What's yours?

Calculus: My Anti-Sleep.

(I know you guys can think up wonderful sexual innuedo with this prompt)

Webcomics

Genius.

This is a really interesting webcomic. Look at a few pages and you'll realize how great the format is. It's got a kind of humor that's rather different from most other comics. Check it out!

What is it with me? Or maybe people in general. The self-destructive tendencies. When we crave drama or intrigue or excitement and then turn around and hate them. Then, when they're gone, we get bored. It's almost as if we can't be happy.

Odd

So I'm listening to good ole depressing Otis Redding and then "Come on Get Happy" comes on by the Patridge Family. It's always better when it takes you by surprise... The song, not sodomy.

What?!

Edit: Well even the Patridge Family's getting depressing. What is it with all these depressed musicians? You'd think it was some sort of theme.

Now I'm in one of those "moods." The ones condusive to ranting. Perhaps it's because my escape is unavailable at the moment, or maybe it's because the substitutes proved quite depressing. At any rate, it is a definitive low. Not a horrible, soul tearing kind. Just a severe depression. It is not triggered, for the thought of suicide has not seriously occurred to me yet. It is more of an extrapolation about my future.

I look ahead, and I see what's happened thus far. I've so much potential. And yet, I lack motivation. The same old story. I'm a believer that if you commit yourself to something, you can do it well regardless of natural aptitude. Perhaps you won't be the best, but you'll be able to be satisfied with what you've done. I don't see that happening for me. I don't see any significant exertions in my future. I see myself growing more and more aloof, forming a shell of avoidance rather than trying to actually improve. It's what I'm already doing. I can't write, I can't work, I can't do anything but go on and spend hours upon hours in a fantasy that deludes me into thinking I have some real purpose. I feel needed. It's the same mentality I take with love, except this version is much easier. The rewards aren't as high, but they're more certain and don't come with horrible side effects.

And, at the rate I'm going, I don't see a significant change. The present is depressing. The state of government, the state of the future, the state of the entire world. I could try to change things and make a difference. I could write, I could try to inspire, I could try to bring hope to the bleakness that envelopes most of what I see. I don't care, though. I can avoid it. So I do. Does it make me happy? Not really. Does it relax me? Not when I have to return to reality, and that's unfortunately often. But what else can I do? I don't like taking risks. I don't like placing expectations upon myself. That's what turned my "novel" into a disaster. I didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want people to know about it, but gradually it seeped out. Expectations raised. And as expectations raise, I just can't deal with the pressure. I have to have a darkhorse mentality, where if I fail the consequences aren't serious, or I can't function. I don't have that now.

I've made the same predictions before. I'll make them again. I say I'll become a solitary individual, the aloof observer who tells a joke once in awhile but tries not to get involved. And, if things ever get too bad, I can finally escape with few around me being hurt. I'm dangerous. I've lost much of my self-discipline, whatever little I had, and I fear a more complete regression. Time ticks by, and I think "work" but I never do. Is this my fate? To slide by on natural aptitude, sparse work, aloofness, and escapism? I don't know. The worst part is, I don't know if it'd be so bad.

The Celf. Desolation. Grandeur, potential, power. Lost. Forsaken by the very Gods that created it. A land bleak, uncaring, ungiving. The Celf is a Wasteland, a veritable Hell. Only cracked ground and dust. The decimation stretches as far as the eye can see. No lightness penetrates this land. No radiance. Only death. Only death and emptiness.

There are shades of death. Wisps of the past, the present, the future. Wisps who have no home or destination. Wisps who serve no purpose. They exist because they exist.

The Celf is a fragment. A lie. A diseased delusion that once, once knew the Truth. Once the Celf lived. Once the Celf had hope. Now the Celf has death.

For the hat enthusiast in each of us.

Hat Etiquette

Quick trivia tip for you Academic Team kids: John F. Kennedy was the first President to be seen outdoors without a hat. Is it true? Did you already know it? Are you going to eat that last french fry? Some questions are best left unanswered.

Spring Break Down

Oy, another long vacation. So much potential. I could get massive amounts of work down on my novel, actually learn my Calculus, and go outside and do something. Or I can sit on the computer for 80+hours and stare at a screen, letting my muscles atrophize and causing me to have wracked, stressful dreams because of my obsession. I think you know which one I'll pick. Hey, it beats angst and depression.

Sort of.

Irony

Laziness is the reason I want to kill myself.

Laziness is the reason I never do.

Meh, spent most of band thinking of suicide. I was distraught because I made a really stupid mistake on the Calculus test that really damaged my chances at an A. It's already an uphill battle and now I've made it worse. Personally, I don't care too much. I mean, the grade itself doesn't matter. I'm in college, the Honors program won't look at this semester ( I don't think), etc. The only reason I'm worried is because I know my dad will get really angry and give me a guilt trip, especially about me spending so much time playing my game.

Ah well. I have theories about why this sort of thing makes me jump to my defense. They're not worth posting. Suffice it to say, I got my progress report, did the math, and found hope is not lost yet. My mood instantly improved. Amazing how you can go from suicidal to borderline positive in a matter of minutes. I don't think I'll ever kill myself, as long as I don't have a gun/CO2 tank readily available. I'm too impulsive... I'm too... stressed. Go figure.

Genius.

The Making of the F-Bomb

Today's Equus reading, although comical, got me thinking about why I've got this wall built around using that ancient Anglo-Saxon term. I went Dystart (a psychiastrist in the play, for those non-Humanitians) on myself and went back to where I came into the most contact with the word.

Surprisingly, I think I've figured out my aversion to it. My family doesn't curse. Either side, rarely ever. The only time I've been exposed to cursing has been when my father is drunk and violent (in emotion/attitude, not beating me or anything). I associate the word with such negativity and anger that it's very uncomfortable to bring up. I dunno. It's an ugly word. Maybe I'm overanalyzing, but I wouldn't rule my father theory out completely.

You can Dance if you Want to

But you still won't be able to do whatever Elizabeth does.

I went to the Tennessee Children's Dance Ensemble tonight, and, much to my surprise, it was very good. Dance is a form of expression I've not been exposed to, and I still don't really understand it. It was a fantastic blend of color and sound. I tried to interpret it, but eventually I gave up and just watched. It's more of an experience than something that can be narrated. Trying to describe it in words either doesn't do it justice or comes off sounding pretentious. At least, that's how it seems to me.

In some ways it made me regret not going to past performances, but I think it being Elizabeth's last (public, or something to that effect), added a certain finality and drama to it that only enhanced the experience. I don't think another performance would be quite the same.

Beautiful.

Mmmm.... temporary success...

Hmm. I think I sense a cycle coming on. For, at the moment, I'm once again realizing I've no reason to be very depressed. My fears are so intangible that to worry about them now is proposterous. Easier said than done. But I'll say it anyway. Goodnight!

And they used to be so nice...

Meh. The depression got worse. The hope's gone, partly of my own doing and partly of reality. I think I'd be a better English teacher than Math teacher. I don't know if I'll be able to get through Math in college, which is hard because I have to keep a 3.75 GPA. I want to get certified for English and Math, but it will be a lot of work and I don't know if I can keep up. I want to skip college and start the career I envision. I don't care what I'd miss in college, I just can't take this uncertainty and stress with too little positive influences. College will only be worse. Encouragement seems to fall on deaf ears. It's nice that you guys try though. I really do appreciate it. Ellen's "Peace!" actually did help. It's amazing you people don't just give up and let me wallow in whatever it is I wallow in. Maybe it's enough to keep me afloat. Time will tell.

I worry too much.

Pleasant Dreams

are a ruse. I'm convinced they don't exist. My dreams are all unwanted, either assaults of repressed desires or products of stress and fear. I've been having nightmares most every night for the past few weeks, and I think my sleep has been suffering for it. The dreams... they're all rough. Illogically so, but they're dreams after all. It's a constant barrage of pressure. Escapism can't cure it. In fact, I'm playing my game in many of my dreams and it's often bleak or downright stressful.

Wish me peace. I don't care about pleasant or happy or blissful. Just give me some confounded peace of mind, body, and soul. Curse you self. I'll see you in Hell! If they have mirrors, that is.