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comments: 0In the last 2 weeks I've lost 11 lbs. That's not water weight, or the discrepancy between night and day, or the product of a large bowel movement, since having basically given up food and suffering from narcolepsy these things largely have no meaning. That's 11 pounds that were keeping my pants around my waist and not my knees; 11 pounds which I'm sure at least one of was sucked violently from my face in my body's mad search for energy. Instead of feeling good about this, I feel like I'm sick, and I think my skin is turning gray. Somehow I don't see this as an improvement.
I need to buy an entirely new set of clothing, but I don't want to, 2 weeks from now, weaker and grayer, feel like I'm swimming in my pants again. This isn't depression, or some 3 word crisis that will end in bloodshed: this is apparently the by-product of a total bewilderment. As I pull back the layers of one life-style debacle after another, I realize that the life I liked is no longer, and the life I didn't know I wanted is virtually unattainable.
I'm no longer a student, something I've been since I was 4. I didn't care for doctors my whole life, but I find myself wanting to consult one on my recent sleeping habits, which is ironic seeing as I no longer have health insurance. Big up's to GW on that one. I was happy competing in nightly ping pong round robin's, and now I can't bring myself to grab the paddle. I was happy working out in the afternoon, and now I can't force myself to the gym unless its via a promise to someone else. Video games, my computer, even drinking, all to the wayside. I was fine without a girl, and now two wouldn't satisfy.
Enough with the meloncholy though, because I somehow feel fine, just incredibly bored. For a while I could hardly force myself to work, but I've been tearing up the python landscape this week. Its just my whole life that was is no longer; I can't read more than a chapter at a time, I can't touch a D-pad, I can hardly create this update. In fact, you have sleeplessness to thank for having this bit of self pity to read.
The odd things about this (and I believe the last update) is that I really don't feel bad for myself, or about myself. I'm dissatisfied with what I was, and am currently lost as to what to make of my new self. I don't look upon it like Cadet Numa, bouncing up and down, giddy with anticipations, the gleam of future dissapointment shining brightly in my eyes. I don't look upon it like Jerumu either, as if my simple self realization must be met by cleansing myself with some aperient religious salve, loath to smiling in a sea of purgative ointments.
I just have nothing to do. I have nothing to replace what I was previously doing. I'm not sleeping well in the midst of this, if I dare, spiritual journey, and my hypochondria is turning my skin gray.
In my quest for something, anything to do, I've found some interesting toys. Toys, mind you, in the sense that they can keep me occupied for about as long as anything could keep a toddler quiet. My insatiable quest for the mastery of English, the only subject that ever (and continually) dominated me, brought me to more wordplay recently. Having already, through clever and sleuthy means, discovered via a collected series of annecdotes and third hand knowledge the history of the word "Tea" (from "Tsai" to "Cha" to "Tee"), and shown interest in other etymology, I decided to enter the world of anagrams, which of course are completely unrelated. Here are some interesting ones:
- Jason Moiron -- Major Onions
- Christian Tsuraun -- A Chain I Turn Rusts
- Christian Tsuraun -- A Racist Hunts, I Run
- Christian Tsuraun -- A Tantric Sushi Run
- Jeremy Mikola -- A Mere Milk Joy
- Jeremy Mikola -- A Jerkily Memo
- Andrew Numa -- Mundane War
- Lucas Martinez Salas -- Tim, A Sunless Alcazar
- Lucas Martinez Salas -- A Salaam Suez Intl. RCS (Resource Construction Set)
Nothing nearly as ironic as "Mastercard -- Trader Scam" or "Debit Card -- Bad Credit", but I'm certainly satisfied with "Major Onions". My father's name also anagrams to "Senior Mojo", and my mother's name gets mixed into "Mandolin Rio" and "I Room Inland" (and my brother: "Poor Mini Phil").
Of course, this will only last as long as my sleeping habits, so in a week I will forget all the anagrams I know, start sleeping and resume my previous pale color. In the mean time, I'm neither here nor there; neither happy nor sad, just meditative on what exactly I'm going to become. I suppose I have until August to decide.