cause of death: boredumb.
2001-11-09 - 7:22 p.m.
*sigh* What a week. The long and short of it is that Nemo came back from vacation. This is one of my older personas (not older in respect to age/maturity, but more in respect to the period of my life from seventh grade to sophomore year). Basically, he�s a no one. No dreams (the sleepy kind), no aspirations, no hobbies. This is the me that plays AD+D, has no social life, and makes up games that no one else plays. He lives by himself in a bubble of make-believe, and makes no effort to learn about anything outside of that bubble. One could basically call him an extension of Pastjason that reaches out and touches Presentjason every now and again, but he also functions as the dichromatic opposite of Omni, a persona that shows up even more rarely in Mynd and is much more dependant on a sort of collective process of thought...zoning out watching TV and unquestioning of why he does the things he does. Omni is usually only present (and even then, is never the dominant persona) during a �buzz� from smoking or drinking. In my opinion, I�d rather be Nemo. I�d rather be depressed and alone than have a mob mentality else just to feel warm and fuzzy.
Mynd has been running on very small amounts of coke since...well, all month, because I was trying to ration it out. I have currently runn out of money, and am trying to get by on four cups of coke from the cafeteria each day. The problem being that lunch and supper are only five hours apart, and then I have to go without coke for about 18 hours before I can get more. I�ve been sneaking the fountain coke into bottles, but eventually they�re gonna notice. I may have to start going to breakfast instead of lunch (I limited myself to two meals per week so that I could get $100 to spend on coke). Pulled an all-nighter (as opposed to getting four hours of sleep) to finish part one of my psychology final, and then got bit in the bum by the anatomy quiz at 8am the next morning. I know I know the stuff better than I think I know it. I�m pretty sure I lost my 4.0 this week; dropped it down to a 3.8 er maybe a little lower.
And then, one of those days, I had something which resembled a nervous breakdown, but did not actually involve nervous thoughts or feelings. I was just...restless. All the music sounded the same, all the people said the same things...I just wanted to beat someone with a creativity stick (but of course, I had to give mine up because I ended up braining myself with it too often). At some point, I went to the floor and stayed there, wondering how I had �gotten there� in a physical sense. Barely had the time to flip this over in my head before I was sitting in the corner of the room, hoping that someone would open the door really fast and squish me. Took me longer than it should have to realize that I�m larger than a fly, and can�t fit in the head of the doorstop. When my Korean roommate got back to the room, I was on the floor again, and had been there for some time. Unfortunately, the ceiling in my dorm is very high up so I have to think rather loudly to talk to it, and even then, it�s not a very good conversationalist, compared to the one in the guest room at my �parents� house.
At some point within the next month, I have to figure out what I�m going to do with the rest of my life. I have essays for my core class and social foundations of funeral service that are based on my reasons for my choice of fields and whether I see myself as a mortician or funeral director. On the one side, it would be good to get my BS so that I can go on to graduate school. But this seems like too much college, because I would probably end up getting another major in creative writing (perhaps a little closer to Boston?) and am doubtful that I�ll end up using it. Even if I were to be a writer �in the end�, it might make more sense to just get ahold of Stephen King�s writing manual (even though he�s not all that great of a writer) and spend those three or four years I would have spent in college to write. And I�ve got to keep in mind that I�ve got it easy. When I get out of college, I should have no problem finding a job [with people I enjoy] that pays 35K+ while I figure out what to do. On the other hand, There�s BU...in a best-case scenario, Jon (roommate from MSSM) and I could get an apartment near the university and have lotsa funn. There is even a possibility of re-becoming friends with Becca and maybe getting my life back together. (Wow, that sounded a bit sarcastic inside my head...erg.) But I�m already pretty good at the writing part, and I�m not too sure about my views about creativity being something that can be taught...but it still has the potential to be something funn, which is more than I can say for some of my other options.
This picture really irks me. Does it really take five American soldiers to stick a flag in a mountain? Actually, I guess it doesn�t, because the first four have tilted the flag out of reach of the last soldier, and the third soldier looks a bit crowded to be of any use. The first guy is only there for [physically] directional advice, and the fourth guy, if anything, seems to be dragging the flag down. And why is this symbol popping up on t-shirts today? Granted, it�s a pretty cool picture, but it�s not like Japan has anything to do with our current situation, and it wasn�t even the first flag up there. I just don�t get it.
Every day after first grade, I got on a bus with the rest of the elementary kids �like water falling back into a bottle� (damn were we brilliant as a little kid). Kept my head down, looked out the window, and tried to avoid attention. There was another kid in my grade called Timmy. Blonde, a little more hyperactive than most; after first grade, I think he switched schools. Anyways, there were several occasions each year when someone would sit with me on the bus just for the hell of it. Most of these occurrences were Emily, one of Sarah�s friends and �the other smart kid� in the town. Timmy say with me one day, or I sat with him because there wasn�t any more room on the bus. I don�t even remember what we talked about (it was a pretty short ride to my stop) but at some point, he turned to me and asked if I wanted to see and/or touch his penis. Now, fortunately for me, I was fully aware what a penis was, and knew about sex and all that. But this question totally confused me: what reason did I have to see Timmy�s Little Timmy if I had my own to look at? Maybe it was a brotherly thing that I didn�t know about, as I was the only boy in my family. By my confusion turned to disgust when he did whip it out. To my lack of surprise, Little Timmy was just that...little. And then, of course, Timmy wanted to see mine. This is where I switched seats. At this point in my life, I didn�t know what being �gay� was. The thought just hadn�t crossed my mind. But I seemed to dislike it, which may show some sort of �natural� heterosexuality. If homosexuality is genetic, as they thinks, this is one more support to the argument that Jason is not gay. Although I may have to rethink this, because I just put a reasonable amount of effort into relating this story, and if that was the reason for it, I seem to have some sort of obsession with proving that I�m not gay. The plot sickens. So, just yesterday I was thinking about this, and realized that Timmy wasn�t circumcised. I, on the other hand, am rather foreskinless, and this, more than anything else, is what might have freaked me out about the situation. Thus, I am grateful for being circumcised (even though my parents aren�t part of any circumcising religions), because otherwise I might have grown up to wear Calvin Kline shirts and talk with a lisp (from a socio-behavioral standpoint, anyway). But then again, it�s been a while since I�ve even cuddled with a girl...maybe I�m just...tired. Tired, the opposite of excited. Tired of listening to all the bullshit that other people think is so important. Exhibit A: the college cafeteria. There are a group of Nikki�s suitemates that usually sit together at supper. The first psychological absurdity in the cafeteria system is that they sit together (and only partially for this reason, mind you) because they�re afraid that the people in the cafeteria who don�t know them will see one of them sitting by themselves (or see some people at her table leave before her) and assume that they have no friends. The problem with this thinking is that one�s thinking really shouldn�t be so influenced by what one thinks other people are thinking. If one is inclined to be concerned as such, the least one could do would be to sit down with some of those people that one was concerned about. If one make friends with them, they won�t be able to make a flash decision about what type of person you are. Part two, and very much related to the unlogical shyness issue, is that their time in the cafeteria consists of pointing out cute guys. They never go out of their way to talk to these guys, just confirm or deny each other�s tastes and preferences until they (through a relatively violent although subtle method of humiliation) blend their originally unique thoughts into a single set of likes and dislikes. Even the food on their trays, eventually, might become the same...We are born into a new society every minute of every day. And the environment that we are born into in present moment is directly dependant on our decisions in our previous birth. At some point, you have to take a look around and see where you are; at least every twenty lives or so.
Directly related sidenote: I have no idea how I got from Timmy�s Little Timmy to the humanistic theory of extroversion. Just pretend like I know what I�m doing, and Peter won�t be able to tell the difference when I get to the pearly gates with some flubbed recommendations.
