I feel nothing
Depression
I've been feeling depressed of late. This happens often enough.
Never a good sign... Basically that means I sink in despair.
Put myself into hyper-glycemic shock eating ice cream and
chocolate (poor baby...). I obsessively play ASCII computer
games [rogue, dungeon-crawl, nethack, TOME, et al where your
avatar is nothing more than an "@" symbol] for days at a time
(12-14 hour binges) till I feel better.
I don't know why this happens. Sometimes I think that I was
busier, I had to keep a job to maintain things like rent and
bill, instead of living on a small stipend and payment for minor
computer repairs, I wouldn't have the time to feel depressed.
I'd be distracted. It's not so much that I'd be happy, it's
just that I wouldn't have time to be depressed. These days I
distract myself playing rogue-like games, in the past I'd bury
myself in school work. (Can't seem to do that these days) I
would turn in the most well researched Chem lab reports you've
ever seen. I practically owned a CRC handbook that I borrowed
from Brandeis's library. I probably put way to much effort into
that half credit class. But it kept me going. These days I just
wonder if I'll get anywhere in life if I don't fucking get over
myself first.
What to do... Well I'll prolly spend some more time feeling
sorry for myself. When I'm done with that...
[To Be Continued]
The two times in my life I have experienced Scabies...
Scabies:noun, Etymology: Latin, from scabere to scratch
: contagious itch or mange especially with exudative crusts
that is caused by parasitic mites (especially Sarcoptes scabiei)
First run in was part of my Viking Suit follies (its a fucking
Vandals reference, if you don't get it go buy/pirate/borrow
the seminal Vandals album "When in Rome do as the Vandals")
I unfortunately found myself having to get in the middle of a
bum fight that had broken out over a bum love triangle. (looking
past the Bi-polar disorders, alcoholism, and schizophrenia,
female beach bums are pretty much the only women on the planet
who will sleep with male beach bums, and they are in short supply
which make them highly prized.) Basically some female beach bum
dumped a male beach bum for another male beach bum. And the two
male beach bums got to fighting, and arguing and the female beach
bum got involved.
Me? I'm walking around, doing nothing at the arcade. Basically
working. I hear a scream from the back and the female of the
love triangle told me that male number 1 (sorry never did remember
their names) attempted to strangle her. (I didn't actually see any
of that I just heard yelling) I knew male #1 had been in the army
(albeit years ago, and his skinny ass was to shredded by alcohol
and drugs and his mind addled with whatever mental ailments he
suffered from to really be much of a threat in a fight) and I didn't
really want to wrestle with him. All I remember was getting
between the three of them and trying to hold male #1 back long
enough to figure out what happened. I get between them all, I tell
#1 to chill and I turn to female beach bum to ask her to describe
exactly what happened (I think given this situation I shouldn't of
turned my head away from #1... prolly wasn't too safe). Female
beach bum has already bolted from the arcade. At least I don't have
to press charges on her behalf. I turn back to #1 and I suddenly
find I have a love stricken beach bum grabbing on me and weeping
some love sick tears all over me.
I spent over half an hour listening to him whine over his lost girl.
"He gave her SCABIES man! How can you fall in love with a guy who
will GIVE YOU SCABIES!?"
He went on about his cleanliness as compared to bum #2 body filth. #1
was remarkably well kept for a bum. He seemed to bathe frequently
enough, never smelled like any thing worse than alcohol and the kind
of clean musk one builds up after a basketball game. He was clean,
the other guy though... he gave her scabies.
For weeks on end I had to hear it between these three bums. Waxing
on what they would do to each other given the excuse. Bum #2 told me
he would maim bum #1 he ever saw him. To which I told him not to do that
to #1 in the arcade or any part of the pier that was under my responsibility.
The female... she wanted me to testify to police about what I didn't see #1
do to her. And #1... well he thought I actually gave a damn about him because
I bought him a 75 cent cinnamon apple Danish.
My 2nd run in with scabies occurred the other night when I was doing my EMT
training clinical. (where I learned that women with full masectomies cannot
have accurate BP's done on the side where their breast was removed due
to the removal of lymph tissue and the edema that occurs distal to that.)
A bum had been brought in after collapsing at a Coffee Bean and exclaiming
that he was having a heart attack. The EMT's brought him in. Found out he had
scabies (as well as other lice) and promptly doused themselves in copious
amounts of alcohol (effective yes... if the mites haven't laid eggs yet...)
they did the same for thier gurney. For their rig they used bleach. Not the
10% bleach water mix... full on bleach. The bum was put in the isolation room
and complained of SOB. Some nurses and EMT on deck got suited up in hazmat
bunny suits and after removing all his cloting (and packing it away in red
biohazard bags) began to treat his Shortnes Of Breath by promptly shaving all
the hair off his body. Can't say I understood it myself. Though that might
convince him never to seek shelter in an emergency room again. Given that
he will expirience mad ingrown hairs... and living in an unsanitary enviorn.
Well at least the itching in his pubic region will not of been caused by
scabies.
A Conversation about my UC applications...
JB: i think that's fine
lain: seems abit long
lain: but yeah
lain: I mean
lain: I don't know what to tell them
lain: I'm a computer geek who loves women fine food failure
lain: and the arts
lain: Enjoys Hedwig and Rocky
JB: mmhmm
lain: and can talk your head of given a quarter of a chance
lain: please let me into your school so I can deflower your freshman women
JB: eww
lain: I am kidding about the last part
Kinda sums shit up don't it?
Well folks... Sorry about the lack of update
I've decided to go into therapy...
yeah... I just need to find someone appropros... (I'd like to think that I'm more fucked up than my max 6 emergency mental health visits is good for)
Anyhow... this won't change my life all that quickly... Seeking therapy for me is not unlike promising to burn someone a CD... I'll do it... Eventually
Extreme People Watching.
Ever have days where you feel the flow of life is something that you have no control over and that life itself is something that just passes you by or swishes by you like some kind of elemental force, say for example a RIVER! (yes.. I'm not a writer by trade... Forgive me)
I picked up the hobby of people watching from an old friend of mine. The voyeuristic entertainment derives from watching people in public in their unguarded moments. Its strange the way people act in public when they don't know they are being watched directly. I can crack stories about walking behind a sorority girl the other night and watching her drop her hands into her shorts to scratch her ass. Words will not describe the look on her face when I sped my pace and walked right by her.
The problem with people watching is that it is a passive activity. After a while though watching the happy shiny people on the promenade gets boring. It becomes an indictment of my inability to properly interact with people and then summarily get in their pants. This is where extreme people watching comes in.
The rules are simple. you take an ordinary activity like people watching and you make it more extreme... Make it more out there. You get a stop watch involved. You time people and you cheer them on their merry way. Basically you cross the divide between passive observer and complete asshole.
A good target to people watch are the "Card flashers" on the Promenade. For anyone who hangs out in Santa Monica, you see these religious nuts who may or may not speak English. They are typically Asian, and they flash a card at you which asks if you are content, happy, and have found the lightly whipped happiness that is Christ in your life. If you chose to follow them. They take you to an undisclosed location and mug you... And when you get your Visa statement later that month... You'l found that they have put Jesus on your Credit Card. (Okay they don't really put Jesus on your credit card... I just wanted to say that they did). Its a thankless task. Nobody likes them, because they are well... annoying. Every now and then when one of them walks up to me when I'm in a bad mood I will angle my body to them, thrust my face within 2 inches of theirs and then Growl in an obscenely loud voice "
WHAT!?!" I've had card flashers recoil from me in abject terror. It gets quite a visceral response... The best part is that you do it loud enough to attract the attention of those around you but you walk away like nothing happened leaving the crowd to stare at a scared stiff card flasher that damn near pissed himself.
The card flashers are fun because they are always doing stuff in the same area. Usually people on the promenade walk by to their destination in mind, or they stand around shooting the shit not doing anything worth watching.
One evening on the promenade I found myself watching a card flasher at futile attempts at proselytizing. There is an uncertainty principle in quantum physics which states something along the lines that to observe a sub atomic particle is to change the state it is in and thus make observations uncertain. And with the card flasher... I found myself timing him. It got to the point where I started cheering for him if he ever got anyone to pay attention to him for more than 30 seconds. Or if he was able to walk step in step with a member of the opposite sex. I ran count downs. I cheered I screamed at the top of my lungs. I bolstered his efforts and salved his failures. I damn near went ape-shit when he held a guys attention for over a minute. All from my seat at the pizza place near the theater. Of course when I tried to compliment him for doing the lord's work he sorta shot me a dirty look. Nobody likes a back seat proselytizer. Perhaps Heisenberg's uncertainty principle also applies to people watching as well?
One more thing...
On the nature of writing. I suck at it. I try my hand at mild fiction. But the language escapes me.
I remember on an older journal I wrote a serial called the Viking Suit follies (its reference to a seminal Vandals album "When in Rome do as the Vandals") and my most successful pieced involved describing a scene at my old work place that involved an over amorous who developed a curious case of tunnel vision and did not notice the girls of his affections boyfriend standing right behind him. The guy was also rude to me when I attempted to point it out to him...
ME "Sir... Sir?!"
HIM "What?!" [Like I am interrupting something not of my business, after watching this guy hit on a girl who was constantly referring to her boyfriend]
ME "HER
Boyfriend is standing right behind you."
HIM Exeunt stage left
It was the best of times it was the blurst of times... (miss-spelling intentional):
I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I like my entries to read like fine prose, yet I cannot keep myself structured grammatically. I've had some entries in this blog earlier... but I later removed them because I found them strangely inappropriate. Of course its not like anybody reads this..
I'm told that with journal entries its best to just write about the experience of the day and worry not about perfection. The rub lies in what I wrote earlier, there really isn't much for me to write on. And I've never been much of the sharing type. I think with online weblogs I like the pretension more than anything else. To spend weeks or months building something up, something of mild interest and mediocre inspiration. And then just destroy it... Or find whatever excuse I can to destroy it. Like that old sandcastle at the beach, when something is destroyed, or no longer extant it becomes beyond reproach. beyond judgment.
Of late I've been depressed... aside from that I've done a lot of things... Gotten back into swimming (badly at that), started another semester of school where I've managed to gain myself the lofty position of the Physics 21 teachers pet (Imagine with a Personality like mine!) and am thus doing fine. I'm training to become an EMT-B.(the lowest paid rung of the EMS response/transport system) Enjoying that class but find myself unable to study adequately.
but lately despite the major attempts at a direction in life listed above... I can only seem to focus on the fact that I've been feeling down and sad of late.
I dunno... Some days I can just barely get out of bed. I try to tell myself that I get to go through the motions all over again and ti will be worth it... and that gets me to school (just) in time, disheveled tired and often unprepared.
Otherdays... I'll be driving down the freeway in my beat up Cressida and I'll try to outrace big hulking American Muscle-cars trying to get onto the freeway proper from the on-ramp to my right. (Interesting enough I have the right of way... so if the other car doesn't brake hard or swerve out of my way... and thus causes an accident, the other car is left legally liable and at fault... I try telling that to the passengers in my car when I play chicken on the freeways with other cars, but they never seem to understand the acquired taste of seeing my beat up old jalopy force its will on the cars around it at times. Something about regard to
their personal safety and all that...)
I've been told that it may be best if I seek treatment. But I never really get around to it. I keep meaning to try to get a walk in with the school shrink... but something always comes up. Anyhow past precedent has caused the venerable practice of psychiatry to leave a bad taste in my mouth.
Long term goals:
Its almost time to re-apply for transfer to UCLA. I'm hoping to actually get around to transferring this year. Perhaps if I complete my forms this time and mail them in (before this years deadline) I'll be attending UClA or some other half-way decent school by this time next year. Though if your asking me this quest for to re-enter a 4 year college is feeling like a quest for the a white whale.
I want to go to UCLA, Why? Its a good school. What will I study there? I dunno Chemistry?? Does UCLA have a good Chem program? I don't know... Maybe??
Yeah I planned this out pretty well. I cannot be certain that I will get into UCLA, or that if I do get in whether or not I will succeed once there inside. The only thing I am certain of is I won't bother attending SMC further. If I don't get into a halfway decent 4 year at this point I won't bother thumbin' my ass at Pico Tech for another year... I guess I just won't bother with education further... or maybe I'll learn a trade... But I don't think I'm gonna continue trying to get into UCLA or getting that college degree... It seem like a great big waste of time even at this point, and I cannot imagine myself grinding at this millstone for that much longer...
8-23-04
It's disappointing that my days are simply mundane and boring. I could provide a laundry list of what I did today.
Woke up around 7:30
Ate and listened to the radio until 11
At 11:00 I played a few hours of Lock N' Load over Vassal. (a java based Internet Advanced Squad Leader client) The game itself was one where I managed to turn a dominating early lead into a complete rout... of my forces. (My capacity to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, a common motif in my life, look for it, remember it, there will be a test on this later folks.)
At around 2:00 I played Doom III for a bit.
At 3:30 I went to the Coffee Bean to do a little bit of “work”... such as what I am writing now.
What I will do for the remainder of the day is a bit too tenuous and ephemeral to make into a laundry list of but can be described adequately as thus.
I will write for a few more (wasted) hours at the Coffee Bean, then I will go home, eat a meal and pack up my “swim gear” for tomorrow morning's workout, and after all that I will play more Doom III.
I'm looking at my life right now, and asking myself, is this it? [Well to be honest its more of an act of whining to myself] I'm not one of those pretentious existential goth-wannabes who expects all of life to be some kind of unending font of human experience, and lacking that subscribes to the idea that life is nothing but a worthless, unceasing pit of suffering and meaninglessness. [OK honesty check: I am no longer one of those existential goth-acting kids, not anymore, though I like to think I still carry on the torch of pretension]. What I think is missing from my life is the hit of the sublime. For me life doesn't need to be experienced on the Razor's edge at all times to be full and meaningful. I find the little sublime transcendental moments to suffice in regards to a full life. The little things, like a having a pretty girl smile at you, (well not that exactly, but being able to maintain long enough eye-contact match the color of her eyes and her smile to the turbulent browns found in a summer rip-tide is one of those moments), suddenly having an epiphany on how to perform a certain DDR song, or sitting back in a beat up Toyota with a half tank of gas, blasting some really loud music, somewhere between Los Angeles and San Diego and having the realization that you really really really like driving. The fucking little things...
The issue with me is that those moments have been few and far between lately. I've been trapped in this (pardon me for using this metaphor/analogy for the Nth fucking time) “Boy Interrupted” rut for the last year or so, and along with a quasi depression/cyclothymia where I just go into either futzes of anhedonia or a wired mania. It's strange when you have friends who feel the need to remind you to smile when your drinking at a bar, or who will call you the next day to apologize to dragging you out to an event that they thought bored you, when in reality you had a good a time as any other.[“No really I had a good time... I did... No I wasn't bored... No I'm always this reserved and silent in public... you know me].
I say this a lot, but I'm in great need of some life change. Of course I say this every other week. And I never do anything about it... I guess its just because I don't know what to do.
Look who's back...
Davey's back...
Look who's back...
Look who's back...
Look who's back....
Okay now I have to start putting entries here to put that lame refrain off the front page.
DeeCo
