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A quagmire stuck in tacky darkness
Like a shirt drenched in sweat
This indecision sticks,
An endless regression,
And wisdom says "Ctrl-C".

things that make me sad

Arizona and the BP oil spill.

That's all. Nothing else makes me sad at all. Which is a lie. But that's all I wanted to say.


I sometimes think that I am on the cusp of major breakthroughs in my personal life with respect to being open with people, or feeling as though I am able to express myself honestly to them. Other times, I think that I have made negative progress; that I am becoming too rigid to live or to share my life with anyone.

I'm not good at properly thanking people, I think.

Writing this is frustrating because I know that at some point in my life I could have produced the words I wanted, and now they are gone. I'm still not certain what to believe.

Today the best thing that happened to me was that someone instant messaged me to see if I wanted to get dinner with them. This was a good thing, because it pulled me away from sinking in too much time at work when I had promised myself that I would leave earlier than normal today. I got to eat at Chipotle with Mr. Q, and I talked with him about stuff like the OMF trip he was hoping to do this summer being cancelled. I talked some about attempting to go to Cairo last summer, and being rejected from going on the trip, and how I had been approaching it as something I was certain was the right path for me and thus being uncertain about what it not working out meant.

The last year+ has been an interesting one. I think sometimes that I am very far behind my peers (or perhaps those younger than myself) in maturity or wisdom or social and cultural understanding. When I consider the track of my life, I see things that might have contributed to this. Some of it, I think, was that I put so much effort into school and academics. Not necessarily learning, even, though I tried to combine the two. I have often felt that I was never that bright or even intelligent, I just could do certain things well enough to meet the low expectations of those around me, and I was driven to escape the cultural wasteland that was Portville in my eyes. I had just enough sense to realize that my surest path to being close to the most fascinating things I could be was to follow the typical "Do well in school, go to a good college" kind of thing. And so I did it, in spite of frequent meltdowns of sheer panic and anxiety, in spite of sometimes thinking that if the way my life was was a preview of things to come, then I should just give up and die right there. In the last few years of it, I even made some friends and started to feel good about life.

But I was still a dull child and a dull person and wanting to come close to the world did not make me anymore a part of it. I had imbibed too much of a world that seemed to reward me the more I wore masks and the more that I played games.

This is what I have written in one hour. It lacks structure, coherence, and truth.

i give up

I can't seem to figure it out, how do you have well grounded, well directed confidence? All sorts of fake confidence are easy; arrogance, cockiness, insecurity projected as an "I'll just keep saying I can't fail" kind of attitude. How do you attain the real thing without losing more valuable things in its pursuit?

So courage is feeling fear but doing what you fear, which is great, but then if I'm afraid of something enough that I don't do it, what could make the difference? Isn't that an instinctual judgment that doing something just would not work to my advantage? Can anyone do anything that isn't rooted in some self-interest? I don't see how anyone can. It seems like self-interest is a component of rationality. But focusing too much on certain ways of evaluating self-interest doesn't produce optimal results. Again, out of self-interest, I look to my own gain.

Maybe I'm not just silent because I'm scared to speak, I'm silent because I know I'm wrong, and I'm not in the presence of people who will usefully correct me if I'm wrong. I just think that they'll attack me or disgrace me.

This makes no sense. How can a fool become wise?


It's hard to balance allowing free time for the unexpected and new possibilities and people while being deliberate at maintaining and developing existing relationships, personal or spiritual growth, ongoing projects, one's person and posessions, and exploration of previously identified possibilities. It's easy to see how things like sleep and eating and relaxation are neglected as one borrows against them to pursue one's priorities, forgetting that these are neccessary maintenance actions too. I need to find a better way to categorize my values and my approaches towards them and to actually change these things instead of saying I will.

Rambling at the End of the Weekend

All the words I can think to write seem selfish. That seems to be part of it; I can only write selfish things.

Once you lose yourself you only have others to go on and they do not know how to help you or they ultimately don't care.

And people play at games called relationships thinking that therein lies the key to unlocking their happiness, that that is the answer to why their life feels wrong, never daring to think that the problem is within them and you can only lose yourself so long in "love" before the same thing that ate at you before comes back. So why do I even bother to think about this game?

I am at a point where I know that I am looking for something that I am not doing or something that I don't understand. I used to think it was a feeling, that it was just a matter of finding my way to a certain good feeling that made everything easier. Now, I'm starting to think that it's more about something that's there even when you don't have a feeling.

Why does my life keep giving me unreality of the worst kind? Why can I not decide whether it is my own thoughts or those of the world around me that are running through my head, and which of these two are mistaken?

Is uncomfortable synonymous with miserable? Sometimes I'm not comfortable in my own skin; sometimes I just want to be someone else to escape the feeling that I'm just kind of failing in all the ways that make me a hopeless case. But I'm not always miserable. In fact, some uncomfortable things are quite nice; quite memorable. It's hard to explain sometimes that you are happy, but also feel terrible somehow. Maybe this is fear?

I am the worst kind of person because I am nothing at all. Maybe I just don't know how to be anything other than trying hard and failing? Or maybe I know how empty it is to succeed in so many ways? Or maybe I've never succeeded or failed. Choosing comfort is stating that you don't think there is anything to be gained in doing something difficult. The problem is, so many times it seems like there isn't.

Why do I criticize myself? Maybe to keep other people from doing so. Maybe. Or maybe I think that acknowledging my failures makes them OK somehow?

I just don't know how to measure change, good or bad. I'm basically a tool, and my life either depends too little or too much on feelings.

ideals and life

The more ideals you try to live up to, the harder it becomes to live. But aren't they still worth pursuing? If I wish to do what is right and what is necessary, perhaps I must be willing to either die or focus or both?

Perhaps I am thinking of things in the wrong way?

Side note: My own desire for comfort and my own weakness detract from my ability to do right. Where is the balance between self-preservation and giving of one's self to others?


I think I've improved my abilities to keep track of the things I have to do, to determine what I should do next, and even to find time to devote to doing so, but I am still lacking in actually doing them when I sit down to do so, which is key.

from elsewhere

Perhaps one learns to how to deal with and accept imperfections and limitations while still trying to change them and pursue what is important. One learns not to fear making mistakes in part by understanding that one can ask forgiveness, make corrections, or learn something from mistakes. One realizes both that things not done can damage what we try to preserve, and that things done with too little reflection can do the same. It's not about finding perfection immediately, it's about continually, consistently approaching closer to it in spite of missteps, setbacks, and missing one's goal. Worry less about being perfect; worry more about being better than you were yesterday, and remember that God is in the business of redeeming a broken world.

Joy is not the same as work, but it can accompany it. It can help in pursuing details and in pursuing minutiae to remember that the larger picture is sustained and accessed through such things. We spend our dreams interpreting our waking life, and our waking life interpreting our dreams. Neither is real without the other.

Of course, I could be wrong (and I've also started to get rambly) ...