Random Musings

February 2003

Tuesday, 04 February, 2003:  
"You better change
Before the sun goes down
You better leave
Before you are the last in town.
You better raise
Your fortresses or tear them down...
Tear them down.
You gotta tear them down.
Tear them down.
You better tear them down.
Tear them down!" - Dan Fogelberg, 'Better Change' from the album 'Souvenirs'

"Help me to find what I don't wanna know
You're taking me There but I don't wanna go
I don't care it's all psychobabble rap to me
You're readin' my mind you won't look in my eyes
You say I do things that I don't realise
But I don't care it's all psychobabble rap to me
You're lighting a scene that's faded to black
I threw it away 'cause I don't want it back
But I don't care it's all psychobabble rap" - Alan Parsons

Well, that pretty much sums up my internal dialogue. Paige and Pavel's "observations" ("communications people don't draw conclusions, we just observe", sure Paige. . .sure) and my ever-present internal reply.

I've suddenly realised that this is a critical point. A branching-off. I see that I can't hold my position indefinitely. Sooner or later I will be forced to move in one direction or another and I will have no option but to choose. If I choose the path I'm on right now, I'll end up following David. That hadn't entered my head until now, but I am certain it's correct. If I take the other path though, I'll destroy part of myself in the process. And so I hold my position for a bit longer, knowing as I do so that the stress will surely snap something if I hold too long. Why must I continue to be something?

Wednesday, 05 February, 2003:
"Loving you,
Isn't the right thing to do.
How can I,
Ever change things that I feel?

If I could,
Baby I'd give you my world.
How can I,
When you won't take it from me?" - Fleetwood Mac

Thursday, 06 February, 2003:
"Rulers make bad lovers,
You better put your kingdom up for sale." - Stevie Nicks

And I'm still here, still where I've been. "Caught between the longing for love and the struggle for the legal tender." Jackson Browne's hero ends tragically, surrendering true love for the struggle for money. I don't know yet where I'll end up. All I know is that something inside is no longer holding up. The force behind the gears is making them strip. Little bits now, but it's not going to get better. The whole machine is under tension, drive motors are smoking and something's going to release all that stored up energy. I need to either reduce the tension or release it. Release is dangerous though, unpredictable. Anything could happen. And yet the only way to reduce the tension is to close some doors. I can push everything back if people will just let me.

Some release. Not necessarily productive for me, but not detrimental. I'd finally had enough of my Finance professor and I decided today that I'd just start correcting everything I disagreed with. Amazing thing is that the class really got behind me. Of course, the first time I said something I completely blind-sided the professor and she had no option but to admit that my answer was more complete and precise than the one she gave. By the end of the class she just wouldn't call on me anymore. I think she was sick of my picking out flaws and finding more easily understood explanations. I don't care though. She reads straight from the book and doesn't ever deviate. Damn it, I'm paying to learn things. I'm not about to let her get away with not teaching. I'm going to continue to push her until she pushes back. I want a challenge.

And even though there's been a release, more builds. As I re-read Paige's letter and see things I missed the first time through I'm rather less comforted by knowing more about her ability to see into me. She says, "When I want to know something that you may not want to tell me. I can play the cute blonde. Lets me in under your guard." Not that I don't trust Paige, but the idea that she can slip in under my radar is disconcerting. I greatly dislike the idea that she can get me to say things I don't want to say. To her credit, she mentions that she tries, "not to mess with the arrangement of the furniture" (i.e., my mental furniture). Still, there's something somewhat discordant knowing that she has access, even if she doesn't abuse it. If you're reading this Paige, I'd appreciate thoughts if you have the time and the inclination.

Wednesday, 12 February, 2003:   Different and the same. I feel vaguely like I'm trying to hold off some sort of landslide.

Saturday, 15 February, 2003:   Pavel suggests that I let the landslide go in little bits and pieces. I don't think that's a workable solution though. I'm either going to snap or I'm not. Once something gives way, it all has to give way. You can remove one or two supports without the whole thing crumbling, but sooner or later the critical support will be removed and everything has to come down at that point.

Monday, 17 February, 2003:   It begins. I'm starting to break away from Ashley I think.

Tuesday, 18 February, 2003:  
"You're the voice of truth."
"It's a new role for me."
"It's a good role to have as long as you don't mind being a loner."
"I don't mind being a loaner. I like it more now than I did when I thought I loved it." - Exchange between Paige and myself, I'm the second speaker.

"There is no Eden or Heavenly gate
That you're gonna make it to one day
But all of the answers you seek can be found
In the dreams that you dream on the way.
" - Dan Fogelberg

Sunday, 23 February, 2003:   She says to write. But what about? She says the words will come. I ask what if they don't. Just start and they will she says. I say I don't want to write about the meaningless things that happen during the day. She says meaning emerges from the meaningless. I say I'd rather write about the things I am pondering. She says if I'm writing, I'll find something to ponder.

And so I write, having nothing to say but writing nonetheless because she asks and because I have nothing better to do. But mainly because she asks.

Worked on the sunroof in my car today, last owner had completely backed the drive cable out of the motor. I had to fish the cable out of the motor's well and get it re-threaded, plus adjust a couple of microswitches. Not that much to do really until the gears come though.

Why do I write when she prods me about the journal? I'm tempted to say that I don't know and leave it at that. The anal-retentive side of me hates not having an answer though, so let's see what I can conjur up for a nicely convoluted reason. I suppose part of it is just knowing that I have a reader, but that's not all of it. Matt checks up from time to time, and so does Pavel. There must be others too. Maybe it's just that she's the most vocal. She's the one who wants to know what's going on. But that's not really it either. She and I chat almost daily and any questions she has for me can simply be asked. Ahhh, I think I see. The journal is myself in a more distilled form than she sees when we chat. A rambling, the river of my thoughts following it's own gravity and not being affected by other influences directly. And I write when she asks because I'm curious of what she'll see.

Nothing matters. Not even the fact that nothing matters. ;-)

Monday, 24 February, 2003:   I will NOT be dragged back down that road again. I have to keep watching myself lest I pick back up again the things of which I have just let go. I was fine for a while, I was getting better. No relapses. I cannot let this happen. The cycle must end.

Tuesday, 25 February, 2003:   Did I have a dream, or did the dream have me? I wake to a reality that feels less real than my dream. This will be an interesting day if the feeling persists.

Letting go is not enough. Not nearly enough. Not even the beginning.


Who the "you" is, I don't know.

I have let go of things and it was better. Better is not good though. I'm still missing something. A big something.

I say that nothing matters, and they tell me that such a view must be depressing since it would mean that we leave no lasting mark. I tell them that they mis-understand, nothing matters. They say that such thoughts darken one's mind. I tell them that they are missing things. I say again that nothing matters, including the fact that nothing matters! It's only depressing if it matters to us that nothing matters. Once we see that it doesn't matter that nothing matters, the depression vanishes like a Will-O-The-Wisp at the coming dawn.

So why do I still fel empty?

WHAT DO YOU WANT? Whatever you are? Logic was not the answer. I know that now. But mysticism has not brought the great happiness either. Just a different emptiness that feels more like happiness until you look at it straight on.

I just don't know if I care. I just need something to fill the hole. Give me something to fill the hole.

Wednesday, 26 February, 2003:   "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." - John Stuart Mill

I suppose that there are worse things than to be dissatisfied. At the same time, better to be a human being satisfied than a human being dissatisfied; better to be Socrates satisfied than Socrates dissatisfied.

I thought that letting go would make the difference. It made a difference, but it did not make The Difference. There is more I must do. I must learn how best to deal with the hole. I must learn. I will learn.
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Last Updated:  04 February, 2003

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