mahiwaga

OK I am obviously very deranged due to lack of sleep. I’m not sure I can handle this 7 a.m. action for more than a few days, which is unfortunate, considering the line of work I’m going into. In any case, this is my justification for my demented subject line. Bizarre associations seem to be just bubbling up from my language processing centers. (And my clinical neuroscience class is starting to make me believe that everyone is crazy….)

But the limbic system thing… (the cortex can lie, but the limbic system has a really hard time… see, the snake from the Garden of Eden wasn’t lying. Everything he said was true….) Wow. I just exhibited a couple symptoms of Formal Thought Disorder—word approximation and derailment…. Anyway, what I meant by the limbic system is usually what people (particularly Romanticists—that’s right, with a capital “R”) think of as “the heart.” So it was supposed to be “Schroedinger’s Heart” but that would’ve been too obvious, and I’ve never been one to take the simple way out when there’s a perfectly convoluted alternative.

But yeah, the wave function has finally collapsed, and at times like this I kind of marvel at the intricate predictability of the world. I mean, if I pay attention long enough, I really can predict the future, I really can figure people out, and I really can pick out the best line of action no matter how complex the situation. I mean, ideally, it would be best if I could slow down time and all, but I guess you can’t have everything….

Random quote that flittered through my mind at this moment: “That is most of it, being a wizard—seeing and listening. The rest is technique.” — Schmendrick the Magician from The Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle.

So I suppose medicine is the closest I will get to actually practicing magic. Sure, it’s based on scientific principles and all, but ultimately, I can’t help but think of it as an art. But this is neither here or there.

I am trying to put everything in perspective right now, and that doesn’t work too well without enough sleep.

So there are promises I have made to various people, and more importantly, there are promises I have made to myself, and I hope to derive satisfaction from the keeping of these promises.

Sometimes I feel like I have just climbed out of the blast crater of a meteorite strike and have just come to grips with the idea that the world isn’t just a deep hole cloaked in eternal darkness.

Cryptic. I had to let it out, to let it lay out in the sun, photolyze all the things that grow in dark, hot, damp places. Still, I am dubious as to what good this rant will have in the future. But my part is not to judge. I am an instrument.

OK, this is the last time I try to write an entry without having slept properly. I hesitate to even post this up, but, oh well, too late. <g>

I dreamt of an apartment, or a house, that was some bizarre amalgamation of my current apartment and of Joce’s apartment. It was in the middle of nowhere, like, even less civilized than where I actually am right now. Or at least that was the first impression I got. It was actually similar to the neighborhood I dreamt about once, that was kind of like Glassell Park, except it was more ritzy, and Division St. was actually a major thoroughfare, but that’s another dream which I only remember snatches from. (There was a church, like St. Dominic’s, except darker, and the priests wore brown habits, looking a little like Jedi Knights.) Anyway, the golf course was still there, but there was also a little road where cars were parked. I think it might have adjoined an abandoned swimming pool…. As I write this, all these memories of other dreams are flooding into my mind. Wasn’t the pool near the coast, where Santa Monica is supposed to be? Is this the same world I dreamt of, where I drove down the Pasadena Freeway to get to the beach, but instead of Santa Monica, it reminded me more of Moro Bay….?

But back to my dream. So I think it’s similar to my Uncle Gil’s house, where the front door has a screen. It opens out to the east, but then when you get inside, you have to make a 180° turn, and now you’re in the living room. The living room looks kind of like my living room in North Chicago, except the carpet is greyer, and the kitchen or dining area isn’t there. The corridor (which in the real world leads to my room and the bathroom) turns into the hallway in Joce’s apartment, with the exact same central point, with the bathroom to the north. But instead of a kitchen to the east, I think it may have been just the end of a hallway, with a window. And to the south was the family room and dining area. I don’t know where the kitchen went. If I stop to think about it, sometimes it appears where my kitchen is in North Chicago, sometimes it appears at the end of the hallway like in Joce’s apartment in Brooklyn (in which case it wouldn’t be very logically set up). I suppose I’ll have to draw a map of it sometime. Just thinking about it is making me a little dizzy.

And then I actually had another mini-dream when I fell asleep in Pharmacology this morning. I dreamt I had written a song for Radiohead, or I was starting a Radiohead-wannabe band, or something like that. And I was reading the lyrics of this one song, but the only words I remember are “lunatic” and some “a”-word like “arsenal” but I’m afraid I just made that last word up.

It’s amazing what caffeine and lack of sleep will allow your brain to believe.

Why the particular subject line? (Besides the possibility that I really a stark raving lunatic?) Well, see, there was this dream I had about being in a rock-and-roll band. Yes, I’ve been trying to keep a journal of my dreams and as you’ll notice, I haven’t been very good about it. I’ve certainly had more dreams than two since January. I suppose, though, that some things are better off never seeing the light of day. But I’ve never been one to take good advice. (Sometimes I think it’s a miracle that I continue to exist.)

I really don’t want to screw with the Form of this site too much. All I really want is a place to stick all this deranged Content. (I mean, I know that only two-and-a-half people read this. I figure this is mostly for my personal enjoyment. I know I find my wild ravings and rantings quite amusing after a couple months.) In any case, I know I should put some toolbars up, or some sort of update indicator to make this place more amenable to any would-be readers, but I’ll wait until my two-and-a-half readers complain about how difficult it is to navigate through this bullshit.

But, yes, I’ve been slowly but surely updating my summer playlist slowly but surely, and should probably put up a permanent link somewhere.

Blah. I’m tired of meta-narrating. So what happened today? Absotively, posilutely nothing. Oh, I found Ursula K. Le Guin’s translation of the Tao Te Ching at Barnes and Nobles today. I actually did get some studying done.

Oh, sure, there are a multiplicity of thoughts running rampant through my head right now, but there is a time and place for everything, I suppose. I’m a changed man. Things don’t stick any more, for better or for worse, and it’s getting easier to believe that the world isn’t all that crappy most of the time. Anything bad that happens is usually transient. Of course as I type this, I’m knocking on wood, but even three years, six years, isn’t forever, I suppose, and that’s the longest that a crappy situation has ever lasted for me. Of course, the six year thing still really hasn’t ended, but it’s definitely not as crappy as the three year thing, and I could probably let this six year thing make it all the way to nine years without any major problems. But I’d rather it not. Oh well. Out of my hands.

Sorry. I love being cryptic, if you can’t tell. Only I know what I’m talking about. Hahahaha. I suppose this is the reason no one ever listens to me.