The possibility of time travel is actually still an open question. There is nothing in Einstein’s theory of Relativity that prevents it from happening, although the conditions that would be required to allow it to happen seem pretty insurmountable. (For example, you would need a rotating universe, or a nearby cosmic string, or some exotic material that exerts anti-gravity which could keep a wormhole conduit stable and open, none of which are within the technological abilities of humanity at this time.) Still, I am hopeful.

I don’t know. Maybe I just like misery. Lest my last post mislead you, nothing terrible is happening right now. It’s just this feeling of evanescence that is haunting me. I’m too content these days, and I worry that there’s something horrific awaiting me in the days to come.

The problem with all this is that all good things must come to an end. At least for me. I feel like for normal, well adjusted souls, they are able to weather the changing tide. Me, I get sucked into the riptide, then spat up again onto the rocky, unforgiving beach.

In some ways, I am careening off the edge of sanity.

I have been cursed with two virulent pathologies that plague me to this day. One is the perverse belief that all emotion is not meant to be expressed ad lib. Passion should be channeled, in controlled burns, outside the confines of civilization. The other is the bizarre idea that if someone is abusing me, I should not abuse them back, because after all, I am much better than they are.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t even try. I’m oh-so-very tired.