I have this feeling that if I'm careful enough, I will bend my head around a corner into chaos or the real reality or perhaps a reminder of insubstantial things? Hell, I don't know what's over there, it's a different fucking dimension. Everything is so unsettling. I alternate between feeling intense fear of death and having kind of a quiet chuckle about it. What the hell is happening to me? Is this what it means to get older? I assumed my interests would slowly change, and become more refined, but I didn't think I'd completely stop giving a shit about the old order of business. There are some people I should call and talk to, but how can I explain the business of the day in this state? I can't even explain it to Francisco and he's right here. (Well, kind of. He's been putting in 70 hour weeks lately.)
There's a lot of work to be done here. God, I'm so full of shit.
Alright alright. Let's just draw some neat boxes and lines and maybe everything will make sense again. Maybe this feeling of impending dimensional jumps is something I've created because my mind is bored. Because I've been reading certain things and working boring jobs and generally underusing most of my mental assets. I've drank too much, or eaten the wrong things, or haven't exercised enough, or have convinced myself I've made these mistakes. I've enjoyed a general habituation of harmful behaviors and created the entire path for the downfall, laying down stones ahead of time with a satisfied brushing of the hands, delighting in my slowly progressing follies. I've compared my careerless state with others far too much, both the over and underachievers. I've been around people too much, or too little. I don't remember where I came from, and how far I've come from there. I've chastised myself for various faults and pleasures and rewarded myself later on for bearing on in the face of such a harsh judgemaster.
I've watched Joe play Legends of Zelda for hours. DAYS. I hear him turning the gaming system on right now and only keep myself down here as a cock tease.
So the question really becomes not What is fantasy and what is fact, but How much fantasy am I going to allow myself to indulge in? How far will I let myself go before saying, alright, enough's enough, this is not reality and you are only pretending to be insane because it's an easy out so suck it up and find a career already.
????
It's a really hard question, there's competing forces in my genetic makeup that enjoy both scientific logic and fantastic ideas. Maybe some people with this problem become science fiction writers, maybe the stories act as a release. I'm sure I'll figure out my own release someday, it's not like I'm going to kill myself over this. I mean, complicated problems are the most interesting ones, right? Trying to fix a life while being inside of it is like the dog chasing its tail problem. I get distracted from the task at hand by fluctuating hormones and other chemical messengers. I try to manipulate these forces with careful control of diet etc, but control isn't really a satisfying or sustainable solution.
So today is the day to figure out how to transform what looks like highly controlled behaviour into sustainable enjoyable general guidelines, with less punishment when I slip up.
Or maybe it's the day to watch Legends of Zelda?
We're having a girls night tonight, Japanese dinner and some new wave dancing, that should be good if I can find an energy fountain of some kind, maybe hidden in the shadow realms of Zelda's universe. Dancing is always good as long as I don't have to talk to anyone, I just want to sweat and smile and close my eyes and watch all the other people. You know. THE OTHERS. The ones that have it all figured out and came out for some company.
