So Let it be Written, So Let it be Done!

October 8, 2007

Let it Rain

Filed under: kamakula — kamakula @ 5:39 am
Tags: ,

Right now would be a good time for rain. I’m not particularly happy and going for a drive did not help. Too many cops out and I didn’t feel like getting on I-10 to drive around north florida or driving into GA just to have a spot of road to speed. I suppose there are things for which I will never forgive myself. There are plenty of those. The really old ones no longer hurt me so much but the recent ones do. I think the old ones don’t hurt because everything seems to have turned out ok. My guilt is mitigated by the way things turned out. But the recent ones will not go away. . . certainly not for years to come. Times like this come and go. But usually every three months, I have a day, two, maybe three like this.

I wish I could skip work this morning, but I have to go in. I don’t like this. I hate myself for this. I could punch my walls but then I will have to buy stuff to fix the mess I would make, either of my hands or the likely plastered walls. Perhaps both. I can understand the desire to do it. It brings some sort of satisfaction in its own way. But this is a dangerous path, like taking cocaine to get a high, you get addicted to a life destroying escape.

I wonder how many seconds of life I lose because of this. Tonight I’m likely going to sleep only 1 or 2 hours. So, my energy usage stays up. Cells age due to free radicals released in the process of breaking down ATP for energy. It’s funny, the very substance that powers your body is also that which kills you. I wonder. If someone spent their entire life sleeping, how much longer would they live? How many years have I shaved off by averaging 4 hours a night for the past few years now? I’ve already altered my body. For the past 9 years, I’ve barely eaten breakfast and instead shifted to a single large meal a day. Now, the process of eating breakfast is a chore. Most of the time, it is hard to force myself to eat breakfast (if at all). This morning, the thought of solid food made me feel sick. I barely could drink down sips of No Fear. And what about milk. I’ve developed a slight intolerance to it that didn’t exist when I was a child. I’ve changed myself out of necessity. However, has it been for the best?

Every time I think about returning to school, I always think back to my first four years of college. Could it have been better? Yes. Could it have been longer? Yes. What has been the point. I graduate a year early, but don’t get into a doctoral program until a year later. If I took the extra year, I could have had better grades and eased into the new program pretty nicely. Now, I have to contend with the jarring shock of returning to academia. I have to fight the growing voice in my head that says maybe I shouldn’t go back. Maybe I’m doing this all for the wrong reasons. That I’ve already messed up my life before, why destroy potentially four more years. I’m deferring four years of working fulltime for what? Teaching is something I’d like to do, but not an immediate goal. Getting a phd is not necessarily a requirement for starting up a technology company in robotics. So, why am I doing it? Am I looking for some escape from regular life?

Who is it that I’m trying to impress? I think the other me likes to pretend it’s nobody. That I’m living my life for myself. The other me likes to pretend that he’s the real me. That he knows what he wants. But I know the truth. I’m the one that faces the results of my actions. I’m the one that must deal with the mistakes. I’m the one who must analyze the motives. I’m the one that must punish myself. Sure. In a couple days, the other me can come back. He can pretend his life is rosy. That things are looking up. That he has it under control. But in a couple months time, it will happen again. I’ll be back here to deal with a memory. A mess he cannot handle. He thinks he’s strong. He is not. I’m the strong one. I’m the one that must manage these memories. I’m the one that must deal with the mess. I’m the one that plots the future. But he’s the one that enjoys the success, the life that I try to make. I’m the one that holds the pain, so that his face is not a mask, but a sort of truth. How can he seem so happy, because he has nothing to be sad about. I am the keeper of these things.

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