Inspired by Facebook comments, I ended up reading through some of my old blog entries. A lot of it is in fact quite sad and pathetic, to the point where I started thinking to myself, "My God, the writer of this crap needs serious help!" (The part that isn't sad and pathetic is random and borderline incoherent, which leads me to the same conclusion.)

What does it really mean to be done? I've got 17 days of formal education left. I'm trying to be as optimistic as I've ever been about the future, but I'm just not an optimistic type of guy. I don't know. I'm more of a giddy cynic. A hopeful pessimist. The mantra of my profession seems to be "Hope for the best, but expect the worst."

The unholy combination of Twitter, Google Reader, and raging insomnia brings me to this blog post about weighing the pain of loneliness vs the suffering of heartbreak. I kind of wonder if it just isn't the distinction between chronic disease and acute disease. Isn't loneliness just a more diffuse, protracted form of heartbreak? Loneliness is what heartbreak turns into, given enough time.

Well this is pleasant.

June. Before the solstice and the fading of the sunlight. The beginning of summer is always the ending of another year. Another epoch. As usual, I am always facing the brink of time alone, each time finding myself further and further from civilization. (A voice cries out in the wilderness.) The exile has never ended. I’ve lost any hope of finding a distant shore. Like The Flying Dutchman denied from mooring at any port, I am forced to sail on, sail on.

(inspired by a comment to a blog post by someone whom I’ve been blog-stalking on MySpace)

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I always forget whether it’s na or ng. I have this propensity for tacking on unnecessary -ng enclitics and eliding necessary ones. My cousins in the Philippines always find my mangled Tagalog highly entertaining.

This is pretty much about nothing.

Sure, I’m not dying, I just can’t think of anything better to do.

Go Lakers! I love L.A.!

Beauty. Unicorns. Reality.