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Friday, September 11th, 2015
10:37 am - Is this it?
For some reason, I've been extremely contemplative in the last few days.  There are a few things going on, I suspect, from my recent visit to the East Coast, to the impending choice about where in the Bay Area to live, to the growing concern about whether I'm pursuing my passions with enough conviction.  The upside is that life is lately feeling like an all you can eat buffet, in the sense that the opportunities are grand, but you can only choose a finite number of things to do, and a much smaller number to really excel at.  I'm a bit paralyzed by these choices, and also questioning the limitations placed on these choices by things like living in the Bay Area, holding a regular job, and compromising to try to give Jim the things he wants.  I could be a surf bum, right?  That's a thing people do, or so it seems.

Being on the path of least resistance, I seem to be settling in to a routine with a lot of time spent on the Farm, and evenings hanging out with folks, or doing grown up shit, like cooking, cleaning, laundry and television.  I feel mildly guilty about this, but I feel smarter than a lot of the people around me, which can feel very limiting.  Sometimes I feel myself being polite, considerate and easy-going, but not challenged.  Certainly, I'm not often not in situations where the creative juices get flowing, and I'm surprised and delighted by the outcome.  I find myself wondering, "is this it?" more often than I'd like to, and I'm still not certain of what an "it" looks like.  Very, very smart, interesting and creative people - people who are interested in some sort of "community" of any kind, of which I can actively participate and tickle those itches, that would be awesome.

It's just my responsibility to figure that out, along with things like successfully folding laundry and managing all of the other life type things.  A life fueled by passion is much more seductive than one that has ample clean underwear and clean floors.  Thoughts!  Many thoughts!

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Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013
12:48 am - Universe, hello.
In the midst of great amounts of work, I find myself procrastinating in ways that remind me of my old self.  It's late at night, I'm listening to music, I'm sleepy, I'm reflecting on things.  The amount of time that I spend alone can feel extremely vast, and left to my own devices, without the moderating impact of others, I often feel like I'm kind of slipping away.  I was listening to my old songs, like you do.  I used to write a lot of sad songs and sing them in a kind of warbly voice.  This would be the time for it, when I should be going to sleep, the only time when I'm focused enough on myself to write the sort of indulgent songs that I used to write.  Sometimes I feel like it's a great loss for the world (or at least for myself) that I don't really bring music into the world any more.  Then I listen to most of the songs I made and think, eh, what's the point.  It's pretty mediocre.

I'm crafting great works of intellectual mediocrity now.  Teaching privileged students how to do things like download tweets and run statistical analyses.  It's silly.  My therapist asked me to try to identify why I find it silly, and it was kind of hard to articulate.  Another person, maybe even another me, would be elated to make workshops on things, to figure things out and then share that with others.  I've certainly worked hard on it.  But when I reflect on it, it's almost as though it never happened.  I don't look back with pride or shame or have any particularly strong feelings about it.  It's quite blah.  I guess part of my malaise is that my greatest fears are coming to pass - that I've taken the path of least resistance for so long that I've kind of forgotten how to give a shit.

Anyway, the night is tired, and so am I.

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Tuesday, January 3rd, 2012
9:33 pm - peak erotic experience
My therapist wants me to write mine.  It's like I'm programmed not to, which is why I'm posting here.  Well, that, and I found a quote from Jeff that I love:

"life is no way to treat an animal"

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Tuesday, December 20th, 2011
12:36 am
There's something satisfying about sitting and stewing with my feelings, but I'm not sure it's really productive.  I suppose that's what most of journaling is, processing the events of the day (or months, if you're a slacker like me), and letting those lessons percolate or something.  Sometimes feelings almost seem like they're meant to be ignored rather than indulged.  A lot of times, the annoying ones go away, and then you're left feeling like a doofus for indulging them.  Like when you eat fourteen oreos, or when you bang your head against the wall, or when you listen to "Zombie" by the Cranberries over and over again.  Anyway, I've had a lot of doofy feelings that I've indulged over the years.  I think they give some insight into my character, particularly as I read over them years later and reflect on how I'm basically plagued by the same issues and still amused by the same turns of phrase.

I'm seeing a sex therapist now, which I hope leads to a healthy and positive relationship with my own sexuality.  It's one of the reasons I started journaling over a decade ago.  Sometimes in my bolder moments, I try to make decisions that will force me into situations that will advance my relationship with sex.  Like being brutally honest on the internet, like setting up meetings with people, like trying to participate in communities that have formed around my sexual interests.  One thing I've learned over the years, though, is that you can't bully yourself into self-acceptance.  I still don't really know what it takes, but sometimes that sort of head-on confrontation just leads to disaster.  And for me, one of the biggest mysteries is the illogical notion that I can scream my confessions into a crowd of people, but I can't whisper them to a friend or a lover.

From this vantage point, there's a little bit of that "and then what?" kind of attitude.  Even if sex were taken care of, wouldn't I still basically have all of the melancholic issues that I have anyway?  The dopey thing about this vantage point is that it's tinted by the lack of cathartic sex. I remember that the world seems kind of pleasant and rosy sometimes, too.  Feelings.  The future.  Yup.

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Tuesday, June 14th, 2011
5:26 pm - Comfort and Justice
Recently, I started thinking about life and the personal decisions I make as being on a spectrum. One one end of this spectrum is 'Comfort', and on the other end is 'Justice'. As in, today I'm driving my car because I'm too lazy to ride my bike (comfort) or, today, even though it's raining, I'm riding my bike as a conscious effort to reduce my carbon emissions (justice). Some things don't fit in to that spectrum, in particular when you need to be just to yourself. I've been reading lots of books to try and learn more about the justice side of things, and one that's stuck out for me is _Why Are All The Black Kids Sitting Together In The Cafeteria?_ It's been really valuable for me to think about how identity is built, particularly in the wake of a largely oppressive culture. One strength of the book is that it emphasizes how a strong identity as a person of color, or a homosexual, or a disabled person, or whatever is necessary to not be mired in the isms that would otherwise bring you down. One way people do that is by deeply integrating with a group of similarly identified peers to build that positive identity and support each other.

In homoville, this happens a lot. I know a number of gay men who have basically dived in as much as possible into the gay community, and basically going balls to the wall about it, and that's an important step in forging an identity that you're proud of. I think the same is true of a lot of other things for which there aren't isms - particularly kink and furry. I wonder if my role is a little bit like the person of color who grew up with White people and has mostly White friends, but still feels left out and underdeveloped in terms of forging a positive identity. I definitely don't have a positive kinky or furry identity. Both scenes weird me out in ways that can be hard to put my finger on, but I think it's largely that I've been socialized in a very vanilla, mundane way. Maybe the way out is to basically break up with everyone that isn't in full, enthusiastic support of that identity, and spend time building positive relationships with these people and being resocialized.

I'm glad that I've had the privilege to fit in to the dominant society as well as I have, even with the factors that make it so difficult. It's been very easy for me to at least make believe that I fit in, and I haven't had to make sacrifices to do so. Unless you count, well, the generic angst and incredibly problematic sex life that pervades this journal. Just the thought of making the changes necessary to build that positive identity make me feel a little sick to my stomach. I can only imagine how challenging it would be for a person of color, who can't hide behind a smile and a nod when it comes to fitting in. Anyway, right now I feel less comfortable, and hopefully with a slightly more nuanced view of justice. PS, Fuck you, I'm a dragon.

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Thursday, May 13th, 2010
5:07 am
My energy to do things is extremely limited, even if those things are considered to take no energy by the layperson. Examples include returning e-mails or messages, calling friends, attaching my rear fender to my bicycle, moving the pile of dirty clothes anywhere else, recycling the boxes in my room and making any novel plans. My days often revolve around the same principle, which is trying to focus all of my available energy on the boring work I have to do, which in this case, is counting neurons.

To make counting cells remotely bearable, I have been listening to audiobooks while I do it: Snow Crash, MIT biology lectures, episodes of This American Life - all have served as a pleasant backdrop to clicking tens of thousands of cells on my screen.  Presently, I'm listening to The Da Vinci Code, which is probably the worst book I've read since that Dean Koontz book about the talking dog, but it gets my through the rough times.

Stimulants are also pretty much strictly necessary to keep me alert enough to care if I'm doing a good job.  The best legal stimulants for me are Pepsi Max and Mochas, which both have obscene levels of caffeine.  The best part about caffeine is that it makes me feel giddy and kind of happy, which is shocking given the drudgery that my research entails.  I've been sober for a year and change, which makes me sound like a recovering alcoholic, but mostly I think I just wanted to not drink.  Drunk people are increasingly more annoying to me, but there's something to be said for that drunken appreciation of the world where everyone you meet is an interesting potential friend.  Plus, you know, when you're done counting cells at 11pm, going to a bar is a viable social activity.  But going to bars sober is not recommended.

Jim and I talk every night, which lately has been another time when I can count cells.  Neither of us are exactly living the dream right now, though, since he's renovating and selling his house, and I'm just working on my thesis all the time.

--

Man! I thought the above had been deleted. Now I'm staying up all night trying to understand those freaking cells that I counted. Sometimes I think I'll never graduate. That makes me feel really not good. Just keep swimming.

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Sunday, January 31st, 2010
2:45 pm - freckles
The trick to doing the breathtakingly dull work that I have to do these days is to find something even more breathtakingly engrossing to listen to as I do it. NPR's Driveway Moments is good for that - well produced radio segments in a 'greatest hits' kind of format, so you have nothing you can possibly do but listen, enraptured, as, for example, a girl with cystic fibrosis describes her attempts to lead a normal life as she marches towards death. It feels to good to be so engrossed in something that you forget what it is you're doing and what your own troubles are. Sitting in this cafe sucking down aspartame-laced caffeine water and bundling my body from the sub-freezing blusters that come with every new customer, I don't mind that I need to spend another 40 hours tracing brain contours, and another 40 hours counting cells.

In the breaks between the segments, I fantasize about being a radio producer, traveling around and interviewing people and editing their words into bite-size segments dotted with appropriate music. Sitting and attending to new and interesting things definitely makes me more optimistic about my own possibilities, and helps me remember that when I was younger, I didn't just spend all day banging my head against the wall, resigned to a career that basically amounts to counting freckles and writing little computer programs to display my freckle-counts.

In the interest of my sanity, I'm lowering my standards, and planning on listening to The Da Vinci Code, or really any other book that goes down like a Big Mac. I'm happy to hear any suggestions on engrossing listening material. I should definitely return to tracing and listening, though, since now I can hear the music they're playing at the Au Bon Pain. It's Hootie and the Blowfish. Egads.

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Monday, December 21st, 2009
3:57 am - and i'm getting old
Normally at the end of a year, I reflect on it as I reflect on the music I've listened to, and I think about how nothing ever changes in my life. But that is not the case this year, as it turns out, as this year was home to some very big changes in my life and how I lead it. Let us begin.

First off, at the end of last year, my computer for some obnoxious reason pooped out, and I was forced to buy a new computer. This new computer and I wrestled around in the slovenly shitpiles of my room until I eventually concluded that I fucked up bad. My expensive soundcard that lets me record music doesn't fit in this computer, and my expensive ethernet adapter was no longer supported. Long story short, I stopped listening to music all the time, for the first time in my adult life. And I didn't record any of my own music this year (unless you count my one hip-hop collaboration featuring auto-tune!). It's almost as though I grew up, transitioned into one of those miserable adults that doesn't listen to any music at all.

I also transitioned into one of those adults that is in love with another adult, with whom I have the pleasure of being in a relationship. Parents have been met. Fights have been had. Houses have been nearly burned down. It was tumultuous and scary and wonderful, like relationships are supposed to be. The fact that he's 16 years older than me doesn't seem to bother people as much as I would have imagined. I find myself saying "my boyfriend" the way I'd hoped I would ten years ago. Totally matter-of-factly, without that hesitation that comes with knowing you're somehow breaking some sort of golden rule. You know, the golden rule that says don't be a homo. And if you _must_ be a homo, find someone your own age. It feels really good to give that golden rule a golden shower.

I had my first serious bicycle accident in Boston and separated my shoulder, which will leave me "permanently scarred", insofar as scarring means a bump that you'll see if you know where to look. I may never throw a baseball faster than fifty miles an hour or shoulder press more than a middling weight. I think I'll probably survive, though.

I had two job interviews, one of which was successful. And now I feel like a working stiff of the most obnoxious caste, the overpaid whiner. For I am deeply unfond of my job - which consists of shuffling data from one format to another, making dumb mistakes, and fixing them. Sometimes I'm asked to make new features which destroy the work I did before, and I can't help but contemplate that if I were to stop working and let them figure out what they wanted before they asked me to do it, all parties would be more pleased. But then I wouldn't get paid, and we can't have that. I am a useless cog in a system that purports to value originality and ingenuity, but in fact values pubs. Both publications and publick houses. Whatever.

My bicycle got hit by a car, and then got stolen. Where by stolen, I mean I left it in Davis Square for a week while I visited Houston, and then couldn't remember where it was when I got back. My friends and housemates bought me a new bike. Then I found my old bike. Whatever brain cells remained from my numbing employment were very unhappy at this series of events, but ever so grateful for the friends that seem to think I have something to offer. Life goes on.

Jim is moving to Boston next year, which is both wonderful and scary. Part of me is terrified that things won't work out and I'll be responsible for destroying his career, but that part of me is being won over to the fact that things are probably going to work out. We aren't going to live together at first, which everyone agrees is a good idea. I have no idea where Jim is going to find a place to live, or how he can keep being a working potter, or where his gigantic lummox of a dog is going to establish his kingdom, but we'll figure it out. It's not as if I'll be busy next year.

My scholastic career has degenerated into a breath-holding marathon. I keep hoping that nobody will discover the fact that I don't know anything about my purported area of expertise, and that I can graduate and move on to greener pastures. I'm not sure what I want to do, but I'd really like a job that values my creativity, or at the very least, a supervisor with whom I can set a meeting time if I have to. My dissertation is supposed to be first-drafted in eight days. This seems at least mildly impossible, but I figure I'll just do my best and at least make some nice figures.

I can think of about a million metaphors to describe my thesis, but maybe the most apt is a compost heap. You put in a bunch of trashy data and unfortunate ideas, and try to brave the noxious fumes long enough to stir it. And if you can brave the foul stench long enough, and you keep stirring for months and months, then you can only smell a mild perfume of shit wafting out of what looks like dirt. My shit is starting to look like dirt - ordinary, vaguely clumpy, kind of smelly dirt. And lots of people are trying to convince me that my dirt is like gold, so valuable because now I can plant my career in it. But I don't actually want to spend the rest of my life trying to turn shit into gold.

I suspect that by the time I graduate, I will be terrified enough about my ensuing poverty that I won't care in the slightest what miserable job awaits me, but I can always hope. I'm jealous of Jim, who knows what his dreams are, and I want him to do whatever he needs to do to reach them. It's hard watching from the sidelines, wanting him to push harder, to pull out all the stops, to claw his way to the top. There's only one way to get to the top, and that's to have an bottomless faith in yourself, and a persistence that makes your bottomless faith look like a puddle of mudd.

I'm reminded of my friend John Joseph, who is now the peripherally almost-successful LaJohnJoseph, burlesque darling. La JJ won't stop until he's king of the queen of the kings, because he can't conceive of himself as a failure for long enough to fail. I can't think of a force more powerful than that sort of self-confidence. Well, maybe visa restrictions, but I'm sure he'll charm his way into Canada somehow. If Jim had half the gumption that LaJohnJoseph can muster, he'd be a pottery superstar. Then again, he'd probably also be naked and lipsyncing, which would work for Pook Toques, but might not sell handcrafted stoneware.

As far as my own self-esteem, well, it's complicated. I still feel Morrissey-esque in all of the bad ways, and I still feel like the only way to see the world is through a psilocybinned haze. Somehow, I've been a vegetarian for over a year, and a teetotaller for ten months. I'm not sure if either of these has made me a happier, purer or less grating person, but if nothing else, being a vegetarian does make me, as I mentioned, Morrissey-esque. I'm convinced that one day I'll just decide, "you know what, that was fun, but it's time for some carnitas," but that day has yet to come.

Come 2010 I will be a published author, if coauthoring a chapter in an academic book that nobody will read makes you a published author. I worked on it to help out a friend - I keep hoping someone will show up like that and ask me if I'll work at their company on something creative and unique. As it stands, my progression towards mediocrity continues.

Reviewing the music that I missed of 2009, I can't help but think that I didn't miss a whole fuck of a lot. 2008 was a much stronger year. As evidence for that, I present to you the Menahan Street Band, an afro-beat soul hybrid instrumental group that rocks my socks. I'm turning into an old curmudgeon, with a yen for the good old days. Fortunately, there is an ever growing cadre of soul revivalists waiting to turn my dreams into reality.

May your 2010's be full of soul, and may your dreams kick some serious fucking ass.

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Thursday, November 26th, 2009
5:19 am - Sex
The more I think about sex, the more important I think it is that we're all able to be respectful of each others' sexual desires. We're socialized to treat our sexual desires as something to be ashamed of, almost regardless of what they are. What this means to me is that because people don't generally have confidence in their sexual desires, they need a lot of support from their community. Furthermore, they need to chill out when it comes to criticizing others for things they don't have any control over. What people can control is how they act on their desires. This makes it really god damn unfortunate for people who have desires that are unattainable, but punishing people for their fantasies seems absolutely twisted.

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Saturday, November 7th, 2009
11:59 pm
I'm critical because I need to feel smarter than everyone all the time.  I think it's a defense mechanism because I was raised being taught that I was smarter than everyone else, and I didn't want the rest of the world to figure out that it might not be true.

I hate myself.

I need drugs to make me feel like not a critical asshole, which makes me feel at peace with the world.  So that I can give up this dumb identity of the lording academic hater in favor of one that is dumb and tripping.  Otherwise it's too hard, and it makes me think I'd rather just die.

I was also raised that you're an asshole to want to be smarter than everyone else.  And I feel like a super asshole.  I hate this about myself.

And how can you not hate me, world?  How can you tolerate one so arrogant and negatory?  I should spend more time being quiet.

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Tuesday, September 8th, 2009
7:10 pm
I never have time to write in my livejournal, which is mysterious, given that this morning I had time to oversleep, and yesterday, I had time to walk halfway across Boston and make a picnic in the park.  Unsurprisingly, both of these things are objectively superior to writing in livejournal.  Thus, you can imagine what I'm doing which is NOT objectively superior to livejournal, which is being at work.  I am not good at mustering focus when I don't feel like focusing.  The work I do is really pretty brain-numbing - it's like all of the worst aspects of programming rolled up into one, where you aren't ever really thinking and all of your time is making little adjustments and figuring out why things went wrong.  A lot of computational work is like that.  Oh, I'm off by 2%.  What formula did I mistype?  Bo-ring!

Anyway, now it's time for the gym and watching baseball, but since my bike got stolen, it means that I have to take the bus to get there.  It's a 10 minute bike ride.  Sometimes the bus can take like 40 minutes.  I am not enthusiastic, especially given that there is a baseball game.  Riding the bus gives me time to sharpen my zen skills, but since I get nauseous doing anything else, it makes for a pretty challenging way to spend my time.  It feels a little bit like a marathon trying to work at this job that is not very much fun, while working on my thesis which is not very much fun.  Hopefully when I'm done, people will wrap me in that post-marathon shiny silver blanket that you see, and I'll just start vomiting all over downtown Boston with joy.

Aside from feeling like most of my time is spent being guilty about not spending more time doing work, my mood has been pretty good.  If I were working on something fun and inspiring, I think I'd be downright happy.  Hopefully I can hold on to this mood and use it later when I'm really desperate.  And away we go!

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Sunday, August 2nd, 2009
3:42 am
Somewhere in the shuffle, I lost sight of who I was, who I am.  I am not a programmer.  I am not a scientist.  Those things all used to play second fiddle to me mostly just being a dude who listens to music.  I realize this because I am now listening to the music that's been sitting on my hard drive, disconnected from a functioning computer.  I'm not entirely sure why I made this idiotic decision, but man, what a mistake.  Being awake at 3am, listening to music, sitting in my underwear in front of a computer, this is basically me at my purest, at my most essential.

I had a good day today, almost too good.  One of those days where I can't help ponder depression, because it is so the opposite of how I feel right now.  I'm almost jittery at listening to music and being in front of my working desktop.  I want to give the whole world a big hug.  See?  Something is wrong.

My visit with Jim was good - we're such radically different people, but that's OK.  Somebody was asking me about his taste in music, which I liken to my taste in pots.  And they're both kind of irrelevant when it comes to something like our relationship.  The things that we have going for us are stronger than a love for anagama fired pottery or late sixties soul harmonies.  We both care a lot about each other, and we both like spending time with each other, and we both want to do each other.  And we're both committed to communicating as much as possible.  It's good.  Now the life questions on my agenda are how do I graduate, what do I do after I graduate, and how do I get to live in the same town as my man?

And then there are the little questions, like...what am I doing tomorrow?  And, am I going to be up until 4 am listening to music every night now?  Would that even be a problem?

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Monday, July 20th, 2009
10:55 pm
I'm so pooped.  My mom just left town, and then I cooked dinner for my co-op, for the sixth time in three weeks.

Cooking can be a stressful experience, and it's always a lot of work.  Most of this is because I insist on making ridiculously complicated meals at every opportunity.  Today, I tried to make Asian risotto out of sushi rice, left-over miso soup and peas from the garden.  Yesterday, I tried to make pizza out of artisan bread, homemade pesto, homemade red sauce, roasted vegetables, goat cheese and parmesan.

Of course, today the risotto curse struck, and half of my rice was overcooked and half was undercooked.  Epic fail!  And the flavor was good, but lacking some zing.  As it turns out, East Asian cuisine eludes me still.

My mom was in town from Saturday until today, which was good, but overstimulating, and on Wednesday, I go to Texas to see Jim.  My mom is good natured, but doesn't get my outlook on life sometimes.  Like how when Chandra said she had a vision of a horror movie taking place in an office, the most horrible thing I could think of was people working there 8 hours a day, 7 days a week for 20 years.  She'd actually just been thinking about a haunted office building where the telephone eats you, but my version terrifies me a little more.  If a telephone ate me, I'd be freaking out for a little while, but I'd probably come to peace with it.  There's something repulsive about the perpetuity of work, in particular when I'm not super enthusiastic about the perks of having money.

Then again, I'm flying to Houston on Wednesday, and typing on my laptop, so I should probably swish with some reality before I go to bed.  Which hopefully won't be too far from now.  Because I'm so pooped.

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Friday, July 17th, 2009
5:10 pm
Oh man, Friday afternoon is the hardest time to work EVER.  I'm at the gym, trying to work in the expansive lobby with free wifi, but it is not happening.  Well, now I'm debugging things for my paying job, but I quite doing research earlier today.  I need someone to say something like "you need to finish your thesis by Monday!" so that I freak my shit out and don't do anything else but work on it.  Except that I want to do other things.  Ugh.

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Monday, July 13th, 2009
10:49 pm
Today, I strolled through the Barnes & Noble with my officemates, bathing in the warm glow of procrastination, and indulging in my toddler-like attention span.  I read poetry, truly awful poetry, and poetry not generally considered to be truly awful, but not appealing to me nonetheless.  Poetry requires a slow, careful manner, taking time to absorb each word in full and consider how it plays out against its neighbors.  Still, there's something ludicrous about formatting your words in some goofy way and insisting that people read them carefully.

as if by
formatting things in another way
you
will find some
inherent meaning that would be
otherwise lost

Most of what I love about books and bookstores is the covers, and the obvious care that goes into making everything in them look so good.  Every aspect, from the font, to the spacing, to the cover, to the finish - the whole gestalt of a given book is immensely pleasing to me.

current mood: melancholy

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Monday, June 15th, 2009
3:30 am
I'm waiting for my poster to compile, frustrated because, well, it's frustrating having to wait five minutes for your gigantic figures to get moved into a super gigantic file.  I've spent the last three hours trying to make the tiny changes that my homies requested, and now I'm kind of over it.

I read on wikipedia that sleep deprivation can provide temporary respite from depression because it screws up your serotinergic system, just like most antidepressants.  I certainly get goofy as fuck when I stay up all night, but I also get kind of...um...tired?  And cranky?  Unclear.

What is clear is that I'm listening to a shitload of T-Pain for some reason, and feel like he's way more talented than your average hip-hop flavor of the month.  His production is trashy, but his lyrics are asinine, but when he goes nuts with the auto-tune and starts harmonizing like mad, it's kind of amazing.  Sometimes his cadence is spot on too, "Talk to me / I'll talk back / Let's talk money / I talk that" just sounds good.  And even though auto-tune is stupid, at least it's playing to my weakness, which is melody.  It's why chiptune is so good, it's got a million notes that sound really good together, and it's always, well, in tune.

I'm not saying T-Pain is magical or all that special, but if hip-hop has sunk to mean Soulja Boy and R. Kelly, then it's a big win.  I also just think the word "shawty" is really funny, which I think makes T-Pain a lot more palatable.  Actually, I kind of only like the one about the drank.  And the one about Shawty.  The one where he's drinking with the bartender is kind of shitty.

All T-Pain songs seem to include the following elements:

* T-Pain saying "T-Pain"
* T-Pain referencing how much money he has
* T-Pain finding a sexy babe
* T-Pain including product placement for Patron (tm)
* T-Pain hoping that his money impresses the sexy babe
* T-Pain saying shawty (thank god)

For this and potentially his appearance as Frylock on the Aqua Teen Hunger Force, T-Pain has been recognized as the 34th most influential individual on the planet.  Shawty!

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Saturday, June 13th, 2009
3:22 pm
Where am I in life?  I have a boyfriend, I live in a house full of pretty awesome people, I ride my bicycle around the city, I study at cafes, I do programming for autism researchers, and I'm working on my PhD thesis.  And yet, and yet.

I'm thinking of things all wrong.  I think I need to work out a Life Goal so that I can Make Progress towards it.  That's kind of a scary thought, especially since I never have any goals anyway, but the alternative seems to be shuffling kind of aimlessly and watching the world change.  I'm also convinced that there are people in the world who are really fulfilled by what they do.  I think it has to do with being satisfied with making little changes, and not getting overwhelmed by the huge stuff.

I don't know.  I think I need to spend more time working on things that I believe in, things that are bigger than myself.  Something's not right.

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Sunday, June 7th, 2009
10:41 am - Depression
Jim says my depression is on a cycle.  The last time I was super depressed was May 13, when I interviewed at Kaplan.  I wrote that I was super depressed before I got into my bike accident, on February 8.  And I'm super depressed now, which is June 7.

Full Moon
Logged DepressionLJ Entry
01/11/2009
01/08/2009"I wish I were inspired by somebody, or something, instead of feeling kind of sleepy and jaded.",
02/09/2009

02/08/2009 

"The tumult really began last Sunday, a day in which I was incredibly depressed."
03/11/200903/15/2009The last day I was visiting with Jim, I had a breakdown.  I didn't write about it, but it sure was memorable.
04/09/200904/07/2009"And now, it looks like I'm getting rabidly emo, spinning yarns of self-pity. But I am not! And I can see such protestations to the contrary are useless in the wake of "did you pay attention because you pitied me", and sentences in that vein."
05/09/2009 Not depressed!
06/07/200906/07/2009Last night I told Jim that I wanted to kill myself.

Ok.  It seems at the very least like full moons are a danger zone for depression for me.  Let's look at a few random full moons from the past few years and see how they measure up.

Full Moon
Logged DepressionLJ Entry
09/18/200509/20/2005"I have absolutely nothing to look forward to."
08/09/2006Not depressed!Deb: hee hee, you are in a good mood. :)
 me: we just filled our spots in the house with cool people, it's a nice day, i got low-energy lightbulbs for the bathroom.
  i feel accomplished, even if graduate school is a disaster!
 Deb: haha, avoid the big picture, that's my motto. the big picture is never pretty
7:27 PM me: i know. :(
11/24/200711/28/2007"It's been a really rough couple of days. I've been depressed before, obviously, but this was deeper and fuller than anything I've experienced before. I reached a point where I truly did not care what happened to anything."
07/07/200307/07/2003"It's been a little while since my last post, and I've been kind of steady losing interest in everything."

Oh man.  Full moon = danger zone.  Big time.  Although it seems like generally, lunar cycles don't seem to play a big role, for me, it would seem that the evidence dictates otherwise.  I should make an appointment with my psychiatrist and see what she has to say.

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Saturday, June 6th, 2009
3:24 am
I had a harrowing conversation with Jim in which he told me about how he wants to figure out his hourly wage for making certain types of pots, and I tried to impress upon him that I wouldn't focus on that just yet until that number's, you know, positive.  And he told me, as nicely as possible, to not be such a downer, that he has it under control, and that he doesn't need me to critique his business sense.

Can you guess what my response to this is?

Obviously, it's not good.  I'm just thinking, you're right, I'm a dickhead, I shouldn't say anything else.  And I've been thinking about how I wish I were never born ever since.  Obviously, this is me overreacting, it just pisses me off because it's such a dipshit problem to have to deal with.  I'd rather I just never dealt with it ever, or anything else.

So, of course, I texted Jeff to confirm that other people wish they'd never been born, but, ironically, I sent it to the wrong Jeff, and felt more strongly than the moment just before that I wished I'd never been born.

It's hard for me to take criticism like that.  It's one thing if you hate me and everything I stand for, but if you want me to stop doing something that comes naturally for me, it makes me question my validity as a person.  I feel like shit for bringing my boyfriend into this maelstrom of nonsense that is my psychoses.  I deserve to get broken up with hardcore.

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Sunday, May 31st, 2009
10:39 pm - Music
If you like music, you need to be using blip.  It's a streaming playlist that you create using youtube, imeem, and anything else on the internet.  It is superb.  You can listen not only to yours, but to those of others as well.

If you're asking, what would discojesus be listening to, the answer is blip.fm/discojesus.  Or, quite possibly, my thusfar favorite blipper, blip.fm/cargoculte.  You should all make blip accounts and I will listen to them.

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