Is it hot in here?

Well, I figured it's been awhile so I'll make an actual rant/journal entry.

Today's been an eventful day. Not in the sense of monumentous activity, because I generally don't bother writing about that. I mean it's been eventful in my mind. As you may have guessed, this means I actually thought today. I was doing research for my parody of The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and I really started thinking about her ideas (you don't have to have read the book to get something of a grasp on them). The main character, Roark, is her ideal man. He lives to create for his own sake, unconcerned with the feelings or whims of others. "Invidualism" I think it's called.

It's an interesting idea. I see a lot of myself in Roark, and I also see a lot of myself in the arch-villain Toohey (the deceptive, "compassionate", power hungry man who relies completely on others to accomplish his goals). Obviously, like my existentialism and romanticism these traits are in conflict. I want to not need people, and I want to be able to be content on my own without the approval or favor of others. Yet, if I live solely for myself, what's the point to living at all? I suppose one could try and be completely satisfied with one's self. I just don't see how you can do that and not get trapped in existentialism, eventually deciding there's no point and expediating the inevitable.

So you take the opposite route and try to please people. It's an arduous task that you must constantly work at maintaining. Their approval shifts from day to day, and so too would your emotional state. I can feel the tide myself: The high produced by enducing laughter, the low that creeps in as you continually fail and are looked at with a kind of sad disappointment. The only way I can avoid it is by escaping from everyone so I don't feel pressured to do something positive.

And then you come back to the first part of the argument about living for yourself. The reasons I persist in this ludicrous endeavor of life are 1. I can't find a suitable method of death and 2. It would cause too much pain and suffering to others to be considered acceptable. It's kind of sad, isn't it? My life isn't bad or anything, for the most part. I'm just not capable of the stablility to make it be good.

Unlike Roark, I genuinely care about people. Although I sometimes wonder how much of the care is of a parasitic nature. Certainly I empathize with others, but it often seems destructive in a way. I sort of push my mental dialogues upon them, and they're taken quite unawares. Of course, I'm looking for another perspective and would like them to do the same in return, but it's really not the way things are done. I also have almost a perverse interest in the dramas of others. I don't pry, which is odd, but when emotions are in play I'm generally rather interested. It's almost as if I feed off the passion I feel I lack. I dunno. Just thoughts.

Speaking of passion, though, there does seem to be one thing I am genuinely intrigued and interested in: writing. I may think about my online game a proposterous amount, but I never feel as charged and excited as when I'm thinking about my next novel. I've practically fallen in love with the idea. There's the rub, though, it's just an idea. I lack the commitment and sustained drive to write it the way it deserves to be written. I'm doomed to mediocrity of my own making. I'm afraid of failure, as we all are. When you work so hard on something only have it rejected... It's like a rejection of your self. You don't want polite" good job" 's. You want sincere "beautiful" 's. I never want someone to tell me they liked something in order to be polite. When they tell me something, I want it to be the truth.

Once again, this relies on the whims of others which will most often lead to ruin. I could write this novel (meaning the next) solely for myself, I suppose. If I did this, though, it would be even more difficult to ever find the will and impetus to actually carry it out.

I saw the Crucible today, and surprisingly enough I wasn't envious of the actors or the play itself. It was mostly emotionalism, the message fairly easy to understand. I did sort of want to be up there acting, but I reminded myself that I'm incapable of acting. It's not the "I failed the test but ended up getting a high B" mentality. It's just the truth. I can't effectively act. No loss. I've got writing, right?

I think I can learn from Ayn Rand. All things in moderation.