but to walk away from it unresolved, so don't tell me that I need to put in a better ending.  There is no better ending, because this is life.  This is how it sometimes goes."

But you can't.  You can't tell them that.  Because they'll stare at you, or not believe you, or send you to see a psychologist.  Because of course, if it doesn't just work, if it's messed up, if it's foolish and you're aware of it but live that way anyway, there has to be something wrong with you.  It must be that you need help.  So you don't say anything.  You sit in silence and fume as they tear your work to shreds and suggest alterations, wondering why their criticism hurts so much.

And then it hits you.  Because that's not just a story, that's your story.  It's not just a piece of writing, it's the goddamn truth.  And it's one thing to change a story to make it sound pretty, but you can't really change pieces of a life that's already happened so that it looks better on paper.  That's why I like the stories without clean endings.  Why I fall in love with characters who are so flawed and just slightly beyond the realm of the believable.

People aren't always believable.  Life doesn't always make sense.  Truth, in the end, really is stranger than fiction.  That's why so often when you write about things that actually happened, things that matter to you, emotions you've actually felt, sometimes it's not going to feel right.  And oftentimes it's not going to be liked.  What it comes down to is that it's easiest to write about things we know.  While many people know a base level of common, every-day, ordinary, everyone has their own skewed perceptions of things. 

What I see, you won't always understand.  What you see, I may not be capable of appreciating.  Sometimes you let the words take hold and you just  let it flow past your brain, not comprehending, until it ends up on the page.  Most people aren't going to appreciate the truth because it doesn't usually make for a good story.  I like stories in their own right, but I have to say, I've always been a bigger fan of the truth, if only because it has a tendency to do some truly unbelievable things.

I Guess I'm Supposed to Say Something Now

Yep.  I still don't really have anything to say.  I thought it might almsost fall apart for a couple of minutes there today.  Everything went silent and the only responses to seemingly random phrases were "ok."  That's when things take on a hurt tone, in my mind, anyway.  I can't say I know what you were thinking.  It's been one of those very touchy nights for conversation. 

It's come and go.  I don't know what to say, you don't know what to say, so suddenly it's all about hugs and asking each other if we're alright.  Nothing wrong with that, certainly.  It's not a bad form of communication and it at least ensures that we are alright.  I still wish we could have legitimate conversation, though.  But it happens that such things fade for a bit. 

It just feels like that's been the case a lot lately.  Then again, yesterday was a perfect exception to this.  I think it's mostly just because I'm tired.  I have no reason to be questioning any of this.  Right now my mind is just in overdrive.  I'll have to fix that.  Or rather, hope that sleep does.  Yeah, I'm sorry.  I really don't have much to say today.  Good night. 

Throw Back

This is too many transitions in too little time.  For me, anyway.  Maybe other people can handle them just fine, but right now, I'm not at the point where I can.  I'm tired.  That might have something to do with the lack of sleep.  My head hurts.  My tooth hurt (and possibly still does, but the headache overpowers that sensation).  It's frustrating.  I was just starting to get over my cold and now this blanket of utter exhaustion is just drowning me. 

I'll be fine.  I just need to rest, which I haven't gotten the chance to do yet.  That's probably the only thing giving me hope right now, knowing that once I rest I'll probably be okay.  Probably.  Hopefully.  But hey, at least it's something.  I can go for that right now.  I get to have more stupid people drilling into my teeth to supposedly fix them and possibly actually just make them worse tomorrow.  That doesn't put me in a particularly good mood.  Then again, maybe I'll get lucky and they won't hurt as much after this. 

I'm not sure what to make of the things I've posted these past two days.  It's been a while since I've written that much or that honestly.  But I haven't had any responses to it at all, no comments, no criticism, no evaluation, which is what I want most with respect to those posts right now.  So really, if anyone has commentary, I'll glaldy hear it.  I'm too tired to make sense of things or think them through right now.  I don't want to deal with them.  I'd rather just curl up and sleep it all off.  I hate it when days take this turn.  But oh well, it happens.  I'm going to get some rest now.  Good night. 

Fade Away

I'd pull an Alaska.  One of those days, for reasons nobody can understand and even I couldn't explain, suddenly it would all be over.  It would be on a whim and there would be nothing left.  No notes.  No letters.  I should have kept that post-it as a reference because if you don't have it, nobody will ever have access.  I just wouldn't leave it.

I'd always intend to.  I want people to know as much as possible.  But the fact remains that that's not how it would happen.  I'd start for seemingly no reason, having contemplated over and over again why not, and in the end I'd finish because it would feel like I should.  That's how all of the other things ever came about anyway.  I can think of maybe two occasions on which I did that because I specifically wanted or needed to, and countless others when the urge had passed after half an hour and I only did because I then felt obligated to because of the lead-up.

I wouldn't leave it a mystery on purpose.  It would simply end up being the case because I wouldn't have the energy after that to amend it.  I'm certain I'd remember and then not get up to do so because it would feel pointlesss or I would feel too drained.  I'd only do it if I had no other reason.  I know that much.  If there was a single thing to really stop me, I wouldn't.  I've always been pretty good about controlling myself in such situations.  But what it comes down to is that one of those mornings when I would have no really good reason to say no, I all of a sudden just wouldn't, and that would be it. 

Part of me wants to spend the entirety of the summer sitting on the floor putting together puzzles, no real reasons for it, no obligation to finish anything or start something else.  Just slowly, steadily working with pieces of cardboard in my hands, not needing to get anywhere, but ultimately accomplishing some small, mildly satisfying goal.  I would be happy with success like that.  It would be enough.  I wouldn't have to think but I could do all the thinking I needed.  I would be by myself but I wouldn't need any company.  And maybe it's just the mood I'm currently in, but that seems like just about the best summer I could really want at present.

I don't need a therapist.  I wouldn't say anything.  Not anything near the sorts of things I write, anyway.  Writing is my therapy.  It gets the messes out of my system and leaves them out on display.  I know enough science and I know enough of myself to make some form of sense of the jumbled words I throw down to express each though.  That's more than I'd ever allow any therapist to do.  Because even when I do want to let someone particularly close, I don't.  I can't.  I do it all through writing.  If you want to know me, to understand me, to make any semblance of sense out of me, read my writing.  It'll show you things I never will in person, no matter how much I may want to.

Bottle of Soul

It's been a while since I've really written.  I do mean quite a long while.  I don't really remember the last time I sat down and threw down legitimate thoughts or emotions without getting caught up in ten things at once along the way.  And now, I just want to write.  I want to take the bottle full of my soul and tip it upside down, watch soul come gushing out and soaking the blank screen with words, sensations, emotions, anything that will come out, just so long as it's something, just to prove to myself there's still something there.

I don't want to be empty.  I'm rather afraid of it, really.  I don't know how to deal with it or what to do about it.  I'm constantly afraid of things losing their significance, of becoming old or obsolete or no longer feeling the same.  In moments when I want to be pressed against you but know I can't, it's the most important thing in the world, but what happens in the future?  If I'm able to do it every day, will it mean as much? 

I understand people who want to save sex for someone special.  I understand the idea of significance in it and the concept of making it something that does determine a particular kind of bond that one doesn't share with anyone else.  I understand it in part because that's not the way I've done it, and I've often worried if maybe I'm damaged as a result.  Maybe it was wrong of me to not value this action as much as others so clearly do.  But when it comes down to it, the emotion hasn't diminished.

If anything, I think I've gotten some of the significance that I initially threw away back.  I learned the contrast between sex that is just motions and sex that some would call making love.  And to me there is a difference.  It's one that I would have imagined but not understood had I not done things the way I did them.  So to a point, I'm glad I did.  I messed up a lot.  I caused a lot of pain.  Mostly what I'm talking about is this, not what once was but what now is.

I'd like to think I'm better than that, but I've thought it every single time before and something has still managed to go wrong.  So maybe I can't remember when the last time we had an issue was or why we had problems.  But I'm still afraid that there's something I'm missing, that I'm going to mess something up.  I don't know how to prevent things, and I'm afraid I haven't been patched up enough yet to believe that I can make things work. 

I hate to think of it this way, but I still don't feel like I can maintain good relationships.  When someone mentions marriage, I scoff but secretly wonder.  I no longer see myself as the marrying type.  I think of myself as too broken to hold something together for that long, too messed up and selfish and flighty to maintain any semblance of a healthy relationship at all, not to mention for what would, at any given point, be the rest of my life.  I'm afraid of it because if (or when) I get married, I want to do it for life.  I'm one of those people who believes in sticking with things and working out problems.  I'm just afraid that I'm not good enough to stick to that.

I used to plan out my future.  I felt like I knew what I was doing and where I was going and who I would be there with.  I didn't figure emotions or people could change radically enough for things like that to fall apart.  But I'm not so naive now.  I understand that things happen.  I know that everything changes and sometimes no matter how hard you want to hold on to something, you have to let go.  So I'm afraid to think about the future.  I'm afraid to talk about it.  I'm afraid to have anything to do with it because what if something falls apart before I get there? 

I don't remember how to put my life back together.  I've done it before and I think I could do it again.  But the thing is, it's been too long since I've done it for me to remember how, or for me to have any idea of whether or not I really could.  I don't really remember things being too different from the way they are now.  I'm afraid that if they were, I would fall apart.  And I don't know how to deal with it.  That scares me.  So even as I'm sitting here counting down the last seventy-four days of this, I'm secretly hoping that maybe I can live a little bit longer in those last few, that maybe I won't have to say goodbye, that maybe if it doesn't change, I'll be able to keep it all together.

The terrifying part is that I know that life goes on.  I'm very much afraid of what that means for me. 

Dissociation

I'm not sure if dissociation is really even a word.  I know it as a chemistry term, as the separation of positive and negative ions in a compound when dissolved in a (usually polar) solvent.  I do not know if it applies the same way to real-world ideas and things.  Regardless, I think I'm going to use this word because it works so well.  The thing is, I find that people and their ideas dissociate in my mind.

I know I've written on this topic before, but I've started thinking about it again lately.  Every person you see has an identity.  That's hard to remember sometimes, with so many people on the planet.  We have statistics thrown at us: X million dead because of AIDS, Y million killed in this-or-that war.  It's hard to see that many people as individuals, each with their own lives and families and concerns.

To a point, this indifference begins to manifest itself in our everyday lives with our acquaintances as well.  It's difficult when we are suffering from our own problems and crises to stop and remember the concerns of everyone around us, especially when they are so different from our own, so far-fetched.  Maybe that's just me though.  Maybe it's only because my brain is in a fog and I really can't think straight that I start separating people into two different entities.  I'm getting worn out again.  I might continue this when I'm less sick and more capable of thinking straight.  In any case, I'm out for now, back to imagining people dividing into separate things and related ramblings.  Good night. 

Comparisons

Alright, the title is a bit out of place.  It's entirely fitting given the direction the conversation I'm having is going right now, but it doesn't necessarily fit the blog post particularly well.  Not the one I intend to write, anyway.  But who knows, it may wind up fitting significantly better than I expected.  Anyhow, I'm rambling.  I should probably get to actual content by now. 

Relationships are weird.  That's as good a place to start this as any.  They are, in a sense, a web of fragility.  It's constantly a matter of balance.  You're trying to maintain something that has too many nuances, complexities, and elements to keep track of.  It's not something you can really predict.  To a point, certainly, you may be able to get some idea of a couple's potential for success given their natures, personalities, and previous relationship experiences.  But on the whole, it's impossible to know how it's going to play out.

I wonder if it's possible to get so caught up in trying to make something work that as a result it falls apart.  I know it's possible in conversations.  I've been there, I've seen other people there.  At the same time, a relationship is bigger than that.  And as long as conversation continues, as long as such issues are discussed and worked through, shouldn't it work out?  I don't really know.  At this point I feel like I'm worried about worrying too much about things falling apart.

But I feel safe and comfortable.  For the most part anyway.  The thing that tends to happen when people get too comfortable is that things start falling apart.  I feel that being consciously aware of this and maintaining conversations and openness on the matter should be enough to work through things, at least as a basis.  Everything else has to build on top of it, of course, but willingness, committment, and honesty seem like a good foundation.  That's worked better than anything else I've found thus far, so I guess I'm sticking to it.

Anyhow, I seem to have drifted from whatever I started by saying and I'm too tired to really focus terribly much, so I think I'm going to give up on this for now.  I'm also still exhausted and still sick, so that doesn't make for terribly clear thinking.  Maybe I'll get back to this tomorrow.  Hopefully I'll be more coherent on the subject at some point.  In the meantime, apologies for the low quality.  I really do hope to improve that. 

Fatigue

Alright, this is going to be short.  And probably not so sweet.  But I really don't care because I am absolutely exhausted.  That and I'm getting sick.  I think.  Or might possibly be running a fever.  I'm probably not, but either way, I have a headache and many, many things in my body that currently hurt.

So this is going to be short.  And it is going to be about absolutely nothing because I am not quite capable of thinking about anything at this point which, while frustrating, also gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to get a decent amount of sleep tonight.

Oh, and since I should probably say something to this effect, this was a very nice weekend.  Despite the irritable habits of various people and the less-than-satisfactory sleep I got last night (which I am blaming for the majority of my back pain at present), I thoroughly enjoyed it.  That is all.  Good night.

Weekends

I seem to post fairly often about particularly eventful or unusual weekends as they happen.  So this is another one of those posts.  I was fortunate enough to in fact be able to get internet, so here I am taking advantage of it.  I guess I forgot how nice it was to get away from this prison of sorts.  They call it a world of opportunity and talk constantly about the way it opens everything up to you, but what they forget is how much it traps you in and of itself.

Weekends like this when I get away from everything, when I get to just relax and breathe and have a normal, regular weekend for once, are wonderful.  I mean, this isn't really normal because you don't normally get to spend the weekend with people you aren't related to in one way or another while surrounded by those who are, but being "home" is as normal as my weekends have been for quite some time, so I'm certainly not objecting.

Anyhow, it seems to be turning into quite the pleasant time, so I'm certainly not objecting.  I wish it would last longer, and I have no desire to go back to the mundanity that is every single day of the week otherwise.  But alas, it happens, and I am obligated to return.  So I will.  And I will survive, and I will get through the remaining 78 days because after that, it will be over.  Finally.  It's just nice to have weekends like this that remind me that there are still pleasant things in the world. 

Oops

Yet another late night here.  I guess I should be used to this procrastination by now, but every time it seems to take me a little bit by surprise and force me into working in a slight panic.  Well, I'm generally restless right now, but there is any number of different reasons for that at present, which I would really rather not think about.  So I'm just going to pretend that they don't exist for the time being (because that's definitely the best way to deal with things).

Tomorrow should be nice.  I hope.  The problem with plans like this is that they seem very nice and then end up failing and falling apart.  Which isn't good.  But I'm just going to hope that doesn't happen here because for one thing, I really need the break, and for another, it would be nice to not piss people off ridiculously in a situation that I had to practically beg for.  Just putting that logic down.

I've been really tired lately to stay up terribly late.  Which is very odd for me.  It might just be sleep-debt accumulating (although I'm not entirely sure where from) or it might be something else.  Either way, things in my body are generally starting to hurt, which really isn't a good thing.  But I don't really know what to do about it, so I guess that leaves "deal with it" as my only option.  Guess what I'll be doing?

Anyhow, I realize this post is composed of entirely unrelated thoughts and such, primarily because I am tired and running short on time, and generally lacking in anything worthwhile to say.  My apologies for failure at quality blogging, but it happens I guess.  Warning: I may not be able to post tomorrow.  We'll see.  Just an advance warning more for myself than anything else. 

Heartfelt Apologies

I've always felt that things aren't worth mentioning unless they are sincere.  I am afraid of overuse of phrases like "I love you" and "you mean the world to me" (to give some particularly specific examples) because of what they may convey and what I may or may not intend.  When it comes to expressing emotions or sympathies, then, I find myself more cautious, more hesitant, less open about how I feel, just because I need to be absolutely certain I mean something before I chance saying it. 

For that reason, I like to take my time to think. That's part of why I like letters so much.  They give me the opportunity to write and rewrite, to structure sentences until they are absolutely perfect so that I may express only exactly what I mean.  It also plays into what I do and don't say and when.  This, for example, is something I could have, possibly would have been better off having, written twenty hours ago.  But I didn't, because I needed to take that bit of time and reflect, analyze, come to terms with my emotions and myself. 

I'm a firm believer in free will.  I'm not going to argue the issue of fate/destiny vs. free will, but rather freedom of choice.  And I don't mean that in any sort of political sense, either.  I mean that as the freedom for an individual to do with one's life what one will.  That includes unwise decisions, and harmful ones, and ones that hurt me or anyone else.  Because ultimately, I think it is a person's choice what they want to do with their own life. 

I do have opinions on what is right and what is wrong.  I have thoughts and desires of my own, some selfish, others (hopefully) not so much.  They all influence what I want to see happen and what I do.  So I'm not saying that I don't try to influence people, that I don't want what I think is the best for everyone involved.  What I am saying is that in the end, I believe it comes down to the individual making the decision about their own life. 

To a point, this is specifically aimed toward a given topic, given people, a given general direction.  But I feel as though this can apply to a number of things, so I don't feel that additional explanation is necessarily required.  So I'll leave this as is.  I'm too tired to try to elaborate on my thought process and would like to curl up in bed shortly.  Perhaps I will finish this tomorrow.  Perhaps not.  We will see.  In the meantime, good night, sleep well, make the most of what you can get. 

Calm

My mood is variable at best right now.  I'm swinging between panic and absolute tranquility.  Nothing feels real.  The past few hours have been absolutely ridiculous.  I haven't been able to keep track.  But I guess the past few hours don't matter at present.  Or even if they do, I'm going to sit here and continue to pretend that they don't.  Because right now, right now I feel alright.  I am calm.  I am collected.  I am worrying about other people and that is stopping me from worrying about myself.

All of us are exhausted right now.  We need rest.  We need this nonsense to go away.  And by "we" I really mean just about everyone I have talked to over the course of the day, because this is the point where everything starts to really drag at what is occasionally an absolutely agonizing pace.  Things happen that we can't control, and we lash out against them, we hit back against emptiness and nothingness, even though we all know it won't accomplish anything.

Right now, in this moment, everything is just fine.  I've come to terms with reality, I've accepted the things I need to accept.  There is no sense in worrying further.  And the thing is, there is legitimately very little concern to be had here.  The slight headache I have is vaguely annoying, but somehow, despite everything else, I have managed to calm down. 

Maybe the effects of panic are no longer the same on my system.  There is no reeling, no utter fear.  There was a point where I wanted to curl up and disappear but I got past it quickly and am now back to my normal self.  A bit more apathetic than usual, but that has been a trend lately in and of itself.  I'm fairly certain everything will work out alright in the end.  So in the meantime, I'm not going to panic over it. 

Creepy (a.k.a. Rewriting the Last Post)

Re-reading.  Still re-reading.  I'm going to sit here and continue re-reading until something happens because that's how my mind works, and until I have something better or more interesting to focus on in that respect, I'm going to keep running over what I've got over and over and over again.  Maybe this is just how I handle information.  So yes, creepy describes this as adequately as anything else. 

Regardless, I was actually trying to say something here.  Concerning my last post title, I wonder if it would have changed anything had I read it last night instead of this afternoon.  If by this point I would have had a bit more time to process things.  I doubt it, though.  Everything in my mind concerning such things might have been shifted back by a couple of hours, but on the whole, nothing major would have changed.

The problem I have with talking to people online is that I'm not the same person face-to-face as I am on the internet.  Conversations carried out over chats of any sort are difficult for me to bring into the real world because I struggle to connect the ideas typed out before me and the people actually behind them as the people I interact with in the real world.  And then I'm caught up in doubt.  Maybe I misread that or what if it meant something completely different?

I'm working on it.  I promise.  I'm actually trying (believe me, if I wasn't, I wouldn't even be writing this).  I'm getting there, if slowly, but at least I am.  So basically what I'm trying to say is: sure, yes, that would be nice.  And even if something isn't enough in and of itself, it helps.  Small things add up, I've learned that over the past few years myself.  The desire to help is mutual, as well, although too often I feel like offering help may be intruding upon someone's life, hence my being hesitant to offer it.  Consider this an offer, then.  I like helping people.  But that's a tangent for another day and I should probably wrapt this up.

Okay, so now that's actually written, which is good, especially given that it took me a couple of hours to actually get my head clear enough to put it into words.  And okay, I'll admit it.  I'm terrified that I completely misread everything and have made that really obvious and that I'm completely and totally wrong and nobody will ever want to talk to me again.  That's an exaggeration, but you get the point.  Much as I like to say I don't care what people think, I do, especially in certain cases where I actually (believe it or not) like the people in question.  But anyhow, this is me taking a chance and hoping I'm right.  My sincerest apologies if I am not. 

The Things You Miss by Going to Bed Early

I don't know.  I'm writing this for a reason.  Otherwise I really don't think I'd have written this post so early today (given that I don't remember the last time I wrote anything before 10 or 11 pm).  Except that I don't know how to phrase this.  And I'm still flustered.  Because it's really not hard to fluster me at all.  Two nights ago, I said something to the effect of "now you know something that most people don't...that it's really, really easy to hurt me, but it's really, really hard to see it unless I let you."

Well, it's not just a matter of hurting me.  It's a matter of having any effect on me at all.  One of those is causing a reaction.  Things often hit me hard.  Harder than they should.  Even if people read this, I'm fine with writing that...I know that the few people I don't want to see this would never know if it was me.  But now I'm just waffling around everything and relying on tangents because I don't know how to start and I don't even know what to say. 

For one thing, I was an idiot to read it in the middle of the day.  I'm flustered.  I don't even really, concretely know what that word means, but I'm fairly certain it applies here.  I don't know why things that people write have that effect on me.  Never things they say, always things they write.  So now again I can't write because I'm stuck at trying to figure out what to actually say and what I'm afraid to say.  Which ultimately just further proves the point. 

I don't like letters.  The problem with letters is that they encourage a form of communication that dies down.  It's too easy for them to fade away.  For one person or the other or both to find that they are too tired or don't have enough time and that maybe they'd do it later.  And this is practically a letter.  By which I mean I'm trying to write a letter but I'm afraid to address it any given way, so I write it in an open way, as a blog post.  Because I am rather a wreck right now and not at all capable of drawing conclusions. 

I have plenty more to say but I'm not going to say it.  While I love to fancy myself as strong and capable and all that, I know that not to be the case.  Not when it comes to people.  For no good reason at all, I have too much on my mind to sort through.  It's one of those "I'm fine, really" moments, where as soon as I say it I start to doubt it.  So I don't know.  This didn't get anywhere.  I failed at writing it for the very purpose I started.  Maybe I'll be able to say more later, maybe I won't. 

And maybe it hasn't been futile.  Maybe it has showed me things about myself that I had previously forgotten.  I'm drowning in music right now and about to cry.  And I don't know why.  This world doesn't feel real.  Maybe it's because I have a fever, although I didn't think I did.  Or maybe it's something more, maybe I'm starting to realize that I'm less alright than I always claim to be, and maybe I really do just need something to change in a way that it hasn't.  But hell, I'm probably wrong.  It's probably just because I'm sleep-deprived.  I don't know which side of this to believe now.  So I give up. 

As an aside, the title is completely inappropriate for this post but reflects more closely on what I intended to say, so I'm keeping it as is.  Maybe I'll write something better later.  I really hope I do.

Apathy

I'm so apathetic.  I really hadn't thought it was actually legitimately possible to care this little.  But apparently it is.  And I'm hitting this state.  By which I mean I've already hit it and am just hanging on for dear life now hoping to survive long enough that it won't kill me.  I don't usually get this way.  I can almost always motivate myself to finish things.

But I guess this is just not one of those times when motivation works for me.  Unfortunately.  Especially given that now I'm starting to legitimately fall behind and I don't have the energy to fix it.  This never happens to me.  If I fall behind, it's only ever a little bit and I always manage to fix it, to get away with it, to pull it off so that most people don't realize I was behind in the first place.

Now, for once, I'm afraid that I'm not simply going to be able to do that.  And maybe I'm wrong.  I really rather hope I'm wrong in this case.  But I don't know if I can in fact pull this off.  I know I'd get over it if I can't, but it really bothers me that I've gotten to the point where this is a legitimate concern.  I've always prided myself on being on top of things and successful.  So now that it may not be a possibility, I am bothered and somewhat scared by this. 

Simplicity

I'm going to apologize in advance for the less-than-optimistic nature of this post, but it goes well with what I wrote yesterday and I'm too tired to figure out anything worthwhile to write about today.  So yes, in short this will be more musings on death and life, although perhaps in a more relevant or down-to-earth context than yesterday's writing. 

So when it comes down to it, the primary reason I am still alive is that remaining alive takes less effort than death.  If dying was as simple as lying down and falling asleep--forever--I would have probably done it a while ago.  Life doesn't mean enough to me to care very much.  Or maybe that's just the sort of person I am or the specific mood I am in right now.  Regardless...

"Living is better than dying.  Until it's not."  Grey's Anatomy.  Great show, but that's beside the point.  The point is, living is easy.  It requires only maintenance of what you had been doing to that point.  It does not require change, it does not ask for undue action.  It is simply maintenance of pre-existant habits.  When something significant enough to cause change happens, that's when death becomes better, when the effort it takes to bring about death is worth it.

Life doesn't mean much to me.  There's no reason for me to deny it.  I've got my reasons to still be here, certainly, but death doesn't scare me.  That stopped being the case a long time ago.  And I'm okay with that. 

Life as the Absence of Death

Alright, I've got 24 minutes to churn out a blog post here.  I know it's my own fault for having waited this long, but I've been doing other things and talking to other people, so blogging hasn't been my primary concern.  On the other hand, I finally have an interesting idea to explore, so I'm going to try to talk about that as much as I can in the next couple of minutes.

We generally think of death as the absence of life.  When life, the active component, is no longer present, it is then that we are left with death.  Death is the absence of this element that is life.  In analyzing this, I will be looking at life as the natural state then and death as what happens when this so-called natural state ceases to exist for whatever reason.

Looking at life as the absence of death, then, means that death is the natural state and life is what happens when death ceases to exist.  In this way, it is more difficult to see life as an active thing, since all active things have to stop.  In a way then, we have to visualize life as a perpetual motion machine and death as a stopping power.  That way, death is the actual active element in the system, if that makes any sense.

When the active stopping power (death) is not around, life goes on.  Just like in our world, when the active thing (life) is not around, death prevails, as it is the absence of life.  It is difficult to explain this because of our understanding of "natural state."  Many people see death as the natural step, since life springs up, leads its course, and ceases to exist, lapsing back into death.  But we are looking at things (in our world system) in terms of life.  So its absence is unusual, it must be caused by something.

Thus in this life-as-the-absence-of-death system, we look at things in terms of death.  Death is the general state of being.  Once death invades a given system (i.e. life) which cannot all of a sudden spring into existence since death will not simply disappear out of time and/or space, the motion is put to a stop.  Thus death is the active force we are looking at.

It's a really odd way to look at a system, and I'm fairly certain this explanation is more confusing than anything else, but I'm trying to throw this idea down since it entered my mind.  I may try to explain it further at a later date when I have more time and better analogies, I may even try to write some good pieces about this sort of world.  But in the meantime, this is all I've got, partially because of time limit, partially because of lacking mental capacity.  Let me know if you have any thoughts on the matter.

Evening

So guess who waited too late to start blogging again?  Yep, that would be me.  That's why it's getting done now and not a number of hours ago like I was, to a point, intending.  But at least it's getting done, right?  I mean, that's what ultimately matters, is it not?  Maybe it is, maybe not.  I can't say I care very much.  I'll figure it out eventually anyway, so whatever.

I'm sorry.  I feel like I don't have anything worthwhile to say, especially not after the monologue I posted yesterday.  I'm damn proud of that monologue, to be perfectly honest.  I feel that it is well-written, adequately conveys the emotion that I was going for, and explores a plot-line that is personally important to me without seeming like a personal sob-story.

I have a feeling it'll take me a little bit to get back to decent writing because I only really pour that much effort/energy into one thing every couple of days or weeks, so bear with me while I recover from it please.  Commentary, criticism, and any other evaluation of that piece is more than welcome, contact me any way you'd like to let me know.  Anyhow, I give up on trying to write half-decently.  Good night.  Sleep well.

Monologue

Alright, so I mentioned a while ago that I'm taking a creative writing class.  And I said that there are certain things I wrote that I might end up posting here.  Well, it took two or three months, but I finally got around to it.  I wrote a dramatic monologue over the past couple of days.  This is draft number one.  Rough copy.  I'll give the general creative writing disclaimer of this not necessarily being a reflection of actual people I've met or situations I've experienced etc. etc. etc.  Anyhow, I'm done with introduction and such.  Enjoy.

*   *   *

JIM, in his early twenties, walks in and sits down. He isn't nervous or twitchy. He's calm and collected. He's had one meeting with the therapist before, but the policy now is that he walks in and talks. This is his first real appointment. He walks in and sits down on the couch. Looks around him. He stares at a spot where the therapist would be if there really was one in the audience and waits for a couple of seconds. He checks his watch and, realizing that nobody else is going to say anything, begins.

You want to hear my story? You really want me to tell you why I'm here? I'm no good with open-ended questions. I don't know how to explain these things. But there are a few things I do know, and since you're asking, I might as well tell you anyway.

They sent me here. I have no reason to be here. I'm fine. Or maybe I'm not. But hey, I've made it this far without "treatment" or whatever you want to call this nonsense. I suppose you all call it therapy. Therapy. Th-e-ra-py.  He sounds it out slowly, considering it, looking around then sits forward on the couch suddenly and looks really intently at a fixed point. Tell me something, please. No really, just humor me for a minute here. This therapy thing, what's the point of it? What is it supposed to do? I'm supposed to just sit here, or I guess lie here as the cliché goes, and confess to you all of my secrets, all of the pieces of my life that nobody knows so that you can put all of this together and tell me everything about me that I don't understand.

So tell me how I'm supposed to do that. Tell me how you expect me to write out twenty-three entire years of experiences, give or take a couple of months, in these little hour-long sessions. Do you want to hear about the time I skinned my knee playing soccer when I was five? Should I inform you that my mother used to pick me up at 3:13 on the dot after high school every single day? Am I going to confess to you that I almost killed myself over a broken heart once? How much detail does this demand? Almost yelling. Tell me, damn it.

His entire body tenses as he stares at the audience as intensely as possible. A minute passes. He shakes his head and leans back against the cushions of the couch, lets himself sink down, spreads his arms. He sits up again, having regained the calm composure he walked in with.

Well, I'm here for the last one of those. I guess I'm supposed to explain that now, aren't I? Pause. I was young. By which I mean this happened two months ago. But two months feels like an eternity when your life goes from beginning to ending in three hours or less.

Where do I start? At the beginning, maybe? But that would take two years to relate because it took two years to live through and when someone becomes your very life, you don't want to cut out any portion of any moment of any day. No, I think I'll start at the end. He takes a deep breath and shifts into a more comfortable sitting position.

She dumped me. It was probably my fault that we broke up, but she was the reason it actually happened. I loved her like I'd loved no one else. She could have slept with every man in the world and murdered half of my family and I still wouldn't have loved her any less. Maybe it was ridiculous, but I would have done anything for her. There was nothing that could have led me to break up with her. But I guess she didn't feel the same way.

So anyway. I said we should spend more time together. She thought I was asking too much. One thing led to another and we were done. Stupid reason to break up, right? But that's just the way we were. Small things cascaded into big ones and we were such a mess that this time, once and for all, we couldn't fix it. I hadn't seen it coming. I didn't know what to do. So I just lived the next few weeks in silence and in shock. I was on auto-pilot. Nothing mattered because all of a sudden, my whole reason for being had gone and disappeared forever out of my life.

He puts his head in his hands and sighs deeply. Some time passes as he's obviously reliving the experiences. He looks up, takes a breath, brushes a hand through his hair, and resumes talking.

One day I woke up, grabbed my cup of coffee as usual. Headed for the door and just stopped. 'Cause fuck, agony gets old fast. He shakes his head slightly before continuing. I walked into my bathroom and took out a bottle of pills. He pauses and smiles, knowing he's more amused by the fact than he should be. Now I was always a guy for economy. Always bought the big bottles. You know, the ones with 300 tablets of 500 mg of ibuprofen. It only takes about 105 grams of that stuff to kill you, you know? That's 210 pills. And I had that. I knew I did.

I don't really know what I was thinking. I don't figure I was. But I took a pill, and I swallowed it. Then another and another. It was a new bottle so I wasn't worried. And I just took pill after pill after pill by the handful, just slowly forcing them into myself. If I had a couple of extras, whatever…who cares? Better safe than sorry. I'd be dead anyway. He stares off into space and pauses for a while.

Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital. Some nurse came by and filled me in on the details. They said something about being found on the floor with a half-full bottle of pills at my side. I guess I passed out. No clue who could have found me though. I lived alone. But somehow I lived. They had me under suicide watch for a week or two. Then they made me come here. So here I am. Telling you my story.

Now look, maybe you think I'm crazy. Maybe you think I'm stupid for wanting to die over a girl. But let me tell you a couple of things. She wasn't just a girl. And don't give me any of that more fish in the sea bullshit. I loved her. That was what made her so different from the rest of them. And then…why not die? I mean, sure there are things it would still be nice to do. But I don't have a bucket list. I've done all the things that really matter to me. I've loved a girl. I've kissed her. I've held her as she cries. I've tried my best to make her happy. And maybe I haven't done a terribly good job of it, but I did the best I could. That's all I can ask of me.

He stands up calmly, just as collected as he walked in, and strides out slowly.



Monotony

Damn it, another post title I think I've used before.  I feel like I've just been repeating those again and again lately.  But I've never been particularly creative and being as tired as I have been lately, I have little to no desire to strive for originality.  My apologies, then, to anyone who is upset with my repeated usage of original post titles (a group that consists most likely only of myself).  But anyhow, moving on to actual content...

To be honest, I don't have much to say.  I'm just tired again.  Waking up at 6:50 in the morning when you don't actually have to be awake at all on a given day is confusing and unpleasant.  It took a while for me to get back to sleep, but I guess on the upside at least I finally did?  It doesn't really feel like it was terribly useful at this point given how tired I feel, but it probably did me at least a little bit of good.

I'm not really sure what to write about today.  I just want to get this out of the way, for the most part.  I don't want to have to worry about it later.  I'd like to get to bed earlier and sleep because I really feel more tired right now than I should given that I've actually gotten a half-decent amount of sleep last night.  But oh well.  I guess I'll see how it goes and possibly pass out early.  Anyhow, that's more than I had to say to begin with, so I'll stop boring you all now. 

Fixing Things

Have I written a post under this title before?  I don't know.  I feel like I have.  I probably have.  I don't really care.  You told me to write about "fixing things" so that's what I'll title the post.  Now I have to figure out what I actually want to say about it.  I'll start by restating what I've already mentioned, if not in here at least elsewhere: every time I fix something, it seems that I find something else to mess up. 

That's been the case without exception.  It has characterized the way things have gone between us for the past however-many months.  I mess up.  We both fall apart.  We patch it up, maybe change small things and fix some cracks, then go back to a blissful reality.  Then I mess up something else.  And just as we fix it, it feels like everything is going to be good and we're going to be okay.  Then before we know it, something falls apart again and it's not something I'd even thought about.  Tells you how observant I am, right?  I hope everyone realized the phrase was laden with sarcasm.

She's right after all.  Every time she responds to something like that, she's right.  Every time she points out my failures or shortcomings or issues, she's right.  That's the problem.  No, no it's really not and I know that.  The problem is that I don't know how to spot these issues before they blow up in our faces or that I keep letting my issues get in the way of anything working because I suck at this.  I don't know how to do it.  And maybe it's this place or maybe it's not but it hurts.  It hurts knowing that I keep failing at this. 

So how do I fix it?  It feels like every time something works better, it just ends up getting worse after a couple of weeks.  I don't know what to do.  And I'm bad at this.  And that hurts.  What's possibly worst is that I really don't have a clue what to do about it.  I would do anything right now if I could or if it would help.  But I just don't know what or how.  I keep getting better at this or at that or making more sense of one thing or another but then everything else falls apart because in being so busy trying to fix one thing, I messed up everything else. 

The fact that I can't fix it now only further suggests to me that it's not something that can be fixed, or is supposed to be fixed and that bothers me.  You'd think that love and caring and willingness would be enough, but if current trends are any indication, none of that is enough.  So what the hell is?  Tell me and I'll do it, I'll figure it out, I'll make it work.  But right now I'm just utterly frustrated because I really don't know.  Or maybe I'm too goddamn stupid to figure it out.  Either way, I'm not making it work.  And it really hurts.  And I hate how much it's hurting you.  I'm sorry. 

People

I suck at people.  I know that doesn't really make grammatical sense unless you're thinking of graphic physical sucking actions, which are as far as anything else I had in mind in writing that sentence.  I guess I should actually explain that then, shouldn't I?  I suck at everything involving people.  I have problems talking to them, getting to know them, maintaining relationships of any sort with them.  I generally have issues when it comes to people.  It's simple as that.

I'm an introvert.  I always have been.  And I can't say I really mind that.  I like solitude and quiet and only small groups of people at a time.  So I guess it makes sense then that I don't have the best time with people or am particularly comfortable dealing with them.  But the fact remains that this continues to make me feel inadequate.  I hardly ever stay in contact with people after I leave a given place or stage in my life.  I'm afraid of starting conversations.  I don't know how to approach someone who interests me in any way.

Normally, that probably wouldn't bother me.  The thing is that I'm friends with enough extroverts or people who otherwise have good abilities in dealing with people that this becomes noticeable to me and I feel pathetic.  I don't know how to bring myself to just start a conversation with someone about anything.  I don't know how to come up with conversational topics of any sort and avoid conversations generally to stay away from the associated awkwardness.  I don't know how to become acquainted with people in person or otherwise because I run out of things to talk about and feel awkward in the intervening silence.

I don't know how to talk to people.  That's what it comes down to.  I'm not comfortable getting closer to them because I've never really learned any good ways to do that, so the process has always left me flustered and nervous.  And now that my friends are either looking forward to the future or talking to new people and getting to know them, I find myself left behind.  I've always hated that feeling in and of itself, but it's particularly painful when everyone around me seems to have no issues with it whatsoever.

So yes, I'm jealous.  I'm much more jealous than I generally try to let on.  And because this is my blog, my collection of private thoughts, I am allowed to put that here, regardless of who does or doesn't read it.  Frankly, I'm not in the mood to to tell petty lies right now anyway.  This is what you get when you want the truth.  You get it straight out of my thought process.  Just the way it comes out.  Sorry if it hurts, but truth is what it is.  Enjoy. 

Essence

I've heard it said quite often that "time is of the essence."  It's always been said to mean that you are short on time, that you must make the most of it, that you don't have much and it is important to use it as efficiently as possible.  That certainly makes sense to a certain degree.  But it's not always the most accurate of sayings.  The thing I've noticed about people is that they'll get done whatever they really need to get done.

Whether they have an hour to do it or a week, they will almost always succeed in completing that.  Sometimes they will feel like death as a result or have neglected other things and made those deadlines tighter in turn, but things will get done.  Stress and time-crunched deadlines give people the motivation they need to work sometimes, and that's what matters--that it will get done eventually, and it will get done within a reasonable span of time. 

Alright, screw this.  I'm done trying to write a coherent post when I'm just really not in the mood for it.  I'll figure something out eventually.  Or maybe I won't.  The fact remains that I've always got tomorrow to make sense of this or write it or something.  Whatever.  I'm done trying because my mind is in too many places at once.  My apologies again for bad post. 

Sleep Debt

Several years ago, I was shown (as part of a mandatory class) a video that discussed healthy habits generally and especially those involving sleep.  It was this very same video that informed us all that it was essential to get at least nine and a half hours of sleep every night.  A fact to which 99% of students in the class responded by laughing and rolling their eyes.

Maybe that video had a point after all.  Maybe any less than that is unhealthy and makes you feel worse.  But the fact remains that it is not a reasonable expectation for the majority of people to get nine and a half hours of sleep.  It's practically laughable.  Assuming a schedule that starts a workday at 9:00 am and requires one to wake up at 7:30 in order to grab breakfast (you know, that other healthy thing that most of us don't bother with), take a shower, get dressed, and actually get to work, one would have to go to bed at 10 pm. 

To a point, that's not entirely unreasonable.  But the fact remains that more and more young adults are becoming nocturnal in their scheduling.  2 am is no longer late, in fact it is blessedly early compared to the usual 4 am bedtime.  And even 2 am is still significantly short of the requisite nine and a half hours of sleep (not surprisingly). 

What it comes down to is that most of us are trudging around with this massive sleep-debt.  As that movie put it, for every hour of sleep you miss, put a brick in your backpack--that's the effect it has on your energy.  The more sleep it is, the more your energy is drained.  It's a simple concept, and one that many of us have undoubtedly become particularly intimate with, as we carry entire construction sites with us for weeks on end.

The fact that we're familiar with it, though, does not in any way make it a good thing.  Quite the contrary, in fact.  Habits are hard to break.  There's a reason we have sayings like "can't teach an old dog new tricks" and "old habits die hard."  It's because we've noticed that once we get into a routine, it's a cycle that gets awfully hard to break, fairly quickly. 

So walking around with this sleep-debt continuously drains of our energy, motivation, and good mood.  This is why we all really need to learn to sleep at reasonable hours and for longer.  Not that it's particularly plausible, which perhaps makes this rant hypocritical.  But that's alright.  The facts in it remain.  As does the desperate need to catch up on sleep, which is what I intend to do shortly.  Good night. 

Pace

The thump of a heartbeat, the cadence of even breaths, the tapping of a foot against nothing but air.  All of these have a certain rhythm, a given pace.  They mark time as it flows by and separate it into even measures.  They don't necessarily feel even, but the arbitrarily defined units really are.  It's our perception of them that is flawed entirely.  But who can blame human flaws for such things?  This is the way we simply are.

It felt like spring today.  Actual spring, almost to the point where I would want to take off my heavy winter jacket and enoy the breeze.  And then it rained.  It almost poured.  I didn't get to spend much time in it, which is perhaps for the better given that it was still unpleasantly cold.  But it was rain, real rain.  Winter's been hell.  More hell than usual because of all the nonsense piled on in a thoroughly unappreciated manner.  Things happen, I guess.  I'm just glad it's coming to an end. 

The thing about it is, this makes me long for summer.  Steamy days, long, beautiful nights.  That's breaking my heart right now.  So perhaps from that statement it's understood that it really doesn't take much to break my heart.  Well, it's true.  It doesn't.  Because I know that once I leave this place, I will still miss it.  No matter how much hell it put me through, some of the things that happened here are ones that I will never forget. 

Thinking about chances, things that might happen, things that might not.  Wondering about what may or may not happen, what will or will not come.  It's odd.  I'm strangely worried.  Despite the fact that in a way, I'm not.  I'm afraid of the future.  I'm afraid of many things, and will admit to them readily.  That's just the way I am.  And the future is definitely one of them.  It's not something I know right now, not something I have control over.  It's just something.  And I know it will exist and I know I will have control of it...but not now.  Which is frustrating and leaves me worrying about futile things.

Congratulations

I'm supposed to be happy about this.  And there's no sense in denying it, I am.  I really wasn't expecting that, which made it that much nicer.  In part it still doesn't feel final to a large degree.  Everything is still up in the air.  Until I get physical, tangible, typewritten proof of this, for all I know they might call back and say "oh, I'm sorry, that was just a joke; you lose." 

But, looking at it logically, this is legitimate.  And I'm just not sure how to feel about it right now.  Yes, I'm happy.  Ecstatic, to a point, although you wouldn't notice that if you looked at me in this moment.  My eyes are about to slip shut, my body is draped haphazardly over a chair in a way that can serve only to just barely support my weight in this position. 

So I'll let it sink it.  I'll give myself until tomorrow or the day after when I've actually woken up and things have started to sink in to really make a decision as far as my reactions.  The one thing I possibly don't like about this is that it largely locks me in place.  It makes this the clearly superior option, and I don't know that I want to necessarily shut all the others out.  But I guess we'll see with time.

It's been a long day.  I'm sorry for the lack of good posts but believe me my mind is just not in the right place.  Maybe (hopefully) tomorrow.  Especially if I manage to catch up on any work at all, which would be really, really nice given how badly that needs to happen in the near future.

More Time

It's time for me to blog.  Again.  One of the reasons I really don't appreciate having two hours quite literally ripped out of my day (okay, so maybe not so literally) is that weeks like this, I really need those two hours to get as much work done as possible.  And right now, that's just not happening because of the time I didn't have available to myself.

Much of the time I did have to myself was spent in company, and as a result not getting work done because that company was not often available today.  I can't say I object to it in the least.  It just leaves me slightly screwed as far as work goes right now.  That and I have half a billion different things on my plate to sort through right now some of which are not entirely under my control.

So I'm sitting here right now trying to turn out this poorly written blog post so that I can move on to doing the productive things that have to get done.  I'm sorry.  This week is hellish with regard to stealing my time and giving me piles and piles of work.  I'm just waiting for it all to calm down a little bit so that I can actually do something without being in a rush or a panic.  Here's hoping. 

Changes

I need them.  Seriously.  The way things are going follows a very distinct pattern.  That pattern is called auto-pilot.  It's where I'm no longer in control.  I just get by.  I let the days slide away without doing anything truly worthwhile in any of them and I just watch everything fly past me without trying too hard to intervene.  Sometimes I change things.  But lately, I just don't have the motivation to do so.  At all.

So I need something to change.  Badly.  Because I don't know how long I can keep up this string of fortunate coincidences that keep my head above water before they all fall apart and stop working.  I'm watching and waiting and hoping it doesn't happen.  One might wonder why I don't do anything to stop it.  I'm not entirely certain, but I have a feeling that how apathetic this whole thing has made me has something to do with it.  In any case, if I'm on a collision course with hell, I'm not presently in any sort of mood to try and stop it.

I really need to start being legitimately productive.  I'm falling behind on things that aren't going to catch me for a while yet, but every step I fall behind now is one I know I will need to make up for in the future.  The problem is, this lack of motivation is making me less inclined than ever to make things work.  I'll get by.  I know that.  And that's leading to me to be as lazy as I'm allowing myself to be.  Oops.