mahiwaga

I have finally found a use for this pen. Of course, I’m not sure if I want to keep writing on paper if I really put up that website. I suppose this will then be reserved for all the deep problems that I do not want to expose to the world.

Ah me. If I could only kill my internal censor.

But I really felt I had to write this in here—it is a logical extension of all the madness I’ve been experiencing since June, when the world left me alone to go insane. I wonder if I shall ever recover?

I really ought to have gone to NYC instead of L.A. I can’t see how my mental status can possibly improve within the Glamor of Her Radiance. I may as well excise my temporal lobe now and go for broke if that’s the case.

I am so very afraid.

Now why God had to throw these particular Scripture passages in my face, I’ll never know. Partly because I’m beginning to give up hope in his existence (more on that later). It makes it difficult to accept this life of non-sacramental celibacy.

I have truly despaired of meeting people here. I am so easily offended as of late. I don’t think I’ve ever really hated anyone personally (except perhaps for DN, but I bet you I could tolerate him pretty well now.) Of couse, there are stereotypes of people I hate generally (for example, white supremacists, the ultra-rich), but if I get to know them, they ain’t so bad (more on that later, too.) Only now has that trend reverse…

In any case, the people who don’t make me sick to my stomach are pretty much leaving at the end of this year, leaving me with people I don’t know or people who occasionally get on my nerves.

Stepping back a bit, I know enough that this frustration with humanity is only coming about because of a raging internal conflict—it’s just symptoms of a disease, really. What I really have to do is figure out why the hell I’m here, and what the hell I want. This may be in the end a pointless intellectual exercise, but I’m beginning to suspect that there are physiological symptoms [of keeping this all repressed]…. (…this year and ⅓ has laid bare the ugliness of humanity to me—more on that later.) [But] back to the reading at today’s Mass.

The first principle of Life is reproduction—no, step back even more—further continuation of Life. Which for my hapless species [generally] means sex.

If you are not propagating Life, you are dying. Or some other simple minded syllogism such as that.

The preacher practically insinuated that you are not following God’s Will if you remain single (as my sorry destiny is likely to be without a drastic course correction.)

In other words, life with your palm is not an acceptable pathway into the Gates of Heaven. In theory, I can live with that, particularly since I am beginning to see the Church more and more as an anachronistic, irrational, inconsistent, hypocritical organization in reality only content with establishing their place in our monkey hierarchy. I have yet to meet someone who can logically explain to me the essence of their faith since high school. Ironically, one of those who could—my A.P. English Lit teacher, was found to be a child molester. So I find myself quite justified in my crisis of faith. In any case, I’m nowhere near ready to give up my adherence to the teachings of Jesus Christ (no matter how many different people he/she really was I find no (well, very little) flaw in them in and of themselves. It’s only when you start tacking on this supermystical bullshit that you have to believe in if you don’t want to be damned… this shit I can’t abid. For example, I see little relevance in Mary’s supposed Immaculate Conception to anything. [I actually] think it weakens the power of her saying yes to God. (Same thing with the crucifixion and the resurrection, but we needn’t go into that.) So I’m beginning to think that God’s Church on Earth is mostly merely a manifestation of humanity’s hierarchicalization (Yeesh, now I know that’s not a word) and that Good People™ are still aberrations.

But, anyway, despite my doubts, today’s reading still needled at me. Mostly because there is an undesirable biological imperative underlying it….

Now, yes, I know that sex is actually only a component of the whole issue of relationships and marriage. It’s kind of like an MCAT score maybe. It’s nothing but a rough measure, something that can be easily quantified but really doesn’t mean too much.

See, what I am really lacking here is someone I can talk to, someone who actually gives a crap about the things I have to say. I imagine that pent-up emottion is the actual neurotoxin here.

But just writing this shit down is basically the mental equivalent of masturbation. You’re not as uptight as you were before, but neither have you endorphins kicked in. (I think Neal Stephenson has a wonderful mathematical model regarding masturbation in Crytonomicon.)

Hell, I miss being in love.…

Which comes down to [redacted] and my basic lack of connectedness. I feel like I’ve been abducted by aliens and [forced] onto an FTP ship (goddamn, what a random simile). It’s like that life that I could have had just evaporated and I don’t know if I’m really living in the present right now. More likely, I’m living off of some vacuum sealed idealized snapshot of reality—I mean, I’ve always had problems letting go. But banishment to the friend zone is not the same as get-the-hell-out-of-my-life, and while iti is pathetic that these are the only two realistic outcomes at this stage, it’s still something I have to decide…. I can’t let go if there is no compelling force for me to do so (which is a great segue into the heart of the matter.)

Why the hell am I [in] med school?

I could point fingers at 17 years of social engineering (i.e., education), my father’s passive-aggressive method of convincing me to follow in his footsteps, the expectation of my mother’s relatives, and other sundry folk who can see my Path clearer than I can. But that still begs the question.

After all, I could disappear just like that if I really wanted to. It would wreak havoc with my relationships to various people, but it isn’t insurmountable.

To say that I am a chickenshit rat bastard is perhaps an understatement, but the main problem is that I don’t have a viable alternative. In one case, the misery index does not change appreciably if I remain within the realm of possibility. With the other case, I’d be spectacularly happy until the money ran out.

As I see it: it’s either the IT industry, or becoming a writer. The IT industry [seems] fraught with instability right now, and anything I learn will likely be obsoleted in a Moore’s Law cycle. I may well be more miserable doing this for a living, and I could very well be unemployable within three years. So much for retiring at 35, you know? The writing thing is what I really, really want to do, but realistically, this requires a day job, which would still therefore not really change how unhappy I would be. (OK, so maybe I’m being pessimistic by envisioning all my jobs to be like my less than one year of employment, but listening to other people bitch and moan does not do much to change my mind.)

So am I doomed to accept a particular level of misery? I don’t like thinking that the only reason I’ve chosen this path is that it’s likely the path of least misery. I don’t like that my other reasons are either hollow or replete with monkey-thinking hierarchicalisms.

I suppose I must just accept Bentham for now, and maybe have Kant pitch relief every now and then.

So. This sorted out nothing, and I’ve consumed a considerable segment of time. Why am I such a fucking coward?