47
I like this curse. I realize not everyone will--our weekend of randomized curses came late this month--but it's better than being a child or a cat.
Perhaps it should be discouraging; I'll never be whatever age I seem to be today, as death puts an end to aging. It's a glance into a future that will never exist (not here, at least... the existence of multiple or infinite universes is easier to believe in each day). Or maybe I should be grateful. How many people have dreamed of eternal youth?
I will be coming back to work on Monday. I'm sorry for last week's absence.
---
I found another worm, if you want it. I think it's a different species than the one you have.
---
I should note, before I forget, that Abby is hiding the best laboratory equipment from Dexter and I. Fifteen minutes wasn't long enough to inspect everything to my satisfaction, but I doubt I could have bought more time without more chocolate. I might start stockpiling chocolate and Caf Pow; maybe I can convince her to give me another fifteen minutes.
This curse is better than the last. Road would be pleased to know that I'm still having nightmares. I've been trying not to sleep, but a hallucinatory experience on Wednesday convinced me that nightmares are preferable to sleep deprivation. I don't understand why the dead need to sleep; eating and breathing aren't necessary. Could sleep satisfy a psychological--not physiological--need? Does it differ between individuals?
I regret not going to the hospital for my arm... two of the fingers on my left hand are still unresponsive. I'm surprised it's not worse. The candle missed both the radius and the ulna, and blood loss wasn't as extensive as it might have been. Even if there's some amount of permanent nerve damage, I was asking for more than I received. Road was more concerned with the mental than physical. She had to have been; I would have been dead otherwise.
How many people did she kill that day? It seemed like there were a hundred corpses... that was after, though. My judgment was even more impaired after than before. I wish I knew how Road works minds, and how the illusions outlast the encounter.
I should stop talking to her, but I feel like I'm getting closer to understanding her. She's difficult to take apart--she's too good at taking others apart to submit herself to mental dissection. It's almost like being around Richard. A challenge. Life--or death, in this case--becomes boring when everyone is predictable and easily understood. With Richard, though, I knew I stood a chance. I'm not sure Road has psychological vulnerabilities.
At least I know how to provoke her.
This last week was difficult. I came close to asking Shilo or Abby for help, but I don't know if they're capable of helping. I don't like reminding either of them of what I've done or... is it idiotic to feel that they need to be protected? They don't need to know what it was like--what any of it was like.
I think they would be afraid of me if they knew how simple it is to be emotionless. It's too easy to slip backwards and give in to apathy--to operate on intellect and a set philosophy. I'm not even sure that I'm capable of true empathy. I can tell what others are feeling, determine the likely cause of that feeling, and adjust my behavior accordingly, but there's no emotion associated with that process. If I weren't so familiar with a particular set of emotions--fear, anger, despair, loneliness, guilt--I would think that I couldn't feel at all.
I had too much time to think this last week. I could be drawing the wrong conclusions; maybe I'm not unique and we all possess a dark element that we can only recognize if we examine it at length. "When you gaze long into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes into you"--it's the danger of thought. The mirrored darkness is invisible without self-reflection.
I'm not like they are, though. I never will be. If evil exists... even if I experience regret and maintain control, it can't be purged. The fact that I'm capable of murder and capable of a disregard for all life--up to and including my own--won't change. I think I do care, though. Not about everyone, but about some people. I care about them. There are other people in the City that I care about to varying degrees--friends.
Friends are still a novelty.
I haven't decided what to do about Road. I'm not sure I can stop talking to her until she understands that she's not capable of breaking every human mind; I want to prove that much to her. Eventually, I think I'll be able to.
Not today. Maybe not for months. Today might be my only opportunity to be older than seventeen (although the City repeats curses frequently enough that I doubt it); I should enjoy it. Wondering what may have happened if I had lived to be however old I am now can wait. I've done more than enough thinking and wondering lately.
Perhaps it should be discouraging; I'll never be whatever age I seem to be today, as death puts an end to aging. It's a glance into a future that will never exist (not here, at least... the existence of multiple or infinite universes is easier to believe in each day). Or maybe I should be grateful. How many people have dreamed of eternal youth?
I will be coming back to work on Monday. I'm sorry for last week's absence.
---
I found another worm, if you want it. I think it's a different species than the one you have.
---
I should note, before I forget, that Abby is hiding the best laboratory equipment from Dexter and I. Fifteen minutes wasn't long enough to inspect everything to my satisfaction, but I doubt I could have bought more time without more chocolate. I might start stockpiling chocolate and Caf Pow; maybe I can convince her to give me another fifteen minutes.
This curse is better than the last. Road would be pleased to know that I'm still having nightmares. I've been trying not to sleep, but a hallucinatory experience on Wednesday convinced me that nightmares are preferable to sleep deprivation. I don't understand why the dead need to sleep; eating and breathing aren't necessary. Could sleep satisfy a psychological--not physiological--need? Does it differ between individuals?
I regret not going to the hospital for my arm... two of the fingers on my left hand are still unresponsive. I'm surprised it's not worse. The candle missed both the radius and the ulna, and blood loss wasn't as extensive as it might have been. Even if there's some amount of permanent nerve damage, I was asking for more than I received. Road was more concerned with the mental than physical. She had to have been; I would have been dead otherwise.
How many people did she kill that day? It seemed like there were a hundred corpses... that was after, though. My judgment was even more impaired after than before. I wish I knew how Road works minds, and how the illusions outlast the encounter.
I should stop talking to her, but I feel like I'm getting closer to understanding her. She's difficult to take apart--she's too good at taking others apart to submit herself to mental dissection. It's almost like being around Richard. A challenge. Life--or death, in this case--becomes boring when everyone is predictable and easily understood. With Richard, though, I knew I stood a chance. I'm not sure Road has psychological vulnerabilities.
At least I know how to provoke her.
This last week was difficult. I came close to asking Shilo or Abby for help, but I don't know if they're capable of helping. I don't like reminding either of them of what I've done or... is it idiotic to feel that they need to be protected? They don't need to know what it was like--what any of it was like.
I think they would be afraid of me if they knew how simple it is to be emotionless. It's too easy to slip backwards and give in to apathy--to operate on intellect and a set philosophy. I'm not even sure that I'm capable of true empathy. I can tell what others are feeling, determine the likely cause of that feeling, and adjust my behavior accordingly, but there's no emotion associated with that process. If I weren't so familiar with a particular set of emotions--fear, anger, despair, loneliness, guilt--I would think that I couldn't feel at all.
I had too much time to think this last week. I could be drawing the wrong conclusions; maybe I'm not unique and we all possess a dark element that we can only recognize if we examine it at length. "When you gaze long into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes into you"--it's the danger of thought. The mirrored darkness is invisible without self-reflection.
I'm not like they are, though. I never will be. If evil exists... even if I experience regret and maintain control, it can't be purged. The fact that I'm capable of murder and capable of a disregard for all life--up to and including my own--won't change. I think I do care, though. Not about everyone, but about some people. I care about them. There are other people in the City that I care about to varying degrees--friends.
Friends are still a novelty.
I haven't decided what to do about Road. I'm not sure I can stop talking to her until she understands that she's not capable of breaking every human mind; I want to prove that much to her. Eventually, I think I'll be able to.
Not today. Maybe not for months. Today might be my only opportunity to be older than seventeen (although the City repeats curses frequently enough that I doubt it); I should enjoy it. Wondering what may have happened if I had lived to be however old I am now can wait. I've done more than enough thinking and wondering lately.