While I'm baring my soul and exposing all my deepest inner secrets, I feel the need to take a moment to discuss the topic of sexuality. I understand that it's a sensitive issue, so, true to my style, I'll try to be as tasteful as I can, without holding back anything that I feel I have to say.
I'm not really sure if this is a revelation, or a 'duh' statement, since I really don't talk about this sort of thing with many (any?) people, but I'll admit that I enjoy a little porn every now and then. Mostly in the form of sexy pictures that I've trawled from the glorious internet. I'm conflicted, because part of me - the part that's been trained by society - can't help but feel ashamed by this, because sex and especially porn is supposed to be this dirty entity that we're supposed to avoid. You know, sin and all that. But another part of me realizes that porn is one of the few reliable pleasures in my life. Although my ecchi-meter varies over time, the truth is that at any time I can pull up a picture of an attractive member of the female race, and it never fails to make me feel good. If you think about how much life tends to suck, that's pretty freaking awesome. So I feel like it's something that I should respect and foster, as long as I don't let it turn into an addiction and allow it to run (ruin) my life. But, as I see it, sexuality is an important part of life. It's connected to love, and love is probably the single most powerful emotion we have. Granted, there's a difference between physical gratification and emotional companionship. And in my situation, emotional companionship is rather hard to come by. But that doesn't mean that I can't enjoy a little physical gratification here and there - and if I can, why shouldn't I?
Attraction is fueled by beauty. And beauty is a form of art. Why should a piece of art that turns me on sexually be considered any less important than a piece of art that stimulates me intellectually? Because it's easy to turn a guy on? Because you can take any girl off the street and strip her nude to get the same effect? Well, frankly, I don't think that's true. I have pretty discerning tastes; I've always been known to be rather picky. Plus, I'm a perfectionist. But even so, just because there's a guy that likes every piece of art in the gallery, does that mean that none of them should be considered art?
I think there's a big problem with the way society treats pornography as trash. But that problem stems from both sides. Society treats it as trash, and as a result, the people behind the scenes accept that they're producing trash, and they use that as an excuse to make a pretty crappy product. It's something like catering to the lowest common denominator. Porn could be amazing, but since it instantly gets slagged off as trash, nobody's willing to create a product and defend it as art. Truthfully, there are some, but because of the stigma, it doesn't get the recognition or the audience it deserves, and no progress is made. Then you have the other side of things, where other forms of art add an element of sexuality to what they already boast. These can still be very respected and highly regarded, but there's a line that people are afraid to cross, because they want to avoid being labeled as pornography, which is an instant death blow to their credibility as artists. So there's very little progress from that side, too.
There have been times when I've felt that my own sexuality was more a nuisance than anything else, and that I'd prefer not to have to deal with it - that life would be simpler and easier without sex in any form. But you know, over time, I've kind of learned how to enjoy it for what it is. And now I feel like I wouldn't want to lose that for anything in the world. Like I said, it's one of the few reliable pleasures I have in life.
As far as my tastes are concerned, I'm a much bigger fan of softcore pornography than the hardcore variety. I like a little hardcore every now and then, just to get my heart beating, but it's mainly conventional stuff. I'm quite frightened of some of the disgusting fetishes out there. To each his own, but some things I'd just rather not think about. At any rate, softcore porn has a more innocent quality. It's enticing, but it's not in-your-face. Just the shape of the female body alone is a thing of beauty. Besides, I'm attracted to purity, and I don't really care to see what a slut can do with a few props and a couple guys. That having been said, there's not much that's purer than the erotic love between two women...
I have a minor interest in fashion. Obviously not as a consumer, and not so much as a model - hell, not even as a designer. I just love the idea of dressing a girl up in various outfits or costumes. I guess it's probably more from a photographer's point of view. I have had a minor interest in photography for most of my life, and I would just love to have a model to pose for me. That could be so much fun. But for a person like me, the possibility of that is nil. The first problem is finding someone to agree to that sort of thing, and the second problem is actually having the confidence to direct the shoot.
And now for a dissertation on my stylistic preferences, just for the sake of conversation... what do I look for in a girl? What turns me on? First of all, I'm attracted to youth. Not in a creepy way, just in a natural way. I prefer girls that are younger than I am. I don't go for the 'mature' thing at all (age-wise, not attitude-wise). I like girls that are smart, that don't talk too much, but aren't afraid to open up to the people that matter - mystery is sexy, but unreachability is heartbreaking. The chatty types that can literally talk for hours at a time without a break are best left alone. Physically, my favorite body type is tall and thin. Not skeleton thin, but I definitely prefer lean to meaty, and I have to disagree with the people who argue that thin isn't sexy, despite their good intentions (fighting back against eating disorders and all that). I prefer lighter skin - to me, tan isn't particularly sexy, and tanlines are even worse. On the topic of skin, I don't like tattoos at all; neither do I like piercings. Earrings are fine. Navel rings bug me. Tongue piercings and anything weirder than that generally turn me off. I'm a natural kind of guy. I look at the legs before I consider the chest. On the topic of legs, my attention is typically drawn more toward the calves than the thighs. Huge breasts are a turn-off. Average size is nice, but if I had to pick, I'd take a little small over a little large anyday. I definitely like long hair, but medium is fine, too. Really short cuts turn me off. I have a weakness for blondes, though to be honest, the style and how it suits the girl is more important than the color. Even though I've waited this long to mention it, having a pretty face is essential. That's where the majority of the emotion comes from. I'm not into the heavy makeup scene. A little bit is alright, and can be nice, but the natural look is what counts. Fashion turn-ons? I love flared jeans, and shirts with flared sleeves. Boots of most kinds are attractive, particularly black leather (but not the clunky ones that are too overly goth). Then again, barefoot can be very sexy. Miniskirts have an obvious appeal, what with showing off the legs and all, especially when combined with boots, or alternatively, heels (sailor senshi anyone?). I like pretty dresses and flowy gowns as well. Generally, anything that exudes an aura of femininity is a plus (that extends to voice as well). As for colors, it really depends on what looks good on the girl, but I'll always give extra points for my favorite color (green). For pajamas, less is more, unless we're talking about a nice flowy nightgown - like a princess, not like a hag. Panties are always a good bet. Pajama pants are a major buzzkill. On the topic of undies, a girl should never wear boxers. Thongs don't do particularly much for me, either, as they tend to have that "big butt" connotation that doesn't interest me in the slightest, although this is not a hardfast rule. In the swimsuit department, the best option is what suits the shape of the body. A good looking bikini is hard to match.
I know it probably sounds like I'm being insufferably particular, but you know, these are just the things that excite me the most. That's all. I have a realistic expectation of life (life has made sure of that). But that doesn't mean I'm gonna just stop dreaming. Fantasy is a wonderful thing in that respect. Acknowledge what entices you. Ignore it, and you're bound to live a pretty boring life...
And if you don't push the boundaries every once in awhile, how will you ever know how far you could have gotten?
23 December, 2007
22 December, 2007
Dirty Laundry (or Mentioned Unmentionables)
In addition to the other psychological problems I have, I'm a bit of a clean freak. Related to that, I'm also a bit of a germophobe. Particularly lately, I've noticed that I wash my hands incredibly often, and when I do, I often soap up three or four times in one go, and sometimes I still have to tell myself "you're clean already" and force myself to finish and move on. It makes me think that I might have symptoms of an obsessive-compulsive personality, although I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's serious enough to label it a disorder (unlike some of my other problems). Unsurprisingly, I value having clean clothes to wear each day, and to keep it that way, I have to do a lot of laundry. For the longest time, this meant doing laundry once a week, with very little change (although it wasn't necessarily once every 7 days, so it's not like a specific day of the week was always laundry day).
I've always been very private about my laundry. I don't think that's necessarily an unusual feeling to have, I mean most people don't like the idea of other people looking at their unmentionables, right? That's where the phrase "dirty laundry" comes from, right? But even so, I've been more protective of my laundry habits than is really necessary. I don't specifically remember what it was like here at home before going to college. Sorry. But at college it was often a chore.
Let's see, four of the five residence halls (dormitories, if you prefer) I lived in during college had laundry facilities within the building. The fifth had a laundry room in the basement of another building that was just a short walk from the one I lived in. I got into the habit of doing laundry late at night, when there'd be less chances of a crowd. Although machine availability was always a concern (and sometimes an issue), the real fear was just having to do laundry (i.e. put clothes into machine, move clothes between machines, or take clothes out of machine) in front of other people. I obviously made a point to wait to fold my clothes back in the privacy of my own room. Unfortunately, I didn't always have privacy in my own room. In those cases, I really just had to make out the best I could.
Nowadays, I have a different problem with doing laundry. I'm much less concerned about being seen doing laundry as I am about being heard, since I do it in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep. The problem is that the machines are in the basement right next to the room where my brother (the working man) sleeps. And sometimes the washer makes a lot of noise. Just the thought of being such a nuisance, keeping my brother awake at night, when he has to get up in the morning and go to work, while I can sleep all day and then lounge the rest of the day, makes me feel very uncomfortable. It's not like he's ever complained, or that I have any reason to believe that he even hears the machines when he's sleeping, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving.
There's also another issue, which relates to the problem I discussed in my last post. Sometimes I go to the basement and I might hear sounds coming from his room, or there'll be a light under the door, and I'll know or suspect that he's still awake. In those cases, I can't very well do any laundry, because I know he'll know that I am doing laundry, and I fear that he might think about me and make some kind of judgements about me. Not that he would, but that he could. It's that whole idea that I automatically fear that people are criticizing me, and the best way to avoid the anxiety that that thought causes is to erase myself from the minds of others, by sneaking around and trying to convince people that I'm not even there in the first place. That's how I've gotten the nicknames "Phantom" and "Puff of Smoke" in the past. But it's crazy that I'm so insecure that I can't even do laundry in the middle of the freaking night!
So lately, I've been avoiding doing laundry as much as possible, and I've gone to brand new lengths between loads. That's still not more than a couple weeks between, though. I've known people that hardly ever do laundry, like once a month or something, but they have tons of clothes I guess. I only have so much to wear. I've got plenty of shirts, but the rest gets stretched a little thin. I resorted to going out and buying a pack of extra socks at Wal-Mart recently, just to extend my range.
If you don't want to read about my underwear, then I suggest you just skip the rest of this entry. But my feeling is that if I force myself to talk about the things that embarrass me, then maybe I'll be less embarrassed about them in the future. Hiding things away and refusing to talk about them just because they're undesirable is a great way to compound your problems. I believe that. Plus, I'm all about truth, and holding back in the fear of embarrassment is, for me, equivalent to being a hypocrite.
Simply put, I'm way too embarrassed to go out and buy underwear. Although, I've managed to do it once or twice in the past, so I at least have something to work with. But if I only have so many pairs, then I can only go so many days before I *have* to do laundry, right? Well, inspired by an eccentric in my life, I tried "going commando", as they sometimes call it. Unlike that eccentric (and I refer to him as such in a purely complimentary way), I didn't do it for reasons of joy or pleasure or adventure. It was simply a practical solution. I wouldn't necessarily say I prefer it, but honestly, I could go either way.
The biggest issue is that after taking a piss, you have to be very careful about zipping up. I never really understood the whole "getting caught in the zipper" thing because it just didn't seem like it could happen. Until it almost did. Now I'm extra careful.
When it comes to clothing, I've always hated wearing layers. It just never felt good, having layers rubbing against layers over my skin. In elementary school I went through a period where I'd wear sweats exclusively, just because they were comfortable. At the time, I hated the rough feel of putting on jeans (I have since gotten over that, since I rarely wear any kind of pants other than jeans). But I never wore a shirt underneath my sweatshirt. I knew that most kids wore sweatshirts to keep warm on a cold day, and they would take it off at times when they got warm, revealing whatever shirt they had on underneath. But I didn't like the idea of wearing two shirts at once. The only time I can accept it is if I'm camping and it's so freaking cold that that's the only effective way to stay warm.
On a related note, I never caught on to wearing boxers. I tried briefly (pardon the pun), but it just felt like wearing shorts under my pants, and they would constantly bag up and get all out of place and it drove me absolutely insane. I own only a single pair of boxers these days, and I never even wear it. It's silk ("a little too delightful"), and I only bought it to impress my high school girlfriend anyway, and even then, the material didn't have enough substance to avoid taking my shape, if you know what I mean, making them a rather ridiculous garment to wear in sensual situations.
Wooh! So getting back to what I was saying before, the less I wear, the less I have to wash. This is a simple truth. You know, I actually considered just not wearing clothes at all. I'd never have to do laundry. And it's not like I encounter many people in my average day, and I only rarely leave the house. But the bottom line is that I know my dad wants me to become more "well-adjusted" and not more eccentric, in the hopes that I'll eventually make something of my life, so I have a good feeling that's not a boundary that I could get away with pushing. And it just wouldn't be fair for me to push it. I don't want to even imagine what that conversation would be like if I showed up to dinner one evening, naked as a jaybird. I'm not stupid. And the last thing I'd do is willingly throw myself into the jaws of the shark like that.
(disclaimer: I love sharks, it's just an expression)
I've always been very private about my laundry. I don't think that's necessarily an unusual feeling to have, I mean most people don't like the idea of other people looking at their unmentionables, right? That's where the phrase "dirty laundry" comes from, right? But even so, I've been more protective of my laundry habits than is really necessary. I don't specifically remember what it was like here at home before going to college. Sorry. But at college it was often a chore.
Let's see, four of the five residence halls (dormitories, if you prefer) I lived in during college had laundry facilities within the building. The fifth had a laundry room in the basement of another building that was just a short walk from the one I lived in. I got into the habit of doing laundry late at night, when there'd be less chances of a crowd. Although machine availability was always a concern (and sometimes an issue), the real fear was just having to do laundry (i.e. put clothes into machine, move clothes between machines, or take clothes out of machine) in front of other people. I obviously made a point to wait to fold my clothes back in the privacy of my own room. Unfortunately, I didn't always have privacy in my own room. In those cases, I really just had to make out the best I could.
Nowadays, I have a different problem with doing laundry. I'm much less concerned about being seen doing laundry as I am about being heard, since I do it in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep. The problem is that the machines are in the basement right next to the room where my brother (the working man) sleeps. And sometimes the washer makes a lot of noise. Just the thought of being such a nuisance, keeping my brother awake at night, when he has to get up in the morning and go to work, while I can sleep all day and then lounge the rest of the day, makes me feel very uncomfortable. It's not like he's ever complained, or that I have any reason to believe that he even hears the machines when he's sleeping, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving.
There's also another issue, which relates to the problem I discussed in my last post. Sometimes I go to the basement and I might hear sounds coming from his room, or there'll be a light under the door, and I'll know or suspect that he's still awake. In those cases, I can't very well do any laundry, because I know he'll know that I am doing laundry, and I fear that he might think about me and make some kind of judgements about me. Not that he would, but that he could. It's that whole idea that I automatically fear that people are criticizing me, and the best way to avoid the anxiety that that thought causes is to erase myself from the minds of others, by sneaking around and trying to convince people that I'm not even there in the first place. That's how I've gotten the nicknames "Phantom" and "Puff of Smoke" in the past. But it's crazy that I'm so insecure that I can't even do laundry in the middle of the freaking night!
So lately, I've been avoiding doing laundry as much as possible, and I've gone to brand new lengths between loads. That's still not more than a couple weeks between, though. I've known people that hardly ever do laundry, like once a month or something, but they have tons of clothes I guess. I only have so much to wear. I've got plenty of shirts, but the rest gets stretched a little thin. I resorted to going out and buying a pack of extra socks at Wal-Mart recently, just to extend my range.
If you don't want to read about my underwear, then I suggest you just skip the rest of this entry. But my feeling is that if I force myself to talk about the things that embarrass me, then maybe I'll be less embarrassed about them in the future. Hiding things away and refusing to talk about them just because they're undesirable is a great way to compound your problems. I believe that. Plus, I'm all about truth, and holding back in the fear of embarrassment is, for me, equivalent to being a hypocrite.
Simply put, I'm way too embarrassed to go out and buy underwear. Although, I've managed to do it once or twice in the past, so I at least have something to work with. But if I only have so many pairs, then I can only go so many days before I *have* to do laundry, right? Well, inspired by an eccentric in my life, I tried "going commando", as they sometimes call it. Unlike that eccentric (and I refer to him as such in a purely complimentary way), I didn't do it for reasons of joy or pleasure or adventure. It was simply a practical solution. I wouldn't necessarily say I prefer it, but honestly, I could go either way.
The biggest issue is that after taking a piss, you have to be very careful about zipping up. I never really understood the whole "getting caught in the zipper" thing because it just didn't seem like it could happen. Until it almost did. Now I'm extra careful.
When it comes to clothing, I've always hated wearing layers. It just never felt good, having layers rubbing against layers over my skin. In elementary school I went through a period where I'd wear sweats exclusively, just because they were comfortable. At the time, I hated the rough feel of putting on jeans (I have since gotten over that, since I rarely wear any kind of pants other than jeans). But I never wore a shirt underneath my sweatshirt. I knew that most kids wore sweatshirts to keep warm on a cold day, and they would take it off at times when they got warm, revealing whatever shirt they had on underneath. But I didn't like the idea of wearing two shirts at once. The only time I can accept it is if I'm camping and it's so freaking cold that that's the only effective way to stay warm.
On a related note, I never caught on to wearing boxers. I tried briefly (pardon the pun), but it just felt like wearing shorts under my pants, and they would constantly bag up and get all out of place and it drove me absolutely insane. I own only a single pair of boxers these days, and I never even wear it. It's silk ("a little too delightful"), and I only bought it to impress my high school girlfriend anyway, and even then, the material didn't have enough substance to avoid taking my shape, if you know what I mean, making them a rather ridiculous garment to wear in sensual situations.
Wooh! So getting back to what I was saying before, the less I wear, the less I have to wash. This is a simple truth. You know, I actually considered just not wearing clothes at all. I'd never have to do laundry. And it's not like I encounter many people in my average day, and I only rarely leave the house. But the bottom line is that I know my dad wants me to become more "well-adjusted" and not more eccentric, in the hopes that I'll eventually make something of my life, so I have a good feeling that's not a boundary that I could get away with pushing. And it just wouldn't be fair for me to push it. I don't want to even imagine what that conversation would be like if I showed up to dinner one evening, naked as a jaybird. I'm not stupid. And the last thing I'd do is willingly throw myself into the jaws of the shark like that.
(disclaimer: I love sharks, it's just an expression)
Nocturnal Admissions
"Why do you keep this schedule anyway?"
"Mostly just to be alone."
On average, I go to bed each morning around 7-8am, local time. I get up around 5pm or so, usually after having the radio on for an hour to slowly transition into a state of awakening. That gives me an hour to shower and get dressed, although sometimes it takes closer to an hour and a half. Dinner is at 6pm sharp, every single day. Notice that I don't have "weekends" where I get to sleep in. Honestly, I think having a standard schedule is better overall, because you completely eliminate the whole morning-after-the-weekend where you didn't get any sleep the night before, and you're not constantly adjusting and re-adjusting your internal clock. As much as I'd love to be able to sleep in a couple days a week, I just don't think it's worth having to get up painfully early, even just once in the week.
The way sleep is for me, is that I tend to have a lot of sleep inertia. When I'm awake, I have a hard time falling asleep (usually because I can't shut my mind off), and when I'm asleep, I abhor having to wake up. Therefore, my ideal system would include long chunks of waking periods followed by long chunks of sleep, so that I'd only have to go to sleep when I'm way too exhausted to do anything else, and I'd only have to get up when my body is fully and completely rested. I've discovered that this system would require a cyclic period of longer than 24 hours. So to implement it, I would need a rolling schedule where I'd get up a little bit later each day. This is generally not easy to put into practice.
The only anchor in my life right now is that 6pm dinner. I figure that to stay in this house where I don't have to pay for utilities or food, it's only polite to at least join the table for dinner every day. It's a sacrifice that I'm willing to make. But because that is my only anchor, my schedule has come to revolve around it. Coming home after graduation, I was used to having to get up in the morning for classes. But without classes, it didn't take long for my schedule to shift later and later, until I was getting up just before dinner. And that's where I've kept it since. However, the fact that this results in a nocturnal schedule is extremely convenient for me.
What is the appeal of living nocturnally? I get the idea that the general feeling people have about a nocturnal schedule is that it is a dreadful way to live, where your days are consumed by darkness, and your interaction with people is minimized. Ha! To me, that sounds like a dream come true! Although it's different when my brother's around the house, since he's not a stranger to my kind of schedule himself, I typically have the house to myself between the hours of 11pm and 7am, approximately, when my dad and my other brother (the working man) are in bed. Even though I have my own room to myself, there's still a very different feeling in the house when I know my dad is downstairs watching TV or doing housework or something, or my brother is making a snack, or hanging out (awake) in his room in the basement, than there is when the house is quiet.
The idea of going downstairs, through the living room, and making myself some food in the kitchen, when my dad is sitting right there in the living room watching TV, makes me anxious. It's nothing personal at all - I honestly think my dad is one of the coolest guys I've ever known. Yet, there was a huge misunderstanding when I was younger, where my dad thought that I absolutely hated him. I didn't hate him, it's just that it bugged me to go about the house doing things when I knew there were other people about. It would have been the same with anyone else; he just happened to be the one around a lot during that period, and received the brunt of my frustration. The idea of somebody watching me or hearing me, even unintentionally, and the thought of them judging me and my actions, and the possibility that they might criticize me for something I am doing - like, 'you can't have a snack now, we'll be eating soon', or, 'that's not how you make a cup of tea, you have to put this in first'... it really is ridiculous, but those kind of thoughts tear away at me and make me want to crawl into a hole and hide - and I don't mean just when people actually say them, but simply imagining people saying them freaks me out. So I do tend to hole myself away and wait until the roost is empty before I make my move.
Every morning when I get up, around 5pm, there's a point at which I have to open my door and head to the bathroom to start my shower routine. Most of the time, at this part of the day, my dad is watching TV in the living room, which is just down the steps. Luckily it's not in view of my room, but the distance is not large, and it's hard to sneak by without making noise. Every faculty of reason in my body tells me that this is not a big deal, that I should have no problem with announcing to the house that I am up and awake and that I'm going to take a shower. And yet, every day, when I have to make that move to the bathroom, after having been officially out of people's consciousness during my sleeping period, I get anxious at the thought of making myself known in any way.
I like to listen through the crack of my door, and try to wait for a moment when he heads into the kitchen, so I can sneak past with a better chance of going unnoticed. But sometimes, that moment doesn't come, and it gets later and later, and I need to get started with my shower or I'll be uber-late for dinner. It's best when I just try not to think about it at all, and just force myself to open the door without thinking about it, before I give myself a chance to turn chicken. But I can't always do that. I have to know, I have to plan, I have to be in control of the situation, so that I don't run into an unfamiliar scenario where I'd have to improvise. That would be the worst thing. It's ridiculous.
So I like living in the night, where I can pretend I'm the last person left alive on the Earth (as long as I'm quiet), and I can just be me and do what I want without constantly dealing with issues of anxiety left and right, everytime I sense the presence of another person. This is not sane behaviour. But this is what's comfortable for me. It's also nice to be able to go to the couple 24 hour stores in the vicinity and not have to deal with crowds of people all sitting up in the aisles you want to shop in, and all that. Plus, even the streets are more empty, so you got less stress from aggressive drivers. In my mind, living nocturnally is a natural avoidant reaction to a fear of people. Of course, most people don't get that 'fear of people' part. I understand that. Now it's your turn to try and understand me.
"Mostly just to be alone."
On average, I go to bed each morning around 7-8am, local time. I get up around 5pm or so, usually after having the radio on for an hour to slowly transition into a state of awakening. That gives me an hour to shower and get dressed, although sometimes it takes closer to an hour and a half. Dinner is at 6pm sharp, every single day. Notice that I don't have "weekends" where I get to sleep in. Honestly, I think having a standard schedule is better overall, because you completely eliminate the whole morning-after-the-weekend where you didn't get any sleep the night before, and you're not constantly adjusting and re-adjusting your internal clock. As much as I'd love to be able to sleep in a couple days a week, I just don't think it's worth having to get up painfully early, even just once in the week.
The way sleep is for me, is that I tend to have a lot of sleep inertia. When I'm awake, I have a hard time falling asleep (usually because I can't shut my mind off), and when I'm asleep, I abhor having to wake up. Therefore, my ideal system would include long chunks of waking periods followed by long chunks of sleep, so that I'd only have to go to sleep when I'm way too exhausted to do anything else, and I'd only have to get up when my body is fully and completely rested. I've discovered that this system would require a cyclic period of longer than 24 hours. So to implement it, I would need a rolling schedule where I'd get up a little bit later each day. This is generally not easy to put into practice.
The only anchor in my life right now is that 6pm dinner. I figure that to stay in this house where I don't have to pay for utilities or food, it's only polite to at least join the table for dinner every day. It's a sacrifice that I'm willing to make. But because that is my only anchor, my schedule has come to revolve around it. Coming home after graduation, I was used to having to get up in the morning for classes. But without classes, it didn't take long for my schedule to shift later and later, until I was getting up just before dinner. And that's where I've kept it since. However, the fact that this results in a nocturnal schedule is extremely convenient for me.
What is the appeal of living nocturnally? I get the idea that the general feeling people have about a nocturnal schedule is that it is a dreadful way to live, where your days are consumed by darkness, and your interaction with people is minimized. Ha! To me, that sounds like a dream come true! Although it's different when my brother's around the house, since he's not a stranger to my kind of schedule himself, I typically have the house to myself between the hours of 11pm and 7am, approximately, when my dad and my other brother (the working man) are in bed. Even though I have my own room to myself, there's still a very different feeling in the house when I know my dad is downstairs watching TV or doing housework or something, or my brother is making a snack, or hanging out (awake) in his room in the basement, than there is when the house is quiet.
The idea of going downstairs, through the living room, and making myself some food in the kitchen, when my dad is sitting right there in the living room watching TV, makes me anxious. It's nothing personal at all - I honestly think my dad is one of the coolest guys I've ever known. Yet, there was a huge misunderstanding when I was younger, where my dad thought that I absolutely hated him. I didn't hate him, it's just that it bugged me to go about the house doing things when I knew there were other people about. It would have been the same with anyone else; he just happened to be the one around a lot during that period, and received the brunt of my frustration. The idea of somebody watching me or hearing me, even unintentionally, and the thought of them judging me and my actions, and the possibility that they might criticize me for something I am doing - like, 'you can't have a snack now, we'll be eating soon', or, 'that's not how you make a cup of tea, you have to put this in first'... it really is ridiculous, but those kind of thoughts tear away at me and make me want to crawl into a hole and hide - and I don't mean just when people actually say them, but simply imagining people saying them freaks me out. So I do tend to hole myself away and wait until the roost is empty before I make my move.
Every morning when I get up, around 5pm, there's a point at which I have to open my door and head to the bathroom to start my shower routine. Most of the time, at this part of the day, my dad is watching TV in the living room, which is just down the steps. Luckily it's not in view of my room, but the distance is not large, and it's hard to sneak by without making noise. Every faculty of reason in my body tells me that this is not a big deal, that I should have no problem with announcing to the house that I am up and awake and that I'm going to take a shower. And yet, every day, when I have to make that move to the bathroom, after having been officially out of people's consciousness during my sleeping period, I get anxious at the thought of making myself known in any way.
I like to listen through the crack of my door, and try to wait for a moment when he heads into the kitchen, so I can sneak past with a better chance of going unnoticed. But sometimes, that moment doesn't come, and it gets later and later, and I need to get started with my shower or I'll be uber-late for dinner. It's best when I just try not to think about it at all, and just force myself to open the door without thinking about it, before I give myself a chance to turn chicken. But I can't always do that. I have to know, I have to plan, I have to be in control of the situation, so that I don't run into an unfamiliar scenario where I'd have to improvise. That would be the worst thing. It's ridiculous.
So I like living in the night, where I can pretend I'm the last person left alive on the Earth (as long as I'm quiet), and I can just be me and do what I want without constantly dealing with issues of anxiety left and right, everytime I sense the presence of another person. This is not sane behaviour. But this is what's comfortable for me. It's also nice to be able to go to the couple 24 hour stores in the vicinity and not have to deal with crowds of people all sitting up in the aisles you want to shop in, and all that. Plus, even the streets are more empty, so you got less stress from aggressive drivers. In my mind, living nocturnally is a natural avoidant reaction to a fear of people. Of course, most people don't get that 'fear of people' part. I understand that. Now it's your turn to try and understand me.
21 December, 2007
Alternative Spirituality (or Dual Nature)
Forward: To me, spirituality is not sitting in congregation listening to a man in velvety robes preach from a book written over a thousand years ago about a man who claimed he was god. To me, spirituality is stripping nude and frollicking in a grassy meadow, feeling the warmth of the sun and the movement of the air on my skin, feeling connected to the Earth, and recognizing the natural beauty that surrounds me, and is within me. This sort of experience is less about ritual and transcendence, as it is about spontaneity and being.
Since the winter solstice is upon us, I figure this is a good time to talk about my newfound spirituality.
I am a logical person. Beside Truth, I have a lot of respect for Reason. One of the most frustrating experiences within the social arena is trying to have a discussion with a person who ignores or even flat out rejects logic and reason. I believe that logic is the power of man, and that faith is the antithesis of it. Rather than accept things at face value, I take a skeptical view of life, requiring reasonable proof to believe in something. I believe that, much like in the scientific world, morals and traditions exist to be questioned, to be tested, and when not sufficient, they exist to be replaced, with morals and traditions that make more sense in light of the evidence we possess about ourselves and about the world. These are all reasons why I am an atheist.
My family is Christian, and I was raised as a Christian. When I got to the right age, I went through 'Sunday School', or 'Bible Study', or whatever you call it in your neck of the woods, with the goal being Confirmation. Just like regular school, this is not something I did because I wanted it, or believed in it; it was simply expected of me, and I complied. I wrote my essay which was supposed to demonstrate my conviction, understanding, and faith in the things that I was taught in church, but I didn't believe in any of it. Rather than being a deeply spiritual confirmation of my inner feelings, I was paying lip service to the administrators so I could get my 'badge' and graduate from the church. Needless to say, after Confirmation, I stopped going to church.
Since then, I've developed a strong rejection of the Christian notion of the 'Lord', and the reason and logic within me has led me to flat out deny the existence of a 'God'. Though I am a devoted atheist, I don't believe that such a stance is incompatible with spirituality. I think spirituality is an important aspect to life, but it doesn't have anything to do with religion in the conventional sense, and it doesn't have to be built on faith, or contrary to reason. I believe that spirituality is a very personal thing, that should be decided individually by every person, without pressure from institutionalized religions.
I talked briefly with a friend of a friend once, who was deeply religious. She was Christian, and at the time, I considered myself the same. She asked me how long I had been Christian, and I told her that I was always Christian, that I had been raised that way. She told me that before a person can become truly Christian, they must have some kind of spiritual awakening, an experience akin to what Confirmation was meant to be. At that time I looked at myself and realized that despite how I had been raised, I wasn't really a Christian. Not in my heart.
For awhile, I explored alternative religions, trying to find something that fit cozily into my own belief structure. I discovered Zen Buddhism, which I still carry a great deal of respect for. But though Zen stimulates me intellectually, it doesn't quite move my soul. [One problem I have with meditation is that it is so difficult for me to empty my mind of thought. It's not a natural state for me. My mind is constantly swarming, constantly. I could benefit from a little emptiness now and again, but ultimately, it's not me. It's not who I am. My thoughts are the primary aspect of my existence.] It doesn't provide me peace with the absurd structure of existence. It echoes some of my ideas about the nature of being, but though I've felt 'enlightened' at various times, it doesn't put my soul to rest. Something is missing. That mysticism, that excitement, that esoteric wisdom. I kept looking. Little did I know that it had already found me, though I had been blind to it.
Somewhere along my journey, I met and consorted with a fire witch. She was a practitioner of the arts, known and unknown. Something in me was drawn to her, but it took me too long to discover the magnet within. I captured her affections with a novelty tarot deck. She opened the door for me, and gave me the key, but I wasn't ready to step through it yet. As a musician, she guided me when I decided to become a guitarist, and taught me my first chords. What she represents to me is a freer, intuitive existence. Something different from the binding structure of reason. But more appealing than faith. She showed me the bridge between the shores, and I have been taking my time studying each side.
I have spent a lot of time studying math and science. They were always my best subjects. History, English, they were too interpretative. I liked the idea that a problem had a specific solution and the way to reach it was to apply a specific algorithm. You were either right or wrong, and having the answer simply meant having the appropriate knowledge and piecing it together in the right way. I learned rather late that this was a simplistic and idealistic perspective. There is as much intuition and interpretation in science as there is in the arts. That doesn't mean that it's equally capricious, but my thought was that, if I'm going to have to use my feelings to get by, why not enter a field where my feelings are intrinsically 'right', rather than having to be measured against all sorts of ordered structures and chains of logic? So I dropped science and picked up art (specifically, music). Of course, that totally screwed up the life plan that I had set up, up to that point.
There's another factor that contributed to my crossing that bridge from the land of reason to the land of feeling. In a surreal experience, I met my doppelganger. But the difference between us was clear. She represented everything I wanted to be. Beauty, purity, intelligence, and actualized potential. Looking into the eyes of the doppelganger, I saw myself reflected in the form of a great void. I was being made obsolete. With that other me existing in this world and doing more and better than I could ever do, my existence was meaningless. So I had to change. I had to become someone else. I opened my mind to the possibility of drastic change. And most importantly, the despair that filled my heart opened up channels of emotional energy within me. I discovered the power of feeling, and how important it was to the experience of life, even on the dark side. I decided that if I became a musician, I could share that energy with other people, and help them to open up to the cosmic energies of the universe. That became my conviction.
Keeping this discussion on track, it was the cosmic energies of the universe that led me to where my spirit currently rests. The motion of the 'heavenly' bodies, the sun and the moon, and their influence on the very nature of reality around us. The passing of the seasons, the various moods of the weather, and the latent energy all around us. This had always been the aspect of life that inspired me most. I rejected myself from the joys of a social existence. I learned to respect not man, but nature. Trees, and sky, and wind. These are the divine. God, if there was such a thing, does not exist in the form of man, and he does not speak in words. God is in the details, but - and this is where many religions make the fatal mistake - he does not exist beyond that. Nor should he. Even using a word like 'he' to describe god is misleading. There is no god, there is only existence. And the beautiful part of that existence is what represents spirituality to me.
God is the rain on the rooftop. God is the lightning that flashes through the sky, and the booming thunder that follows. God is the sun, bright and warm, that fosters life. God is the moon, that awakens mystery within the heart, and guides us on the paths of darkness. God is the wind that whistles through the trees, that screams between the hills, that strips the leaves from the trees in the fall. God is the trees that clothe the wasteland, and feed the air. God is the bubbling and cascading stream. God is the raging river. God is the ocean, deep and vast. God is the sky, that generates the rain. God is the limitless void, that exists between the stars. God is the chaos, and also the order, that can be found in nature. God is life as much as he is death, with no preference towards either. God is also man, who possesses the profound power of self-realization. He is none of these and all of these. And to speak of him apart from these things is to misunderstand him.
Since the winter solstice is upon us, I figure this is a good time to talk about my newfound spirituality.
I am a logical person. Beside Truth, I have a lot of respect for Reason. One of the most frustrating experiences within the social arena is trying to have a discussion with a person who ignores or even flat out rejects logic and reason. I believe that logic is the power of man, and that faith is the antithesis of it. Rather than accept things at face value, I take a skeptical view of life, requiring reasonable proof to believe in something. I believe that, much like in the scientific world, morals and traditions exist to be questioned, to be tested, and when not sufficient, they exist to be replaced, with morals and traditions that make more sense in light of the evidence we possess about ourselves and about the world. These are all reasons why I am an atheist.
My family is Christian, and I was raised as a Christian. When I got to the right age, I went through 'Sunday School', or 'Bible Study', or whatever you call it in your neck of the woods, with the goal being Confirmation. Just like regular school, this is not something I did because I wanted it, or believed in it; it was simply expected of me, and I complied. I wrote my essay which was supposed to demonstrate my conviction, understanding, and faith in the things that I was taught in church, but I didn't believe in any of it. Rather than being a deeply spiritual confirmation of my inner feelings, I was paying lip service to the administrators so I could get my 'badge' and graduate from the church. Needless to say, after Confirmation, I stopped going to church.
Since then, I've developed a strong rejection of the Christian notion of the 'Lord', and the reason and logic within me has led me to flat out deny the existence of a 'God'. Though I am a devoted atheist, I don't believe that such a stance is incompatible with spirituality. I think spirituality is an important aspect to life, but it doesn't have anything to do with religion in the conventional sense, and it doesn't have to be built on faith, or contrary to reason. I believe that spirituality is a very personal thing, that should be decided individually by every person, without pressure from institutionalized religions.
I talked briefly with a friend of a friend once, who was deeply religious. She was Christian, and at the time, I considered myself the same. She asked me how long I had been Christian, and I told her that I was always Christian, that I had been raised that way. She told me that before a person can become truly Christian, they must have some kind of spiritual awakening, an experience akin to what Confirmation was meant to be. At that time I looked at myself and realized that despite how I had been raised, I wasn't really a Christian. Not in my heart.
For awhile, I explored alternative religions, trying to find something that fit cozily into my own belief structure. I discovered Zen Buddhism, which I still carry a great deal of respect for. But though Zen stimulates me intellectually, it doesn't quite move my soul. [One problem I have with meditation is that it is so difficult for me to empty my mind of thought. It's not a natural state for me. My mind is constantly swarming, constantly. I could benefit from a little emptiness now and again, but ultimately, it's not me. It's not who I am. My thoughts are the primary aspect of my existence.] It doesn't provide me peace with the absurd structure of existence. It echoes some of my ideas about the nature of being, but though I've felt 'enlightened' at various times, it doesn't put my soul to rest. Something is missing. That mysticism, that excitement, that esoteric wisdom. I kept looking. Little did I know that it had already found me, though I had been blind to it.
Somewhere along my journey, I met and consorted with a fire witch. She was a practitioner of the arts, known and unknown. Something in me was drawn to her, but it took me too long to discover the magnet within. I captured her affections with a novelty tarot deck. She opened the door for me, and gave me the key, but I wasn't ready to step through it yet. As a musician, she guided me when I decided to become a guitarist, and taught me my first chords. What she represents to me is a freer, intuitive existence. Something different from the binding structure of reason. But more appealing than faith. She showed me the bridge between the shores, and I have been taking my time studying each side.
I have spent a lot of time studying math and science. They were always my best subjects. History, English, they were too interpretative. I liked the idea that a problem had a specific solution and the way to reach it was to apply a specific algorithm. You were either right or wrong, and having the answer simply meant having the appropriate knowledge and piecing it together in the right way. I learned rather late that this was a simplistic and idealistic perspective. There is as much intuition and interpretation in science as there is in the arts. That doesn't mean that it's equally capricious, but my thought was that, if I'm going to have to use my feelings to get by, why not enter a field where my feelings are intrinsically 'right', rather than having to be measured against all sorts of ordered structures and chains of logic? So I dropped science and picked up art (specifically, music). Of course, that totally screwed up the life plan that I had set up, up to that point.
There's another factor that contributed to my crossing that bridge from the land of reason to the land of feeling. In a surreal experience, I met my doppelganger. But the difference between us was clear. She represented everything I wanted to be. Beauty, purity, intelligence, and actualized potential. Looking into the eyes of the doppelganger, I saw myself reflected in the form of a great void. I was being made obsolete. With that other me existing in this world and doing more and better than I could ever do, my existence was meaningless. So I had to change. I had to become someone else. I opened my mind to the possibility of drastic change. And most importantly, the despair that filled my heart opened up channels of emotional energy within me. I discovered the power of feeling, and how important it was to the experience of life, even on the dark side. I decided that if I became a musician, I could share that energy with other people, and help them to open up to the cosmic energies of the universe. That became my conviction.
Keeping this discussion on track, it was the cosmic energies of the universe that led me to where my spirit currently rests. The motion of the 'heavenly' bodies, the sun and the moon, and their influence on the very nature of reality around us. The passing of the seasons, the various moods of the weather, and the latent energy all around us. This had always been the aspect of life that inspired me most. I rejected myself from the joys of a social existence. I learned to respect not man, but nature. Trees, and sky, and wind. These are the divine. God, if there was such a thing, does not exist in the form of man, and he does not speak in words. God is in the details, but - and this is where many religions make the fatal mistake - he does not exist beyond that. Nor should he. Even using a word like 'he' to describe god is misleading. There is no god, there is only existence. And the beautiful part of that existence is what represents spirituality to me.
God is the rain on the rooftop. God is the lightning that flashes through the sky, and the booming thunder that follows. God is the sun, bright and warm, that fosters life. God is the moon, that awakens mystery within the heart, and guides us on the paths of darkness. God is the wind that whistles through the trees, that screams between the hills, that strips the leaves from the trees in the fall. God is the trees that clothe the wasteland, and feed the air. God is the bubbling and cascading stream. God is the raging river. God is the ocean, deep and vast. God is the sky, that generates the rain. God is the limitless void, that exists between the stars. God is the chaos, and also the order, that can be found in nature. God is life as much as he is death, with no preference towards either. God is also man, who possesses the profound power of self-realization. He is none of these and all of these. And to speak of him apart from these things is to misunderstand him.
A Little Background (or How I Failed At Life)
I'm starting this blog because my two friends from college, the only friends that still play a significant role in my life (beside my brother), each started one recently, detailing their lives as working men. Even though I don't work, I thought maybe I could share some of my own experiences, to give a whole 'nother perspective on the working world.
So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?
High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).
So what happened?
I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...
Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.
My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.
Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.
"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."
One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.
So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.
And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...
If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.
So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?
High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).
So what happened?
I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...
Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.
My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.
Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.
"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."
One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.
So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.
And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...
If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.
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