"In case you haven't heard, I'm sick/I'm tired of trying......"
Alright, well.....I promised my dad I'd update soon, and since I don't really wanna go to bed yet, I guess the time is now.
Last week: hellish. That whole "missing two weeks right before the end of the quarter, then making up everything possible in five days"? NO GOOD. Fuckin' stressful. Luckily, I made up for it by a MASSIVE amount of sleep this weekend. And spent most of the rest of this weekend playing "World of Warcraft".....yeah. Good times. I know that probably nobody who reads this gives a damn, but that game is fucking sweet.
I'm not sure how to introduce what I want to say here. I actually just wrote two paragraphs, and ended up deleting them. Couldn't capture the feeling of this lost place.
Four more paragraphs removed. I'm on a roll tonight.
Kinda related to an ongoing discussion Bill and I have been carrying on for awhile about my inability to complain. I've become so good at it that now, when I want to complain, I can't phrase it well enough to suit my rather demanding tastes.
There's a strange aspect of Stoicism in my nature that I can't quite explain. Or, for that matter, eliminate. I kinda believe that I'm capable of surviving anything. Ultimately, this becomes a test: how much can I take before I break? Luckily (insert wry half-smile), I'm a good tester. Double usage.
Big part of why I don't trust people. Don't believe they're as strong (tough?) as I am. Amount of suffering endured as criterion of worth. Public suffering ranked lower than private suffering in all cases. Enough for me to say, "I suffer, and do so alone." This as pinnacle of my being.
Don't actually suffer. Never have. Nothing to complain about. Never was.
Theatre as universal expression of individual suffering. Highest form of art. Still somewhat unsatisfying. Only the personal has true meaning. Seems almost Kierkegaardian.
Hmm. Shattered structures here. Graveyard of confused thoughts. Content to stroll through, commune with the dead. The dead don't speak, but that's okay. They have little to teach these days anyway.
Some would argue that if one isn't willing to try, it is better to simply not do something. Therefore, I think I'm gonna quit this post. Try again in a few weeks. Maybe more will make sense, though that's an empty promise (implicitly ephemeral hope of progress). Goodnight.
Last week: hellish. That whole "missing two weeks right before the end of the quarter, then making up everything possible in five days"? NO GOOD. Fuckin' stressful. Luckily, I made up for it by a MASSIVE amount of sleep this weekend. And spent most of the rest of this weekend playing "World of Warcraft".....yeah. Good times. I know that probably nobody who reads this gives a damn, but that game is fucking sweet.
I'm not sure how to introduce what I want to say here. I actually just wrote two paragraphs, and ended up deleting them. Couldn't capture the feeling of this lost place.
Four more paragraphs removed. I'm on a roll tonight.
Kinda related to an ongoing discussion Bill and I have been carrying on for awhile about my inability to complain. I've become so good at it that now, when I want to complain, I can't phrase it well enough to suit my rather demanding tastes.
There's a strange aspect of Stoicism in my nature that I can't quite explain. Or, for that matter, eliminate. I kinda believe that I'm capable of surviving anything. Ultimately, this becomes a test: how much can I take before I break? Luckily (insert wry half-smile), I'm a good tester. Double usage.
Big part of why I don't trust people. Don't believe they're as strong (tough?) as I am. Amount of suffering endured as criterion of worth. Public suffering ranked lower than private suffering in all cases. Enough for me to say, "I suffer, and do so alone." This as pinnacle of my being.
Don't actually suffer. Never have. Nothing to complain about. Never was.
Theatre as universal expression of individual suffering. Highest form of art. Still somewhat unsatisfying. Only the personal has true meaning. Seems almost Kierkegaardian.
Hmm. Shattered structures here. Graveyard of confused thoughts. Content to stroll through, commune with the dead. The dead don't speak, but that's okay. They have little to teach these days anyway.
Some would argue that if one isn't willing to try, it is better to simply not do something. Therefore, I think I'm gonna quit this post. Try again in a few weeks. Maybe more will make sense, though that's an empty promise (implicitly ephemeral hope of progress). Goodnight.