Lately I’ve been away… Away from Xanga. Away from Facebook too. Away from all other
online means of communication too. Away from myself in a sense. Just away.
I still checked xanga and facebook regularly, I just didn’t feel very much
like interacting. This was especially true at the beginning of this
week. I felt as if I had no energy for it. Or anything. I just didn’t care.
The excuse I give is that I was very busy. I was moving. It was a pain
in the arse by any measure. And there was work, although work isn’t
hard yet, it’s a lot of pressure. A million things to learn. And a
sense in which I am being perpetually watched and judged on how quickly
or not that I can learn it. And there’s a lot of tension there. A lot
of stupid office politics that just pisses me off and leaves me feeling
drained just by observing it. I just don’t get how people can stand
these environments and work in them all their lives. It’s a wonder that
there aren’t more people going on insane killing rampages in the
workplace.
And there have been other things too, like interviews, one of which I
traveled half way across the country to go to last week. And
appointments and discussions and chores and finances and other random
things just taking up time. And there’s that general sense of
tiredness I felt. Just exhaustion. For no reason.
But really I think it had a lot more to do with the fact
that I was really angry at the beginning of this week. About a lot of
stuff.
I’m not sure why exactly. It’s just that things don’t seem to ever work
out anywhere close to the way I’d like them to. I seem to end up in
situations where all
the options seem at best mediocre and I have no data with which to make
good decisions. I feel stuck sometimes. Forced to choose between
insanity and unhappiness. It’s insufferable. Either I am much more
intolerant than most people or I just have terribly bad luck. Or
perhaps I have certain other character flaws that are detrimental.
Probably a little of all three.
Actually I still am angry on some level. Or maybe not anger, but
something akin to it. Like the build up of anger. The precursor to
anger. There’s sort of a pressure I
can feel building up in the back of my head. Like a big knot that’s
growing and growing. I’ve been feeling it for a while. Months and
months. But lately it’s been a very sharp feeling. The pressure is
growing rapidly. It’s like something is building up. Something is going
to happen to me or I’m going to do something and I don’t really want to
know what.
I did manage to move successfully and my new place is quite nice. Too
nice. Much too nice. It’s a high class apartment with a huge living
space, large kitchen, dining area, porch, and giant bathroom. And a
beautiful view. There’s a closet that’s so big it can fit almost
everything I own. OK, that’s not true. It can’t fit my bookshelves, and
my book collection, and my futon but those are all in storage. It can,
however, fit everything I brought with me to Bethesda with room to
spare. Including me. But not my car. So not everything. But close enough.
I wish that I could have rented out just the closet. It’d have to be
much cheaper and I think it’d be plenty of room for me. The apartment
itself is too dang big. Too nice. I feel so out of place here. It’s
like I ought not live in a place like this. This is an aberration. Like
a mysterious misstep. It’s true the last place I lived was also way too
nice for me to feel like I belonged there, but that was different,
because it wasn’t my place. Rather I was just a guest. It didn’t feel
so weird then.
I’m pretty sure I won’t live here long. It’s too expensive anyways and
I might be moving out of state or something before long. Economically
staying here is nonsensical, but I still think I’ll be sad to leave. I
hate giving up things.
Truthfully though I’m not making very good use of the apartment. Most
of my stuff is still packed. The living room is fully barren. Dining
area too. And the porch. Most of my stuff is still packed up in my
closet. I spend most of my time is this little computer nook where I am
now typing on my laptop rambling and ranting about nothing.
My mail doesn’t appear to have started being forwarded to this new
address correctly. This disturbs me since I did not correctly sign up
for direct deposit and I have two paychecks that will likely be sent to
the wrong address. Right now I’m getting a lot of mail for the previous
occupants of this apartment. I always drop it right back in the mail
box so that the post office can take care of it. I wonder if the next
occupants of the place I was living will do the same with my mail?
At first after I moved in I didn’t have a microwave, shower curtain,
television, mattress, dinnerware, silverware, pots or pans, any chairs,
or a desk. Basically I had my laptop, clothing, and a bunch of boxes.
None of that mattered too much. But there’s one other thing I didn’t
have. Internet Access! I thought that I was going to go utterly insane.
It was horrible, horrible, horrible. I may not have felt much like
interacting on xanga or facebook, but to be unable to even check my
email or look anything up on wikipedia… I thought it was going to
kill me.
I upgraded my data plan on my cellphone to allow tethering. That was
the fastest way to get internet access here. And I think I’ll just
stick with it until I move somewhere else. It’s expensive, but at least
I can use it anywhere. Th 5GB limit until they start charging extra
sucks ass, but I can hold off on doing my usual bit torrent thing for a
month I think.
As I finished moving I had a conversation where I was asked a question
I should have known I’d be asked. But it surprised me to be asked. That
I was asked proves that I must be so utterly obvious to everyone around
me. Geez. I thought I was a little bit subtle. I guess not. I hate it
when people understand me better than I understand myself.
That conversation was ok though. Maybe a step in the right direction.
Maybe a step toward fixing things. But it didn’t make me feel any
better really. That knot’s still there. It grew a little bigger when I
was asked that question fact.
The week before last I did manage to fix something. A connection I had
that I thought I was virtually lost was repaired to some extent.
Actually the truth is the other person allowed it to be fixed. I’m not
sure why it happened or how it was fixed. I really didn’t understand
why it had needed fixing in the first place.Well I think on some level I must understand it, but it isn’t something I am willing to face on a conscious level.
Well whatever the reason or the cause, it was a gargantuan relief to
me to have that seem to be resolved. It felt miraculous. I had not
believed things would change, so I was so happy that I was wrong. Maybe
it was all my imagination. It might still be for all I know. But who
cares. The knot loosened a little then the week before last. But then I
went on a trip that Friday and the knot tightened right back up again.
What about now? It’s still there and just as big too. What makes me
write on Xanga again? I don’t know. I guess I’m getting accustomed to
the weight of it now. I can bear it so long as it doesn’t grow any
bigger. And I’m just waiting now. Waiting to hear an answer and waiting
to have enough data to make a decision and decide in what direction my
life will turn. The decision is so massive I can’t really stand to
think about it right now. I want to have all the data first before I
bear that weight. I’m sort of hoping something will make the decision
for me. Of course everyone I try to talk to just says something like
“it’s up to you”. I hate that answer. I *know* it’s up to me. It
doesn’t help to be told that again. However true.
But then the waiting and the not knowing sucks too. I hate having it in
front of me. I want it out of the way, behind. I hate waiting on data.
I hate waiting. I’m impatient. I want to choose something. I want to do
something. I might hate the outcome, but at least I’ll know, you know? I can adapt. I can react. I can move on. Perpetual stasis is driving me insane.
Have you ever looked out over the edge of a cliff or off the roof of a
building and felt that oh so irrational urge to just jump? To
experience that impossible sensation of falling that will be forever
denied to you if you don’t? Do you ever wonder what it would feel like?
Not just jumping, I feel like this all the time. When I’m driving far
too often thoughts of what it would be like to swerve off the road,
driving into a ditch, or crash through the barricade in a garage and go
flying off the roof, or just smash into another car, or swerve through
opposing traffic. What would it be like I wonder? There’s that urge to
experience things you’ve never experienced. To be a part of a life
you’ve never lived. I feel it all the time. It’s tied up in that knot I
think. That simmering anger and fear that’s lying just beneath the
surface unseen and unnoticed by all. There’s a need in me to take some
sort of a risk. I’ve known the need for a long time. But I keep taking
the easiest wiser course anyway. Or worse, annoyed at my inability to
take the risky course, but unwilling to got the wise and more obvious
course, I just choose to do nothing at all. I sit in stasis. Waiting
for something to push me into doing what I want to do but fear to try.
I didn’t go to the Cherry Blossom Festival today in DC. I wanted to.
Sort of. It’s a celebration of a culture I’ve always found fascinating
and which has brought me great pleasure over the years. I would have
seen lots of interesting things, experienced unique experiences. It
would have been fun. It should have been fun anyway. I was all set to
go. I left my apartment. Drove out and stopped to eat a breakfast at a
restaurant. I even had my camera packed with a change of batteries.
And at lunch I did nothing but stare off into space. My mind devoid of any meaningful thoughts.
And then after. I just went home. And I took a nap. I didn’t go. I had
no desire to go. I knew somehow that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it at all.
I just wasn’t in the right mindset for that kind of a thing.
After my nap, I finished that damnable book I’ve been reading for
weeks. I should have finished it long ago. It’s so strange. It’s a
GREAT book by any measure. A work of fantasy. It has every aspect that
I love in a book. Great characters that I can fall in love with.
Mystery and magic. Subtle and suspenseful. Well written. An
extraordinary adventure. Brilliant by any measure.
I should love this book. It should be one of my very favorites.
It’s not.
I don’t know what it is. But I am unsettled by it. Actually I’m
unsettled by all of this author’s books. Guy Gavriel Kay. I don’t know
what it is about him. Something. It’s like, I guess. He’s a person whom
I think, if I met in real life, it would be impossible for me to get
along with. It’d be like he’s from an entirely different world than me.
A place where different things matter and different lifestyles are
normal and different behaviors represent Good. I’m sure I’d just not
like him from the get go. I know it. He and I would just find little or
nothing on which we can relate. There are a lot of people like that
I’ve met. For some reason, some personalities just don’t seem to mesh
with mine.
And yet he can write books where I like all the characters and all the
events and I think they are just damn near perfect. But at the same
time. I don’t really like them. I don’t fall in love with the books.
Something holds me back.
Or maybe it’s just that I’m changing in ways I can’t predict. I used
to be an avid reader. I used to read books upon books rapidly. This
book I would have finished in a single night probably, back in the day.
You’d be impressed by my book collection. It’s quite gargantuan. Not
just fantasy and fiction too. But books about a wide range of subjects.
Politcs. Law. Economics. Literature. Philosophy. Science. Math.
Psychology. I read most of the popular books as they become popular and
lots of more obscure ones too. I used to take great joy in being well
read. I loved to read. But mostly it was the fiction that I loved. Any
epic story would capture my soul and not let go until I had read every
word on every page. I’m not a person who skims or speed reads when I
read either. I read it all. I skip nothing. I want to know every bit of
it.
But now… I’ve changed. I don’t read as much. I hardly read at all.
I’ve got such a gigantic back log of books to read it’s insane. And yet
I feel little urge to do so. On my job I’ve got people recommending me
all these books to read that will help me master the material I will
need in order to be productive on the job. But I don’t feel any
enthusiasm to read them. Once upon a time I would have devoured them
too. I just loved learning. Even though I don’t much like programming,
learning about programming was still exciting. I loved it.
Now, I couldn’t care less. What happened? What changed?
These days I sort of feel like I know enough. I want to find an area to
exercise my knowledge in some sort of meaningful way. I’m sick of just
reading about stuff. I sometimes feel like it’s just a big fat waste of
time.
And it’s not just reading either. Other joys too. Anime. Video games.
Television shows. Facebook games. Movies. Board games. Magic. I used to
LOVE magic. I used to play it all the time. I haven’t played magic in
months. I don’t care about it anymore. I get this feeling like I’ll
only ever play it again for nostalgia’s sake. To reconnect with those
friends with whom I forged bonds through playing that silly little card
game.
It’s almost as if that knot, that tension, having reached a certain
size started sucking the joy away from everything. That build up just
blocked my ability to experience normal pleasures. Only the most basic
things still give me pleasure. And writing. Writing hasn’t been lost to
me yet. But I wonder if that too is only a matter of time. I didn’t
write anything for two weeks after all. And even writing isn’t like it
used to be. I never would have written anything like this, six months
ago or a year ago. And if I did write anything remotely like it, I
wouldn’t have posted it on my xanga or even shared it with anyone. I’m
changing. I’m changing too much.
I sort of suspect that one’s sense of stability and belonging
influences ones feelings toward everything. The more content you are
with the way your life is right here and now the more likely you are to
be able to find joy in anything. You’ll find more movies enjoyable,
more books, more conversations, more games, more foods. Everything will
be just a little bit better if you feel as if things are the way they
ought to be or you feel at least that things are stable and getting
better. If not… then you will either experience these things in a
vain struggle to feel a joy that won’t come, or you’ll be like me, and
you’ll just stop doing them and end up spending all your time staring
off into space instead.
Right now at least I still have writing. And the writing still helps.
So I’m going to write. I’m going to write a lot. This is just the
beginning. I’m going to write a sickening amount. And maybe that will
help ward off whatever this impending something is that I feel is on the horizon. Maybe it will help.
It probably won’t.
But it’s not like I could ever really stop anyway. Writing is like
sleeping or eating for me. I’m pretty sure if I refrain from doing it
for too long I’ll start to hallucinate, become deranged, and eventually
drop dead. It’s a necessity.
So anyway, get ready to see a lot of stupidly long blog posts. I think
anyway. I’m not sure what I’ll write so I don’t know whether I will be
posting all of it. But most likely I’ll be posting a lot of it. So deal
with it if you dare.
I should have a witty way to end this post. But nothing comes to mind. So It’s just going to end. Just like this.