after a while . . .

1 Dec 2009

1321h



It has been a long enough while since last I’ve written. Most of my time has been consumed by the recent releases of Borderlands, a first-person shooter set in a futuristic wasteland on another planet, and Dragon Age: Origins, Bioware’s latest RPG. I can’t really decide which I like more, since it’s like apples and oranges. I don’t like either apples or oranges, actually, so maybe more like pineapples and mandarin oranges. Or kiwi.

Life has been moving on at a slow rate. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, I feel like I’m in charge of my life, and I know that I can choose what it is I’d like to do, and yet I am such a great procrastinator, it seems a waste to let my talents fade into the annuls of time. I’ve been taking this online class about writing for magazines; you know, like how to act professionally if you’re amateur, how to build a resume, how to be a successful freelancer, things of that nature. But I haven’t actually been online to see what has been going on for a couple weeks. I’m not sure if I’ve missed homework or tests or quizzes or what. I’m fairly confident that I’ll be able to catch up and still ace the class, but at what cost? Education isn’t the only thing at stake, anymore; I feel like my entire life hangs on the fringe of a simple educational tool handled over the Internet by a lady who calls herself a freelance writer, whom I’ve never met or heard of. The situation, when put into regular terms, doesn’t seem to make sense.

But that’s what I’ve been learning about life, at least for the most part. I’ve heard, you know, that everything happens for a reason, that there is method to this madness, to name a few clichés. But I don’t think that there is. I don’t think there is any real reason for cause and event; I don’t believe that there is some sort of master plan behind the existence of everything or anything we know. When something happens, it happens only because it happened. There was no reason beyond it happening that caused it to happen other than the fact that something else happened to cause it to happen. If you say it enough times it becomes meaningless. But what there a motive behind the chain of events, that is what I’m trying to get at, and my opinion is that no, there is no ulterior motive or motive behind the events, no ultimate plan or fate or destiny that has predetermined what the reactions were following. Life goes on, some things happen, and that’s all there is to it.

This brings me to a core philosophy presented by most of the world’s religions: life beyond death. I know, it’s really an interesting segue from one point to the next when you read the previous paragraphs. But what I’d like to get across is that life after death seems silly and downright evil or diabolical. And brilliant, I can admit that. Ask yourself, “How can I raise warriors who are not afraid of death, so that they may never cower in fear or run away in defeat?” I think the answer most of us will come up is, “Promise them rewards beyond rewards not only for winning—that is if they come back—but also a special place beyond our own lives where they will be pampered and treated as kings and gods. Promise them riches and virgins and happiness.” This is the perfect scheme, scam, scandal; the absolute most brilliant idea for raising mindless hordes of minions ever to be conceived upon earth. I can’t say with any proof that this is the reason the concept was first created and touted as a religious theme, but I’ll go ahead and say that is exactly what happened. You can’t take control of people and work them to the bone and treat them as slaves—this is assuming you’re a dictator, as all civilization began—and expect your population to stick around and be happy or not throw a coup. But if you challenge them with the wrath of a god, or numerous gods, if you inflict in them the fear of the unknown, and them tell them this same being, who can punish beyond all imagination, can also reward beyond all dreams, well you’ve got the start of a wonderful was to become an unchallenged dictator. Until, that is, someone else comes up with a rival god who says the first god is a sham, and this new god will promise you even better things, and punish the people beyond what they themselves would be punished for not following this new god. It’s an arms race, you see, a cold war, and it needs no weapon other than charisma and appeal. I mean, if your civilization has been dominated by one race, and another, and another, and another, and you’ve been enslaved by tribe after tribe after tribe, the idea that there is a supernatural dictator who will give them what they’ve got coming—both the slaves and the masters—it brings hope and imbibes the believers with courage and wrath. It gives them a sense of righteousness. And, if you really want to think about it, and I’m not saying that you should or that this is terribly interesting or even not hostile, but if you really think about it, this is the most natural way for human civilization to advance. Because you can make all the laws you want if you’re ruling a large kingdom. But the king is far away, and his wrath has a reach. But there is a being out there, a being which has chosen our king, a being which has predetermined each and every facet of our lives, a being who rewards our good deeds, a being whom will bring his full and unending wrath upon those who do wrong. And this being, he knows, he can be everywhere at all times, he can read thoughts, he can see the unseen, he knows what you’ve premeditated, and he has a plan. He has a plan for you, and for me, and for our king, and he’s on the king’s side. So not only are there laws set forth by the king, but those same laws are enforced not only by the king and his men, but by a supernatural superpower who is omnipotent and all-powerful who has the ability—by now, we’ve established that there is life after death—he has the ability not only to make this life miserable and painful and unendurable, but also the life you have after death. And that life, the life after death, is unending. It is eternal; it will last forever, just as the being who made it that way. So not only will this life be tortuous and unending sadness, but the eternal life awaiting your death will too be even more tortuous and unendurable and miserable, and not for the few years that you lived, no, but until time itself will end.

And that is why the Old Testament was written.

a three-in-one flashlight

So it's something like 1450h here, and I'm sitting alone in my parents' basement in front of my computer listening to Ravi Shankar and Philip Glass over my dad's surround-sound stereo system while reading various articles from over the Internet and wondering what the hell am I going to write about?

I am understandably excited for my mom to come home because one of these days she'll be getting Microsoft Word from her IT guy at work. She's got a government job, so this stuff is free to her to use on her personal computer. Whereas usually it costs something like two hundred bones.

So yesterday was a big day.I had another session with my therapist--and here's the thing.

I guess my parents have told everyone they know that I was locked up in a mental hospital for a couple weeks. I expected this, since my mother is a terrible gossip and I live in a small town--1500. But she isn't very good at details. This is something that has always pissed me off about my parents. I've got a great example: my mom and I were going golfing a couple weeks ago and I told her, "You know, the other day I came home and saw Dad playing golf on my Xbox, and I said to him, 'Gee, I think you've played more video games today than I have!'" So my mom calls my dad up on her cell phone "to give him shit" and she says to him, "Derik told me that November 6 was a day to remember, because Doug played more games than he did!" But obviously I didn't say these things, and it's the inaccuracy that drives me insane.

Anyway, as it goes, my mom has told everyone that I'm on some drugs and that I've got some problems or whatever, but I'm not sure exactly what everyone has heard, and now I'm thinking that Thanksgiving is going to be very uncomfortable--not only on my mom's side, but my dad's too. Because yesterday I picked up my dad's mom so that we could go to the Big City; I had a session and we were to meet my dad's brother for dinner because they were both celebrating their birthdays. So of course their mother would want to be there. And I pick up grandma and tell her that I've got to see a doctor in the Big City and she asks me if that's the one for me medication. And then I realize how little she knows. So I tell her, "Well, this girl I only talk to. I've also got a doctor for my sleep medication, one for my antidepressants, and one for my cholesterol levels." She seemed surprised.

This is why I don't like small towns, incidentally. I am a master of knowledge control, and I only give out exactly what is needed in any situation. This way I know exactly what other people know about any given subject at any time, and especially when it comes to my personal life. I like to be secretive, it makes me feel safe and comfortable. But now I'm going to have to face Thanksgiving on both sides of the family and have to answer these awkward and weird questions, and the worst part is, they aren't going to be particularly well-informed questions, so not only will I have to do that, I'll also have to run damage control and give out even more information to correct what's been misinterpreted or misrepresented. The whole thing gives me the howling fantods.

So yesterday my dad, mom, and grandma all go to the Big City and I have my session and it goes pretty well; I've been absolutely stressed the past couple of weeks, and I really need to talk it out with someone who isn't in my family. I think it went well, because I felt a lot better after I left. And I'm in the car with my dad, and he's asking me, "Do you think this helps?" And I say, "Yeah, I was feeling pretty stressed out, but now I feel a lot better." And he tells me that he doubts whether I've actually been stressed out before. Anyway, we go pick up my mom and grandma, who've been shopping, and my mom asks my dad how it went, and he says, "Derik told her that his mother was driving him crazy. Says he needs to get rid of the crazy bitch." And he meant it as a joke, no doubt, but my mom didn't really take it as so, and asked me some very awkward questions. It put me in a compromised position. This is why I don't like to share information about myself with the people around me; it always seems to get mixed up or morphed and leads to strange situations in which not all is understood.

After that we go to Granite City, which is a restaurant with a microbrewery. And we decide that while we're waiting for Denny, my uncle, we should have a beer. And it was absolutely delicious beer. I had one before dinner, another with dinner--a different brew--and one after dinner. We were there for almost two hours, I think. But it was a good time, and mostly I sat there and listened; I don't have much to add to these conversations. My aunt--Denny's wife--has better subtlety pr tact than the rest of the family, I don't know why, so I've always liked having her around. It was an enjoyable dinner, all the same, and we went home and to bed. But I still think it was a big day.

When I got home, I wanted to watch this movie, Alice. It's a take on Lewis Carrol's novel, but uses stuffed animals and all kinds of weird shit to depict Alice's travels. It is absolutely bizarre, but it's been on my mind for about a week. I recommend it to anyone. But then again, I also love David Lynch films, B movies, bad films (not purposely bad), and dry humor. What I'm saying is that I'm not a great judge of what other people think is a good movie.

I've tried to explain this to other people, and quite often, actually. An example is this: my cousin Amy wanted to watch a horror movie on Halloween. I told her that she should pick the movie, because I wouldn't pick a good one. She said whatever would work, and that I could just pick one out. The next day I my mom and dad give me a hard time for making Amy sit through such a terrible movie. I said I thought it was good. But this has always been the way of things. Even when I have my close friends over, we rented this movie called Gag, and it was bad. I mean really, really bad. But I thought it was entertaining, and I'd probably watch it again. But those guys hated me for it. They couldn't sit through the movie and simply gave my shit for it--I still haven't heard the last of it. I simply like bad movies.

So these last couple of weeks I've been playing Dragon Age: Origins, the new game out from Bioware. Just let me say this: they have never released a bad game. Never. Every game they've released I've played, and every time I think it's the best thing since peanut butter. I really love peanut butter. So the past couple of weeks that's all I've really been doing. Absolutely great fucking game. A little more accessible than I care for, but you've got to let the guys make money, you know?

Well, I think that's all I've got for now. I just can't seem to settle my mind or focus or find something that interests me. I've now listening to the Foo Fighters, but I'm a little bored.

More later on.

new post

Well, well, well; here we are again. Right now I'm sitting behind my computer at 2242h and watching a strange film called Brick, which has this chick I recognize from Heroes in it. I'm not really paying attention, though, since first I had to set up an email account for one of my dad's employees--he's completely computer and technology illiterate (happens in SD often)--and so I got him a gmail address and set up his home page and whatever, but now I feel like doing a bit of writing.

I saw yet another psychiatrist last week for my insomnia. I was taking Restoril 30mgs and Seroquel 100mgs, but they didn't work so hot, and the Seroquel left me feeling drugged and drowsy all day. So I go to this guy and I tell him my history and he reads my charts from my hospital stay and all that and I tell him I've actually been taking 45mgs of Restoril to help get to sleep. He says that's fine and tels me to take 150 mgs of Zoloft instead of the 100 I'm on, and writes me a prescription for more Restoril and also proscribes a new drug called Rozerem. It isn't any good. Now I'm usually up--I take my drugs at 2200h--until about two or three in the morning and I wake up by about five, then I'm up and down until about noon, when I decide I can't actually get any more sleep, anyway. If you've been counting, and I haven't, I've taken a lot of drugs for insomnia so far, and it looks as if I'm not yet done.

Let's go through the list: trazadone, Lunesta, Ambien, Ativan (lorezepam), Remoran, Seroquel, Restoril, and now Roxerem. They tried one or two otehr drugs, like Klonipan and Doxipam (not sure of the names, just heard them pronounced) while I was in the hospital, but like I said I was there for two weeks before they released me, thinking the problem was solved. This list doesn't include the numerous OTC drugs I tried before getting professional help with my insomnia, nor the other drugs I used, namely alcohol and marijuana.

But here's the thing, before you go jumping to conclusions: the alcohol and marijuana have helped more than any other drug I've been given or have tried. Why? Because eventually, doing one or the other will absolutely render me unconscious. I get no choice in the matter. Drink enough alcohol, your body will cease to function and you will lose consciousness. Smoke mary jane, and you will eventually be overcome with drowsiness. And I also slept longer when I took those drugs, when compared to the proscriptions I've been given. Now isn't that funny?

So I'm getting very worried here, because I want to be back in school in less than two months and I still have terrible insomnia. I have stopped drinking and using grass because I'm supposed to give these drugs a fair chance, and my mother has stopped buying be delicious Coca-Cola and buys only caffeine free Coke. Also I can't have coffee after noon. Also I've been doing much more exercise than I ever did before, and still--STILL--I can't get to sleep or stay asleep.

So, I've tested every theory that's been given me, and none have worked, as I guessed would happen. I know that I shouldn't pretend to see the future, but I have already done all these things to attempt to get my sleep pattern corrected. Now even the best medical minds on sleep have been stumped.

It just makes me want to go back to drinking. I figure if I drink enough eventually I'll get jaundice and simply poison myself to death.

Here's the thing about anti-depressants, I should bring this up: now that I'm on them, I don't have suicidal thoughts anymore. But I don't care if I live or die now, either. I figure a car crash, a hunting accident, whatever happens, I'll probably be better off dead, but I won't go to any lengths to accomplish the deed. I'm apathetic towards death. I do not think this is healthy or natural, but it is much better then being depressed each and every day.

But again, I want to get back to drinking, not least because it is a method that I know works for sleep. Yes, I wake up early after the effects wear off, but I go back to sleep after that, and I've always felt well-rested afterward, not drugged up, not hung over, just well-rested.

I don't know what to do anymore. I'm so frustrated and untrusting and I still think I'm paranoid, but I'm only suspicious that I'm paranoid. I don't know what to do. I don't think the doctors are taking me seriously and I also think I'm not being given the correct medications on purpose. I simply cannot be convinced that there are no stronger medicines than those I am currently taking.

This is enough for now. More later on.

OK, OK, here's an update

So last week I bought a new video game, Borderlands, and that is what has happened to my time. The game is great, and I can play both online co-op and alone, but the only problem with online play is that I have no idea who I'm joining up with when I join a party. The other day I jumped on a server only to find that everyone spoke French. Before that I struck a group of Aussies. And before that a Mexican server.

The only problem with all this is that these distant servers severely impact performance because the Internet connection is so slow or far away. I have top-performance Internet; I spare no expense when it comes to online gaming since you are only as good as the components you comprise. But this shit was ridiculous; there is actually no way to tell where a server is coming from so you have to join a game first and then you find out how bad the lag is, whereas usually you have the ability to test your ping before you enter a room so you can sort by fastest ping and join the best server. This is why I'm afraid of the new Modern Warfare 2 no dedicated servers; they want to do a system like XBox has and host all the servers themselves, but the problem is that, once again, they simply don't get that gamers want to be damned sure they have the best performance available for each and every game they join, otherwise you get stiffed when it comes to playability. A typical scenario would be something like this: you've spotted a sniper in the bushes across the way, so you line up your sight and place it on his face. He isn't looking. You slowly pull the trigger, and as you hear your gun go off the sniper turns and pulls his trigger after you yourself have pulled the trigger, only his bullet travels, apparently, faster than yours, and you die. This is not because you're a bad shot, but because the sniper has a better Internet connection and everything you do actually takes seconds more than any other player on the server. This is called hosting, and it's the cheapest fucking gaming advantage ever created.

Anyway, the other day I went to see my therapist again. We decided on every two weeks because, again, I don't feel like I actually have anything to talk about every week. Like in South Dakota is very slow and dull, so the two weeks between appointments I spent slowly and quietly going insane in my parents' basement.

So anyway the night before my appointment I'm all getting geared up for seeing my therapist because, honestly, I need some human interaction outside my parents. Yes, I love them and it's fine to spend time together and all that, but seriously I need some alone time. But I can't tell them this because I don't know how stable I am, as in I'm not sure if the smallest thing that I may think I would be just a little upset about I may end up blowing up because I've kept all the frustration to myself and quiet. I'm pretty ramped up to see my therapist, is what I'm trying to say.

On the way there--the drive is about 1.5 hours--I get my mp3 player out--it is NOT an iPod--and I listen to the music I put on it that morning. Funny thing: when I was looking through the forty gigabytes of music on my computer I didn't know what to put on, because I don't actually know what music I listen to. So I just put a bunch of stuff on hoping I would like the results. The music wasn't bad. Anyway, on the way to the appointment I'm listening to music and just thinking about what I'm going to talk about. I've got a sneaking suspicion that I'm becoming paranoid, so I kinda want to talk about that. And other subjects, nothing really astounding or important, I just need to have a conversation with someone I can vent to, is what I'm thinking.

And I'm also confused about who and what I am these days. It isn't the complete identity crisis I've been suffering from, it's much more mild than that, but I just have troubles resolving reality with my personality. It also doesn't help that I don't have anyone to communicate with outside my therapist every two weeks.

So anyway my mom--who's driving (I just like to ride, actually)--she drops me off at the center and I go up to the counter and tell the girl I'm there to see Sara(h?) at 16:30. I said four thirty, but you know. And I had just gotten there at like four twenty-five. I wait five minutes. I wait ten minutes. I wait thirty minutes. The gal behind the counter asks me again who I am going to see, and I tell her and she says it's funny that she isn't coming out to get me. She then looks around on her computer and tells me that my appointment was actually for the day before. I think OMFG works here. The emotions boiling within me had reached a point that was nigh insurmountable. There was simply no easy way going about it. I must have paled ten shades of white in front of her eyes, because the gal said to me, "But she's done at five, if you just want to wait she can see you then." And I though, "Everything turned out better than expected." And I go to tell the lady my answer, and I tell her, "No, that's okay. I'm just going to call my ride."

Why? Why would I do that to myself, you wonder? Because I hate to inconvenience people and I'm too shy to go out of my way to get what I want. Unless it is gaming, you know.

I call my mother--who got the appointment date wrong, not me(just to clarify)--and tell her to come pick me up, we showed up a day late. So she comes to pick me up and asks if I had rescheduled an appointment. I had not, because I was in such turmoil after the shock I forgot. I also severely dislike talking to make appointments. Or anyone behind a desk who I have to talk to in order to get something I need, not always what I want. This also applies to waiters, telephone calls, hotel check-ins, pretty much anything that involves me talking to someone who is in front of my destination.

My mom goes inside to make another appointment for me, and she comes out and says she has time open now--it's 1700h--and that she could see me if I wanted to. Since it was my mom I told her that's fine. I go inside and I talk to the therapist (people around here say counselor, but I don't feel counseled and it sounds lame) and even though it isn't a full hour I feel tons better at the end and I make an appointment in another two weeks. I walk outside and get in the car.

We ran some other errands that day, but really nothing spectacularly interesting. My mom took me out to eat at Chili's, so that was a lot of fun. And delicious. We stopped at the golf store (I don't know how to spell it, give me a break) because I wanted to get a three wood, since my game needs something between my driver and my three iron. No, I don't have any fairway woods. I did, back when my clubs were new, but I never used them since I could get along with my irons and my dad, who can't use drivers (I don't know why, he just can't hit them well) always wanted to borrow my three wood. So I just let him keep it. He bought the clubs for me, so it was the least I could do. The thing was that he actually broke my three wood one day because he was frustrated with his golf game. There is more behind that behavior, and I'll get into one of these days.

But so anyway he broke my three wood and then repaired it, but in order to do so he needed to shorten the shaft and make a clean break before fixing the thing. The problem is this: I'm nearly six feet four inches these day, six five with shoes on (not including sandals) and I needed each and every inch that club offered. Eve though it must have been only a inch shorter, it was then too short for me to use.

That was years ago, like six or seven, when I got those sticks. In between that time I created my entire game around the fact that I don't carry fairway woods. I didn't have a powerful enough swing to have to club down at the tee box, and so my entire game after driving I could use my irons. I am a spectacular iron player, by the way, and very proud of it. In fact, I'm so proud of it I'm going to brag a bit.

I hit my five iron two hundred yards. That's right. My driver is around three hundred, usually more conservative than that, though. I carry irons 3-9, PW and a SW. I hit my pitching wedge 100 yards. All the other ones I've gauged by time on the driving range and time spent on the course. You see, being brought up where I was (SD) I've also become a great judge of distance, so I've got each and every iron figured out with about a five yard margin of error. My three iron I can hit about two twenty. Seriously.

Anyway, so I shaped my entire golf game around the fact that I didn't carry any fairway woods. My set had actually come with 3, 5 and 7 woods, but what the hell would I need those for? I can really, really hit my three iron if I'm a long way out. Also, I was rarely in the fairway those days. I'm loads better now that I've got lots of games under my belt and my dad helps with my swing.

But now that I've gotten so much better at the game, my driver is actually too long for some holes. On hole 2 I usually drive out-of-bounds behind the green unless I can hook it in to scrap yardage. Sometimes I hit trees. But if I drive my ball straight and directly at the pin I'll have too long a club, do you see? Also, on hole 9 (it's a par 5) the fairway is divided just at the end of about two hundred fifty yards by a creek. So even if I hit my ball straight down the fairway, I roll off the fairway and lose my ball. If I slice it left (as happens at times) the hole is even shorter. So what usually happens is I hit my ball and hook it to the right, putting my at about two hundred fifty or sixty out. I could use my three iron to poke at the green from there, but I usually end up thirty or forty yards off, having to lay up with a sand wedge or pitching wedge. Not that there's anything wrong with that: on the green in three means I can take two putts for par.

So anyway, it's a long effing shot. And I know I could use my three iron, but at that distance I'll probably end up messing up on my shot because I get nervous. So I've tried different three woods--my dad has a nice three wood and he's about my height (little shorter)--and I end up about on the green or just off three or four yards.

Long story, eh? But the deal is this: we go to the golf store to look at three woods but the problem is they close in ten minutes and finding a golf club is hard work. I've got too powerful a swing for most graphite shafts, but steel shafted woods are rare. So I've got to find a stiff-shafted graphite club with a small head that's long enough for me to use. Not an easy task, that. But also I want to make sure we don't spend a lot of money, so instead of looking at new clubs right away I check out the used club section. But the used club selection is huge and there are both left- and right-handed clubs mixed together. Plus the shop closes in five minutes. My mom is looking at new clubs, and when I find her so that we can leave she says, "If you're going to spend a couple hundred bucks you should just get a new set altogether." But I tell her that the used club section has really great clubs at fantastic rates, but that we need to leave so that the guys behind the register can close. We leave without a club.

So today I go to see a psychiatrist for more sleep medication. I ran out two times faster than I was prescribed, which means I was taking more sleep meds than I was prescribed to take.But, in my defense, they weren't working in the first place, so I just took a little more to make them work. They didn't, really. But, since we're going to the same city we get to go back to the store and look at clubs. So I want to take my dad along so he can help choose with me, since he's the golf "expert" in our house. Telling him this last night really cheered him up.

Which bring about the next topic of discussion at some point in the future: The ego is a fragile thing.

More later on.

the eve of all hallows eve

Well it's come to that time again. I've got to sit down and make myself think and write and create. Or pick. Or have something piqued. I am actually sitting behind my two computer screens after just installed all my components into a new chassis, which is for laymen a new 'box.' It's got a nifty blue light on it.

I often think of writing like stand-up comedy: I literally feel as if someone put me on stage and said 'Be funny.' Of course I mentioned this to my therapist, who missed the comedy. I am fairly certain she missed it. Because going to someone every two weeks and sitting down to talk to them is very difficult indeed for a person like me, who converses for a single reason: to communicate. I believe I always have behaved objectively in this way: I go to the pantry for food, I go to school to learn, I listen to music to listen to music. Currently I have Stravinsky's Rite of Spring blasting in my ear. Funnily enough, I heard a cello come in a bit low and I thought it was my computer malfunctioning for a small moment. I am reminded of Saint--Saens. Maybe music majors don't know.

So I'm taking this online class in order to boost my GPA so that I can go to school next semester in Lincoln, NE.

Horror movie time. More later on.

golfing in october

My life has become the most interesting this I know of lately. It's getting very funny, and only because I'm the one in it. It's like an ongoing joke.

Here's the thing: last night I got some bottles of wine and drank them, but only after I had taken my sleeping pills. Again, I'm taking this Restoril stuff, a hypnotic, and seroquel, an antipsychotic. The effects of the two increase one another, but here's the deal: the hypnotic makes me really weird. I do things like eat or drink and completely forget about it until I find evidence of my doings the next day. This is similar to when I was on Ambien, but not as bad as all that--I can mostly control what I do on the hypnotic unless I fight the drug, after that who knows what will happen.

So last night I wasn't actively fighting the drug, I mean not to my knowledge; I was watching a movie. I don't remember which one. I think it was called Red Road. But sometime during or after this movie I had gotten it into my head that I needed to drink some alcohol. The appeal is that I can change the way I think and tap into my creative mind as if by accident. This has happened many times, and is the primary reason I like to smoke marijuana: it changes the way I think about the world, which then branches the mind out and allows me to make connections I wouldn't normally work. It is a double-edged sword, I realize, and dangerous to play with, but I take full responsibility for the pros and cons. So I do the same thing with alcohol from time to time--it used to be that I drank for one purpose, and that was to sleep. But I found out that sometimes I would do or say or write something worth doing or saying or writing before I passed out, and so now even though I don't use it to sleep--I was sober for a few weeks, which is a log time for me--it still appeals to me because I can change the way I think about the world.

It's like rolling dice, is the best comparison I can think of. Sometimes you roll the dice and nothing happens. Sometimes you roll and you lose. And sometimes you roll and you win it all. There is a word on the tip of my tongue, a literary word, a word which is better than comparison. It starts with an A. Allegory isn't the one.

But so anyway last night I must have gotten it into my head that I needed to drink, and so I did. I had two bottles of wine and watched some television shows and a movie, but I don't remember any of it. Nothing.

So this morning my mom comes into my room and starts talking to me. And she's asking did I drink wine last night. And I say yes, because I remember it coming into my mind. So she wants to know where the bottles are, and I tell her I don't know. Because I don't. She isn't angry, if you have to picture--this is a very casual conversation we're having, and I feel disembodied by the whole experience, like I'm part of the scene and yet not part of it, like I'm watching how I act in this situation. Laughing in my head.

And she asks me when did I think I wanted to drink. Because I didn't have any wine at dinner, though I could have. And I didn't want any with dinner; we had turkey, which doesn't go with a red wine, as I told my parents. Red meat, red wine. Turkey isn't red meat. So then she asks me when I started drinking. I didn't know. I was hypnotized by the drugs, I guess. And we have this whole conversation concerning the nature of my thoughts and the state I was in and what was going on that may or may not have started me on the drink. And I have no idea of any of it, and so I go on to persuade her that this is not normal behavior for me, because it isn't. But then again I don't think that I would have done anything differently. So this is a pickle I'm in.

But it's a funny pickle. On one hand I am being completely honest with my mother, and on the other hand I'm being completely honest with myself, but the two honesties don't match up, leaving me to be nothing more than a bystander in my own life.

And I'm getting to know my parents more, and letting them get to know me. Today I had an entire conversation with my mother as we golfed. I told her that if I was the only person on the entire course, and I came across a golf ball that wasn't mine, even though I was the only one out there, I would leave the ball. She asked my why, and I told her because I would be too embarrassed. I also confessed that I don't like romantic comedies because I don't think they are funny; they make me uncomfortable. These are things which I have never confessed to others. But when I think abut it I wouldn't know who else to tell.

So my life is becoming a very interesting stage for a very interesting play. And I'm in the audience, is that catch. It's like some kind of weird existence, like something from a movie.

More later on.

i'm typing in a safari shirt

You wouldn't even believe the troubles I've had while setting up this computer.

First, I couldn't figure out why the computer wouldn't run POST. So I figured I didn't have a good speaker on my chassis so I got my other chassis (previous build) and plugged that one in. And after I couldn't get it to POST once again, I figured maybe the PSU was bad. So I switched PSUs. Then I figured maybe the memory was bad, so I tried with both chassis and both PSUs while moving the RAM around to see what maybe or may not be the problem.

After I had gone through all the possible permutations, I started up the computer--I was breadboarding for a while by this point--and just let it run for ten minutes. Then I uninstalled the CPU cooler as quick as I could and took out the CPU--carefully, I may add-- and put the CPU to my cheek. Ice cold. Damn, the CPU was burned out.

So I ordered a new CPU and a heatsink and fan combo to keep it nice and cool, just in case, you know? I finally got the thing to POST and heard only one beep: code for "No keyboard detected." So I plugged in the keyboard. Unfortunately I also couldn't log onto Windows because it needed to be activated, but it wouldn't bring up the activation window after I said Yes, that's fine. I waited. And I waited.

So I figured I should just reinstall, but you see my big HD was full or precious data, so I installed Windows on my little HD and there it was: everything worked. Well, I couldn't get my second monitor to work and I hadn't tried sound just yet. Also there was the old HD to work with.

So I rooted around all yesterday trying to find out why my second monitor wouldn't work. Turned out to be some sort of driver issue, plus I was too damn dumb to remember which videocard I was running. This was after I had figured that the videocard wasn't fucking with the rest of the system. But, after a long time and many reboots, I got my second monitor to function correctly.

Then today I was able to reinstall Windows on my big HD. Same problem: must activate, no activation window. Well fuck it all anyway. So I logged on to my small HD and salvaged what I could off the old drive and formatted it. Now I'm running tests on it--via the manufacturer website's software--to see if it really is bad or good. Because even though I'd love to get a new HD and tower--sweet sales going on--I would prefer to save my parents, who are funding the operation, some monies. So I want to be absolutely sure at each and every stage that I am doing only what is necessary. Slow economy, you know.

Well I salvaged what I could--you know, my little HD is 80 gigs, and my big one is 320 gigs, so there was a lot of picking and choosing--and decided I wanted to set up my speakers and play some music and maybe watch some videos if I felt like it. I did manage to save some videos, but I basically filled the small drive. Well it turns out the speakers wouldn't work, but I knew the system could detect them: every time I pluged them it it was like, "Hey, you just plugged some speakers in!" So I plugged them into a different computer to see if they would work. They didn't. Then I realized after an hour that I plugged them into the wrong port. So I switched ports and bang: sound.

So then I had to figure what was going wrong internally. Uninstalled some more drivers, installed some more, reboots all around, and eventually I got some songs to play. So much work for so little payoff.

So while I was doing all this I was also watching a movie called Happiness.

I don't know exactly what to say about it, so I'll leave it at that.

Right now I'm watching Palindromes. Don't know what to say about this one, either.

from the midwest

I got my second monitor hooked up. It actually took me a lot longer than expected, because first I had to uninstall some drivers and then I had to find some others, then uninstall those because I got the wrong ones, then fuck around with some other ones until I found out what video card I was actually using, and then installed the correct drivers and finally used the software I found to configure the two monitors to be used simultaneously.

Lots of rebooting.

And I also found that my primary hard disk is dead. Almost completely dead. I can't even boot my computer if it is hooked up for some odd reason. So much data could be lost. I mean, lots of papers and poems and all kinds of music and video and game saves--there has to be a way to salvage it all. I did boot up in safe mode with it yesterday, so if I can do that then transfer some of the vitals to this disk before it craps out for good . . .

More at a later time.

worst of the best?

So I finally figured out which part of my computer was broken: the CPU. Too much electricity I, I figure.

Well anyway I got the new CPU installed today and went on to boot Windows, but it wouldn't boot. It said I needed to activate in order to log on, but each time I tried to activate the computer would hang. So I tried to reinstall and repair install and fixboot and fixmbr and some other shit I read about afer booting in safe mode, which worked despite other problems.

But it didn't work. So when my system hung while I was trying to reinstall I figured I had one of two problems: the hard drive was going bad or the CD drive wasn't reading. So I grabbed my backup 80gig hard drive that I normally use only for video files and wiped it (regretfully) and installed Windows. Here I am.

But the problem is now I've only got an 80gig hard drive and shit-tons of data on my 320gig drive. So now I need to figure out a way to get my HD hooked up to my MoBo and get some data transferred.

But for now, I've got this far. No games, no word processor, nothing but Internet access. I don't even have my keyboard and mouse stuff installed. Maybe I'll jump on that.

And maybe my other HD will spark to life on the next boot.

More at a later time.

culturally speaking

So last night I went to see the new movie Law Abiding Citizen. Many spoilers ahead for those who wish to see it without adulteration; readers beware.

Here's the general plot: two men enter another man's home and kill his wife and child. The father sees both men and takes them to court for murder. One of the men is given the death sentence and the other man serves three years in prison because the attorney cut him a deal for a testimony.

So what happens is that ten years later the father begins his exacting revenge on not only the man convicted and sentenced to death, but also the man who walked, the judge, the defending attorney, the entire justice system, which he sees as broken and ineffective.

Now, the problem is this: America can't have a movie in which the bad guy wins, or the good guy loses something permanent. The bad guy, the writers decided, was the father who was exercising vigilante justice upon the wicked and guilty. It's crude and weak, and suggests banality and whatever the opposite of creativity is. Because here's the twist: the attorney who cut the deal doesn't feel as if he's done anything wrong, he feels that one man getting the death sentence and another man serving three years for slaughtering a little girl is better than nothing at all, and maybe it is. But at the same time, I can't condone a fifty percent conviction rate for violent crimes. If I was the father in this case, I would feel entitled to vigilante justice, but since he wrapped it up in a, "You don't know what justice is and I'm going to teach you to take responsibility for your own actions," sort of speech, then I can't say I'm on his side, either.

And since the 'good guy' can't lose anything permanent, in the end he suffers no harm, and feels no remorse for his wrongdoings. Also, he breaks a great many of laws which the American constitution has set forth as being unbreakable, which then you have to decide who is worse, the man defending his civil rights or the man breaking them.

And the end is this: the attorney takes a bomb the father has hidden beneath the seat of justice and places it in the father's jail cell so that when the father sets the bomb off he kills himself. The attorney walks away with a clear conscience and his family intact, essentially not bearing any punishment or learning any lesson, no matter the amount of blood shed.

It occurs to me that America is a very backwards country with more problems than health care, obesity, political wars, FEMA, and so forth. Because it isn't just the institution which is killing our society, it is the poison that society bears, the ill will we have for one another which has been created by the competitiveness inspired by capitalism that creates the cancer we so desperately want to cure. But we can't cure ourselves; we're too busy trying to make a buck by telling others we can cure the disease as we scheme in the background how to make the disease last longer.

Essentially we are killing ourselves, is what I'm saying. And American cinema bears this out to the painful and bloody truth, but we are too stupid, or perhaps too close to the problem, to see what is actually happening. I blame religions.

There has been so little happening around me lately, and even less what I can do myself. Going to the movie was a luxury I can't afford, and building my computer takes too much time when I have to wait seven or eight days for the 'Guaranteed Three-Day Delivery!' to get here. It's because I live in the middle of nowhere. And then when I do get the piece, I still have to go through part by agonizing part to find out what, if anything else, is broken. I'm seriously concerned that my memory is going to be fried since my CPU was overloaded. And not that I did anything wrong or that I tried to overclock my system: no, there was a brown out and a power surge and the mosfet on my MoBo broke into flames. Well shit.

Today is about sixty degrees Fahrenheit and we've got about ten mile-an-hour winds, so this is probably the last day of the year to go golfing. So my parents and I are going to go a little later on. Right now I'm going to sit back and enjoy an Ice-Cold Coca-Cola. Ask for it by name; don't accept substitutes!

More later on.

there and back again

Well, I was gone for a bit for my mental well being, but I'm back now with a slew of drugs for both depression and insomnia. My mood has improved greatly; it's amazing what a few hours of sleep can do to make the human body pleased.

I'm just actually popping by to mention that I'm now building a new computer. I received my motherboard while I was away and was experimenting with it today. It turns out that my CPU is dead, which means that I'll have to buy a new one. So there's another expense.

But, the part should come next week, so that's two of three pieces which were broken. I'm not sure about the third piece just yet; one part at a time is the only way to fix these things. Just ask your local techie.

But that's it for now. I'll be sure to visit all the normal places sooner or later, but I've actually got stuff to do at the moment.

Much more at a later time.

wedding

Wow, what a terrific audience! So, I just got back from my cousin's wedding. Have you seen this? Have you heard about this? Apparently the groom needed a better reason to stop playing 'Freebird" in his car.

It was a nice ceremony. There was a meal in a decorated hall, followed by a dance. I did not attend the dance, because my jaw--which is still healing--got very irritated after the wedding and even more so after eating. The dishes I could eat were string beans and cheesy potatoes. I also talked a lot between the ceremony and dinner.

The wedding took place in a Baptist church, which is of course much different than a Catholic service.

But everything besides the actual rites, vows, shit like that, was all the same. Bad piano playing coupled with guitar at points and a violin at other points. There were two singers, a man and a woman, and though both had potential, it was little more than amateur. They did a couple pieces meant for two voices, and though the girl had her part mostly down--not like she could own her part, but got close--the guy didn't have a hope in some places. This is because neither singer has learned to read music, but has an ear for tunes. I don't mean to insult them, but that is the sad truth, and part of the reason why I don't like to go to weddings in the first place.

Also there were two sides at in the church, one side for the groom, one side for the bride. We stood around before the ceremony began and when we were meant to go sit--there wasn't any social ques or anything, people just began to take their seats--there was a lot of confusion about where to sit, which side, whose seat am I taking, things like that. I couldn't stop laughing. People are so weird.

Society is weird. Our culture is weird. When the wedding was over--as was indicated by the signing of the marriage license--we clapped. Why is clapping how we celebrate? It doesn't really make sense to me. Everyone is happy, so they clap. I laughed some more. I can't seem to figure out this crazy thing called life.

After that, my uncle Denny, his wife Stacy and their daughter, Megan, joined up with my mom, dad, and brother Cameron down at a sports bar so we could watch the Twins game. Now, I'm not a baseball guy, and I only have one football team--the Dolphins--so I was relieved to see that college ball was playing at the bar instead of the world's most boring game, baseball. My grandma is a Twins' fan, as well as my uncle and father, so I can't blame them.

Anyway, we ordered a round, and I got a Guinness since my uncle ordered one. This uncle is my dad's younger brother by ten years; just clarifying. I like my uncle Denny; he's also my godfather. He's a bit more hip than my dad, and his wife Stacy is a French teacher. They live in a bigger sort of city; he's a civic engineer for the federal government. I guess out of that side of my family they are the least small-town of them all, which is why I like to talk with them and just hang out. So anyway we go to this bar and order drinks and sit around chatting. My jaw was feeling fine for a while, but after the second round--we were there for an hour and a half--and all that talking, my jaw was absolutely killing me.

We got to the dinner thirty minutes early, and my mom was worried that we would have alcohol on our breath--these guys were hardcore Baptists, and my parents thing this is probably the only time the groom's side will get an impression of us. Whatever, I said, it isn't our fault these guys are lame.

We get to the dinner and sit and chat for thirty minutes and, par usual for any gathering in South Dakota, the dinner starts late. My grandmother--father's mother--sat with us, but the thing is we haven't told anyone on that side of the family--outside my uncle and his wife, that is--that I broke my jaw in a fight. My grandma would simply die if she found out, so we're keeping it a secret. But I could sit there two chairs away and tell my mom that I couldn't even eat because my broken jaw hurt too much, so I basically sat there and was in pain, even after a hydrocodone--I'm on Darvoset.

Keeping the truth from someone for the greater good, this is the theme which concerns me. Is it ethical to lie to preserve one's sanity? If you start to hide and lie and generally be dishonest, where can you begin, and when should you stop? What makes one lie fine, and another not as fine?

These are areas which may not have occurred to my family, my father, mother, uncle--but I don't think they care one way or the other, the reasons and justifications--I say they are more concerned with practical application rather than semantic interpretation. Or would it be a more philosophical interpretation?

During the ceremony there was some part when the priest said something about how marriage is meant to procreate or something like that, because that's what god wants. But why? If there was a god, why would he want us to procreate? There are facts that have no reason to be facts, and no institute which investigates the veracity of religious claims or dogma.

I'm going to say something that can't be verified. I'm going to say that there are people growing up in this world who are confused by religions, confused about the numbers or them, the truth behind each one, the histories of them. I'm going to say that this confusion is combated on the religious side by displays of sheer faith--the argument is, "This is true because we say it's true, and we say it is true because it is true. This is why our religion is right for you, because it is right for everyone." On the other side of the confusion, the only other argument against religion is, "I have no proof of any claim, and therefore choose not to believe in any religion."

I believe those are the two central arguments for the souls and minds of the population that is created by the confusion people feel at the sheer number of institutes who try to explain why we are here and what we are doing on earth. Because a metaphysical question causes a metaphysical crisis, and that metaphysical crisis has to be answered, and that is the role religion has taken.

But I don't want to go any further into that area. No. Instead, I want to say that the confusion generation through all this is bad for our society, and that we must find a better way to address and treat this confusion. A better way than atheism or religion. I think the best way to do this is to reduce the number of arguments by destroying all religion.

Because society can't last forever when this confusion lasts. And society will survive even less when, instead of people sitting around saying, "I just don't know one way or the other," people are sitting around in groups saying, "I'm absolutely positive without a doubt that I am right, which means that everyone who doesn't think and believe exactly what I think and believe is wrong."

This is the future we have created.

Why, again, if there was a god, would he want us to procreate? What is the reason that life succeeds and keeps succeeding? Why was this world created--and everything in it--to reproduce? What is the point of it all?

Also, I don't condone the institution of marriage, because I don't believe that any one person can meet the needs of any one other person. I believe that people are too complex. Maybe one day I'll be proven wrong. And maybe one day I'll be proven right.

cook

There's a few things to address here. It's all boring bullshit, so feel free to skip it all.

I had my first therapy session last week. She asked me a bunch of questions, like when it all started and junk like that, and also what I expect to get out of therapy. I told her that I'm too broken to know which part of me is broken, and that if I knew what was wrong I wouldn't be there in the first place. This was after a lot of talking. Later she assessed me and said, among other things, that I seem to know who I am. I told her that I have no idea who I am, and that this has been persisting for a while.

It was meant to be a evaluation interview. She set me up for another appointment with her on the 8th, and also an appointment with a psychiatrist I'm taking Zoloft right now, but since I'm with a family doctor my psychologist thinks I need more specialized care. I hope that my new guy keep me on the same medication, since SSRIs are long-term medications. Neuroepinehrine regulators aren't as much of a problem. At least we've all determined that I'm not manic.

There's a wedding for my cousin taking place tomorrow. I have to dress up. I have to go back into a church. I'm not pleased.

And since I haven't gotten a job, I have become the house chef. I make foods for the people living here since I love to cook. I think cooking is one of the geekiest hobbies that can be found, so I do it was all my heart.

That's the updates for now. I've got nothing creative to offer. More at another time.

the godfather (rev. and finished)

So today I had to attend a Catholic mass, the fist I've been to in at least five years, so that I could become the godfather of my cousin's baby. This is a complicated story, and will require pills and drinks. Don't worry; I've done this before. I only wish I could remember where I put that pack of cigarettes--my jaw is too mangled to use chewing tobacco.

Fifteen Minutes Later

So we show up in church early, twenty minutes early, which is par for the course if you know my dad. Only my cousin Amy and her parents don't do the early thing like my dad does, so we wait in the lobby for ten minutes for them to show up.

I know that we've always been early to church, and usually that's because (or a product of) getting in the Rosary. This is a particular practice to the Catholics. But at this church there was no Rosary, and I was thankful for that, but at the same time I have to say that showing up at the time we did, which was almost late but not quite, there were death glares coming from each corner of the place. Judging eyes, glances not quite hidden. Very usual. I remember this was one of the reasons I dislike both small towns and religions. Morals and ethics are simply excuses given for why "they" are worse than "us."

Anyway, we sing the hymn to bring in the priest and he walks down the aisle with the altar boys and goes up to the altar and kisses it or whatever he does, and we sit down. There are always three readings in a Catholic mass, usually two from a saint to a group of people, like John Paul to the Corinthians or something. You get two of these and then a gospel reading, like a reading from the gospel according to Luke. The first two readings are done by regular jack-offs like you and me, but the gospel reading is performed by the priest.

After the gospel, the priest does a little interpretation or story time. This is the sermon, from what I understand. And what the purpose of this is, as I understand it, is to clarify the readings and the gospel, to unite the three passages, and to relate what has been read to our every day lives, drive it home, bring it to heart. As this priest--and I'll say he was pretty young, as priests go--delivered his sermon, I thought to myself, "I've heard sophistry before, and this sounds awfully familiar." Now, I understood where he was coming from, I do, and I also understand where he was getting his message and what, in the text, gave him validation, but there was something wrong in the way he came to his conclusion, some sort of rhetorical dislocation of logic that tripped my sensors--it came off amateurish and naive.

But this is exactly what sells to the people, and that was his brilliance. I can't compete with his charisma, and the reason the Sophists were so popular was because they could relate and sell themselves to the regular people. Being popular is not the same as being correct or logical. Sitting in a church I no longer belong to, I finally understood what I was up against, and I lost hope in my cause. The Enemy is far too great for me alone. Which was why I had a change of plans.

Now, after the sermon the priest sits down and one of the readers comes to the podium and he says things like, "For peace in the world, Lord, hear our prayer," and on the Lord, hear our prayer part, the whole congregation recites the words. But I found these very entertaining, because they prayed for things like world peace, and for unity among all Christians, and things of that nature. As I sat there I wondered if they thought they were actually helping. A funny joke came to me: what's the difference between hoping and praying? Nothing! But that was exactly what these people were doing, just sitting there, hoping all at once that suddenly all Christians in the world would say, "Oh, sorry, we're wrong and you're right, let's all be Catholic like it used to be." I was struck absurd.

After that there's a ritual or something, the priest converts the bread and wine on the altar to flesh and blood==literally. I can't stress this enough. The bread is not a representation of Christ's flesh, it is actually his flesh, as the bread is magically transmogrified into real flesh, and the wine is turned by magic into real blood. And all the Catholics, they line up and go to the front of the church, and the priest holds out the flesh and says, "This is the body of Christ," to which you reply, "Amen," and you eat it. Then you have the option of going to the next guy who says, "The is the blood of Christ," and you say, "Amen," and you drink it. I want to be very clear that these people actually believe that they are consuming real flesh and real blood at each and every mass. It is simply bizarre.

But anyway, after the strange ritual the priest does his benediction, you know, "May you go with the blessing and protection of god," and we leave.

Later on we have to go to my cousin Amy's girl's baptism. I was asked to be godfather, which means I have a few obligations to the raising of the girl, who's name is Amaya. Amy and I have always been close; we're both sort of black sheep on that side of the family which basically means that we've gotten rather close over the years. So we go to the baptism, and as we're going through this, the priest asks us (the parents and godparents--there's more than one baptism going on at once) if we're going to raise this child within the faith and some other stuff, but it sounds an awful lot like indoctrination. This is everything I believe is wrong with religion--if you catch a kid early enough, you can make him believe anything, and the church knows this, and so why do you think altar boys are always around eight or ten years old? Baptism is the earliest possible time to hook a child into the cult, and so I have a very moral and ethical issue with what's going on. But I love my cousin, and I would be honored to help raise her child--albeit not within a particular faith, but all the same.

So I stand through the baptism very uncomfortably, and at the end we take pictures and we go back to Amy's parents' house and we have dinner together and exchange gifts and whatnot. But there is a deep metaphysical issue at odds within me now.

Was it ethically or morally wrong for me to do something for the good of my cousin's baby if it meant pretending in the eyes of a religion? Am I a bad person for lying to preserve the life of another?

I never counted the typos

Well it's a new day. I took my Ativan last night, but I don't remember much, and so I wonder if that is a possible side effect. I guess I'll find out sooner or later.

Apparently I also bought a game off the PlayStation Network called Smash Cars, and it isn't bad--fun, actually. I also bought a movie called Vexille, but I don't remember doing either of those things. I do know that I went downtown to buy cigarettes for an astonishing seven dollars. The movie is all CGI, so I'm not really excited about it. But then again if it turns out to be a great flick, I can be forgiving.

I guess tonight I'll be seeing Bruce Willis flick, so that's very exciting. There hasn't been a good movie out all summer, just more Disney trash than ever. I mean, add on top of that gaming companies refuse to release games outside the holiday season and I've had the doldrums more than ever. I've got thousands of dollars of entertainment units and all they've done is collect dust, literally. I didn't fire up my Xbox for at least a week or two, and my PS3 even longer. I want to check out Halo: ODST sooner or later, and I've got Wolfenstein here and Katamari Forever both through Gamefly, but the thing about that is I have to wait almost a full week to get games back that I've sent in. Comes with living in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

This movie is turning out to be very Michael Bay. No, Michael, that's not a story line, those are special effects. No, it is not compensation.

My mind is becoming more scattered. Thoughts flit in and out with the changing of the seconds on my watch. Life is an endless ocean and I am a vessel drifting on the waves, up and down, without direction or guidance. Each day is another day is another, all the same, all the same.

I watched State of Play the other night, and I was interested for a little while, but about forty minutes from the end I predicted the outcome and lost interest. I would have figured it out sooner if I was paying attention. My parents must hate watching movies with me because I always spoil the end. I can't be entertained unless I don't know what's going to happen, I suppose.

I want to go eat, but I have no appetite. I want to write but I have no topic. I feel like there should be meaning left somewhere in this world, but you can't be serious in postmodern America without being seen as silly. I guess I don't really take anything serious, anymore, which may or may not be affecting my world view. It's all just a big joke, right?

But here's the punchline, and I'm not laughing.