life, the universe and cheese sandwiches

i'm typing on a netbook one of my clients ordered through me which he told me to keep until he can pay for it, so please don't mind that i'm not going to capitalize anything if i can help it. the keyboard is small enough that i don't need to try and fit all my digits over the damned thing.

this is precisely the reason that i want my damn ibook g4 to get back online. i repaired it a while ago--needed a new hd and keyboard==and i haven't been able to connect to wireless networks with it, but i can do wired. which then leads me to believe that my airport extreme card needs to be replaced. i would take it to the apple store to check it out since, you know, it's an apple product and i work on pcs, but those guys charge sixty bucks if only to take it apart and say, 'yup, it's broke.' but anyway the reason i want it back is because the keyboard is so much bigger and comfortable. it makes it easier to type.

little arthur dent, poor dent arthur dent, we always think he just couldn't find his place in the universe. could he? didn't he? didn't he, in the end, realize what a sham trying to fit in to this game we called life really is? but how cliche is that all, really, when it crosses my mind i get sick, physically ill from it all, just knowing that knowing and knowing about knowing and knowing about the knowing about the knowing is all just banal and sick and boring and just so run of the mill and middle of the road and ordinary. but that's life for you. i never learned to type properly. i usually only use a few of my fingers and look at the keyboard while i do so, and the only time i need to worry about making mistakes is if i actually see those mistakes as i'm typing away.

just who and what are we? i mean us, as humans, what exactly are we, what makes us tick, what makes us us, and why, and how, and for what reason, and how does us being something or someone i mean for what purpose have we developed into this future of humanity, a future in which humans don't struggle to survive, a future that we don't have use for what we have developed over these many millions of years of evolution in which we were specially designed by trial and error to survive, where does this all fit together? life isn't like a puzzle, life isn't like a box of chocolates, life isn't any of those funny quirky snarky things that we use to describe what it is. life is nothing but the persistence of genes competing to replicate.

but when i put it like that it sounds depressing and scientific and wholly unhappy and a bit bleak. and it is. i forgot to take my medication today and i'm watching this movie in which everyone looking for something dies, and i also read a lot of david foster wallace today--from his book oblivion--so i'm not exactly in the kind of mood that sees the world through violet colored lenses. but i have to tell you that this universe, this world, this life, this is not what it is described it to be, not what it's expected to be, not what is wanted to be. not for me. as a ugly quarter aged man living in his parents' basement with his own compuer repair business, i can say that i never thought it would turn out like this. living life with depression is just so regular.

and i can't stand it, none of it, and especially that i can't stand that i can't stand it and that i think it's banal and dull and run of the mill middle of the road vanilla life. is this my quarter life breakdown, and if so how many other out there also have a quarter life breakdown, and of those how many are male, and living out of a basement, and ugly, and insecure, and without significant other, and depressed, and taking zoloft and whining to their therapist about it all who probably lives life inside her own little world full of the same things i'm describing just now, right now, while others all across the world do exactly what i'm doing rightnow which is sitting down watching a movie and ranting on a blog on a piece of the internet nobody ever stops by whining about my own personal problems and never achieving even a fraction of those dream i had growing up? and the therapist, let's not forget her, because she goes home to her husband and two children and whines and complains about her day at work which is just quarter aged kid after quarter aged kid she diagnoses with a quarter life crisis which then go home to write about it on a blog, and she has to sit through it all day hearing the same sob stories from self indulged individuals who are no more unique or special than the cement sidewalks that line every village town city and metropolis across this very globe. and who would think that these days anyhow, that it is possible or even probable to come anything close to unique or special or even rare, and that if it was possible and did in fact happen how would that individual see life and operate in the universe, and what would make her any different than the average twenty somethings who think exactly the same things about themselves and have their quarter life breakdowns and never an original thought comes through their heads just like every other thought that's thought by thinkers everywhere, and even when they know about those who know about all the knowing well that's really no different from the first position, which remember was that ugly kid who didn't finish college sitting in his parents basement typing on a cheap netbook on his blog that nobody visits typing about how banal and cliche life really is, well, isn't that even less special than thinking yourself unique or special and simply living a deluded life as long as your happy?

`but then the thought comes to mind that that isn't all that special or unique. because maybe everybody else out there is having the same thoughts or has had them and nobody is really as happy as they make it out to be, meaning that everyone goes home at night and all alone they think about how great everybody else has it and how come they have to sit in the dark watching depressing movies about the pursuit of happiness and sit there and think about how pathetic and truly alone and banal their own existence is? because then the original ugly boy would simply be yet another ugly face in the crowd, a crowd who is generally unhappy but tries to make out like they aren't unhappy and then that same ugly boy would have to wonder if that is in fact the case then why can't he do it too, like everyone else, like there is some trick to making life as a normal person, a person who goes home and gets the howling fantods about being depressed and alone but in public looks and acts happy, well then why is he so different, aside from the overweight body he has and the ugly face and personality he has, why can't he be normal as well, by which i mean go out and just look happy like everyone else does instead of being the generally ugly boy who complains about being unhappy and ugly and young and in his quarter life crisis, because then it would be a story everybody is familiar with, and he would be even less normal and outstanding than even he thought was possible before all this introspection came rushing to the surface on accident in front of his television while a horror movie now plays in the background.

so what i want to know is where in this universe did all this come from and for what reason or purpose have we developed the ability to be exactly who and what i am? this is what religion is for, if you believe religion. that's what they'll tell you. they take away those fears and illuminations and god forbid epiphanies and replace them with tried and true visions of the universe and make you feel comfy and cozy and generally at peace with the world. and that's why atheism is so bad, it takes that all away from those poor helpless people who so desperately want to feel at ease and comfortable in this life but who can't go about their daily lives without the guidance of a higher power.

but that's bunk, too. and how depraved and narcissistic and condescending do you have to be to hold that as your own personal view and express that view to others? and that's a loaded question, because i mean not only the idea that religion is good, or the idea that it's bad, or those about atheism, and even about all the other stuff that sort of wraps it up in a nice package. a lit of questions need to be answered, and i'm afraid that i simply cannot do it, and that not being able to do it is not my own personal unique position but a position shared by millions around the globe who are normal and decent and regular people but who have the same ideas and feelings as i do but don't go on about it in their pathetic little blog spaces and whinge to their therapists every two weeks about how pathetic and alone and special they are compared to what, the rest of the world? when in fact it's that very act that makes them even less special and unique than just going ahead and taking the correct amount of noxious drugs and simply erasing their maps like the original plan was.

but no, those drugs i took didn't kill me, they hardly even injured me. i wish i would have crashed my car some nights, wish those drugs would have worked, and i always think about what if, that same question that women ask themselves after an abortion for the rest of their lives, what if. how would everyone else be doing if i had succeeded in taking my own life? i will assume sad for a bit, but better off in the long run, which was what i thought at the time. so have i changed and made any improvement in my lot since then?

this sort of mental battle i imagine rages within every mind on the planet and the same conclusion comes up time after time and who am i to question the ways of the universe anyway?

i'm pretty tired now. 0400h and i have to get up early to go to the big city and look at golf stuff. it should be a fun day.

and i promise, more at a later time.