Saturday, 14 June, 2003: Odd feelings lately. The mind alternately races
and stalls. Work is beginning to chafe at me. Working with people is all well
and good but being a peon is an anathema to me. It's almost infuriating to have
to deal with people who are visibly less intelligent than I am but to whom I am
compelled to kowtow simply because of my job. I suppose that I should be thankful
that I won't feel badly about leaving this job. Last summer I loved my job. It
was hot and difficult and sweaty and dirty and damp and I loved it. I did my job
and I did it well and people knew what my responsibilities were. No-one came up
to me and bitched about anything that wasn't my responsibility or my doing. My
current job is a perfect example of the old adage, "the shit always rolls
downhill". People blaming me for things being mis-marked, and then feeding
me asinine explanations on why it was confusing ("the price tag is red and
so are the tags that say clearance in other areas of the store, so it has to be
on clearance"). All I do is ring people out. I have to go by what I've been
told to do. I have no authority. It's my ass in a sling if I give you money off
of something that's not on sale. The money will then come out of my paycheck,
not out of some wonderful nameless fund that the company has set up for this sort
The mind does weird things. Mine love to be engaged in thought. It needs something
going on all the time or it starts to over-rev. If I can't find something external
to contemplate I start turning things over inside my head and then I tune out
the things outside. Maybe that's why I like driving so much, it gives me something
to concentrate on that's not internal and that isn't severely philosophically
taxing. It's unwinding. The same goes for working on things. Maybe that's also
why I liked my last job better. Something different every day as a handyman. I
had my little rituals, and it was my meditation time essentailly.
Monday, 16 June, 2003: Strange how I have this dual nature
about me, the little man in my head whom nobody but me sees. The little voice
that saw Shanna's vinyl pants and though, "Oh yeah." Myself and not
myself. I worry about that voice sometimes. It gets louder as I age. More persuasive,
better able to persuade that the self-destructive path will be enough fun to be
worth it. Or maybe it's just louder and not really more persuasive, just more
moticeable. If I really thought that getting myself "corrupted" were
the way to go, then I would not be on the path which I have chosen. If I really
were listening, I'd be out clubbing or something looking for girls who have much
in common with the mannerisms of a friend who has since changed her ways. Still
it can be a little odd when the voice suddenly breaks through in some form of
Thursday, 19 June, 2003: Exerpts from letters:
I begin to despair of ever being with my Companion.
I fear that when I find her, I won't act because I can't let myself get under
someone else's control and not be chafed by it. Even with you it bothers me greatly
at intervals. I know that the only thing keeping you in my head is my own desire
to allow you to stay there, I still let it drive me nuts the way I want to (and
do) let you smile and hide what you want hidden, or let you see right through
me by my intentionally making myself transparent for you. For pete's sake, what
is so amazingly wrong with me that I'm this neurotic? It doesn't harm me and yet
I agonise over it. I know you claim that you don't move the furniture, but I know
that the end-tables aren't in the same place they always were. Not that you're
intentionally moving things, but your being there is causing things to be moved.
Still, I know full well that it's not your intentional doing. I know that I'm
allowing it all to happen and that I can stop it any time I like. What worries
me is that I don't want to stop it. I need to talk with some people about this.
Most everyone has scattered. Things are past "coming
undone" and it's finally dawning on me that I can't go back. That I can't
hold on. That I have to move forward even if I don't know where that will take
me. I look ahead and I can't get a clear picture, and it scares me. Not the mundane
stuff, I know that I'll find a job and a house and that I'll be all right in all
of this worldly stuff. I wonder where I'll be with friends. I wonder if I'll recognise
my Companion when out paths cross or if I'll be too afraid of letting someone
else have part of me. I wonder if I'll keep the new friendships I've developed
in the past year or so with your sister and Pavel and you, among others. Paige
calls me a searcher. She's right. But it's lonely to be a searcher, and the searcher
must eventually become a finder or it's all without value? Or maybe the search
has it's own value. But I don't think I can be a searcher and find the comfort
I see that you and Paige and Pavel have. I need to have found "It" to
have it all end up without the lonliness inherent to being a searcher.
Tuesday, 24 June, 2003: There are many possible responses to a
stimulus that is disturbing to the status quo. One can run from the stimulus and
by so doing attempt to avoid the stimulus alltogether. One can ignore the stimulus
and carry on without change. One can pay lip service to the stimulus and by so
doing attempt to end the stimulus at the source. Or one can aim straight for the
stimulus and see where that takes him. I have chosen the last. Paige, I'll see
you in 17 days. Let us see where it takes me.
Thursday, 26 June, 2003: I am more of the lone wolf than I thought.
I had gotten into the habit of considering the "lone wolf" persona to
have been a concoction of my movie and literary idols, but I'm starting to see
that it's really a connection I have with those idols. The inherent lonliness
has made me want to believe that I'm not really of that sort, but when it all
comes right down to it, I function much better and am most comfortable when I
am on my own, when I am independant. It's not that I dislike people, or even that
I wish to be detached from them all the time, but I'm just not the person who
needs or even wants to be with people all the time. I like them, in fact I love
people, and I do not reject their company, but I don't often seek company either.
So I suppose that in the end I'm more like Badger in "The Wind In The Willows"
than anything else. Despite initial impressions to the contrary, I'm very, very
far from even hinting at being misanthropic.
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