mahiwaga

As I sit here in front of my computer in my underwear, unshowered, and unshaven, procrastinating about going to work, I stare at the detritus of my living room, with weeks-old mail strewn across the floor, and tangled up wires all over the place.

Times like this, I can't help but wonder: what the hell am I doing with my life?

And then I remember this: It is far too late for regret.

It's 53 degrees outside right now and there was a very recent time in my life when I would've classified this as a heat wave, what with it being December and all, but now that I've completely readjusted to sunny Southern California, all I really want to do is bury myself under my covers and wait until spring. I kind of wonder if seasonal affective disorder is simply a genetic anachronism from some mammalian ancestor that used to hibernate. Whatever it is, I've got it, and it sucks.

And why is it, that when I'm feeling really low, whatever the reason may be, I always find myself dwelling on the fact that I'm alone. Oh so very alone.

Ha.

It's time, meet me on the sunny road…

Probably around January, I'll have cleaned out of my apartment. Maybe. If I remain strong-willed and devoted. It's times like this that I wonder if I haven't got some sort of subtle brain damage. I've been reading Descartes' Error by Antonio R. Damasio, which deals with how, contrary to popular belief (and Vulcan culture), it is necessary to be emotional in order to make sane, rational decisions. He begins by pointing out certain brain-damaged individuals whose abilities to reason, to communicate, to manipulate abstract ideas, and to process information, are in fact intact, and yet they display the inability to navigate through normal life, often making monumental errors in judgement.

The interesting thing is that this hearkens back to my little soliloquy on executive brain dysfunction. I had also read The Executive Brain: Frontal Lobes and the Civilized Mind by Elkhonon Goldberg (which I've touched upon tangentially once upon a time) and times like this, I really feel like I should get an MRI. Or maybe treat myself empirically with amphetamines. (To the DEA agent who may be reading this entry: I'm totally kidding!)

I don't know. My brain is just serious mush right now.