Entombed
I return from the Real World to curl up and die (from exposure) in my self-pitying sarcophagous (coinage, not spelling error) preservative-filled jar of narcissism. I haven't written here for a while so this may be quite a lengthy post.
Aarrgh!
Riding through the night,
Riding through the night ...
Neu!, 'Lebwohl'
The practical circumstances of life aren't so terrible at the moment. I am simply suffering from a lot of uncertainty about my short-, medium- and long-term future. Not an uncommon affliction amongst university students at
this time of year (Oh God, I look forward to the day when I can use phrases like that playfully instead of with tragic, hand-draped-languidly-over-forehead melancholy) . Of somewhat greater concern is the way this uncertainty is refracting through my personal relationships.
I still have a lot of psychological problems in the lead-up to the submission of major assignments, but they are resolving themselves into a coping mechanism. I am finally becoming acquainted with the nature of my stress, my avoidance behaviours, and my eventual feverish work stretches and beginning to incorporate them into my planning. The end result is that yes, I did manage to get my twenty minute project practice seminar finished on time, and I delivered it quite well - at least as well as the other students doing so. That was a source of great satisfaction to me.
I saw the two action blockbuster sequels of our times,
X2 and
The Matrix Reloaded, and disliked them both. I think this signals that somewhere along the line I became an adult. No more needs to be said on that score, though, as I've done enough pseudo-critical ranting in the presence of everyone who's likely to care what I think already.
I have been feeling rather unenthused about other people lately. I mentioned this to Max. 'Isn't that a permanent part of your character?' was her reply. I didn't find that even slightly hurtful, but it is a little inaccurate. Only sometimes, I consider the people I know, the people I consider my friends, the people I think of as idiots and just generally people in the world, and feel that we're all so insignificant. We muddle along with our enmities and our amities intertwining, so bound up in events that we don't even remember from week to week.
When I shuffle off this mortal coil (my linguistic function can never help but misconstrue that metaphor) in another fifty years or so, will there actually be anything of me left behind to care about? It feels (and I realise that twenty-four, whilst old by student standards, is still young by the standards of the world at large) as if most of my dreams are already likely to attenuate unfulfilled, warbling quietly and fitfully into a desperate craving for the vicarious satisfaction that may be available from the children I suppose I will have at some point. I wonder what the poor little tykes will think of their accursed progenitor. Actually, that's quite a happy thought.
As I write, I have two things on my mind. The first and less significant of the two is my real-time distributed computing systems project, which I am going to have to do a lot of work on in the coming week in order to have it prepared for a demonstration on Friday morning. I have been working on it reasonably solidly for the last couple of days already, although during the day yesterday I slacked off unconscionably. I played ZAngband for a couple of hours, attended the UniSFA book-covering, and watched the NSL Grand Final, none of which were things I wanted to do, and only one of which was remotely constructive. But following that I did return to coding Java for my project until 1:00 am. I notice that whenever I actually sit down and write programs, work proceeds pretty quickly, but I don't enjoy it all that much. I'm feeling more relief than pleasure as the various parts of development merge and actually function correctly. Still, if someone is willing to offer me employment writing programs at the end of this year, I can see myself enjoying it more than any job I've previously held. That definitely includes the work I'm doing for the Child Support Agency at the moment.
The second thing I have on my mind is my relationship with Max. I won't pretend that she doesn't read this page, so this bit is already verging on an open letter. I wish I could explain to her how I felt about her without descending into my conventional egocentric ramblings. I have been rather a distant presence in her life lately, due to the time requirements of my work and the mood it's been putting me in a lot of the rest of the time. Every time I subtract another social engagement from my calendar to either work or stress about not working, I feel the rising bile. I have been feeling burdened, guilty and boring, as if I have been watching the aperture of light before my eyes heal over into an ugly, permanent scar. I want to slice through that and bathe myself in warm sunshine. Instead all I do is repeat my mantra,
'six months', whilst secretly fearing that I will disappoint myself again, just as I did before. This time I think things will be different though, but that doesn't stop the black tides rising in the mean time. All this is absurdly melodramatic, but then it's easy to become so when you spend your time huddled over a computer screen into the early hours of the morning, performing tasks that may set the tone for most of the rest of your (potentially so maudlin) lifespan and wondering why.
I love you Loren. I haven't felt this strongly about any other person. Please put up with my introspective gloom a little longer, just because you know that I'm capable of better in other circumstances. I think about you all the time.
