A Sign Of Things To Come

I think the last 12 hours are a great benchmark for what my life will be like in general in future, assuming I make a living from writing. Have simple dinner. Get sick. Take fist full of pills. Sleep. Wake up at 3am. Contemplate dreams, write down ideas from them. 4am, Watch casablanca while crocheting another scarf. Get inspired. Write more of my novel for an hour or two. Make coffee. Watch frasier. Write down idea for another story. Make more coffee. …and the day has only just begun. Or ended. Or however the hell you want to consider my sense of time. …I think this new life will be fun. Strange, but fun. I am finding real joy in getting work done at last, and repeatedly. I am excited to take this great leap into making a career. I know if I dont, Ill regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but soon, and for the rest of my life. …I really think I can turn things around. Thank you to all who have supported me and continue to do so. Im excited to see how far I can go. Here’s looking at you, kid.

Ah, our glorious medical system at work…

So, I only had to wait 22 minutes on hold to be redirected to wait on someone else, who informed me that zi could then wait another hour, come in to schedule a same-day appointment, for which I would simply have to wait there until the first available doctor which would happen “within the following 3 hours.”

Just to have someone see that, yes, I do have a minor ear infection, and give me antibiotics.

A total of roughly 4 hours of waiting for a 90 second appointment.

…not to sound bitchy, but, this doesnt strike me as the most efficient system.

Reflections On Calm

So, I find emotions, on the whole, very interesting. I’m sure I’ll write more articles about the others at some future date, but for the moment, I’m going to write about calm/distress.

Ever since I was first introduced to the concept of metaphysics on the whole, and ideas like the combinatory nature of mind, body, and soul, it has made me wonder. Essentially, which part of that triune is… me. Well, some would say ‘me’ is the combination of all three. Obvious example being girlfriend cheats on me, this makes me sad and thus my soul is damaged (or however you’d like to put it, since of the three, its… well not even proven to exist but if nothing else, the least studied) and from that damage, my brain releases hormones of sadness, and my body in turn has physiological reactions such as upset stomach, tears, and so on. But which bit causes which? How can you be sure?

This gets all the more interesting when I consider situations such as my sickness (intense nausea, specifically) causes anxiety in me. Because I am frankly stressed out about being sick for 5 straight goddamn years. So, some chemical reaction that causes nausea also causes stress. body, to mind. then that stress makes me angry at myself or the crappy cards I’ve been dealt by fate or what have you, which seems a more soul-based reaction. Conversely, a panic attack, which I cannot control, can make happy peaceful me into furious, terrified and upset me. A change in my mind causes a change in my very personality, in my soul. And that panic attack, because god is a massive asshole, also causes intense nausea. A body reaction.

….Isn’t that interesting. An uroboros of blame, of cause and effect, of ‘wtf?’ Forever circling and so hard to pin point exactly what causes what, or connects to what. I find it fascinating that this… strange connection exists. What does it mean, and why is it so?

I also find it interesting how… well, an example would be easier than a long winded explanation. Before mental illness got to the severity level it is now, previously I had practiced calm and emotional control well enough to be terrified or furious, take a moment, and cleanse myself of those feelings. I could WILL myself down from rage or fear or distress.

…Now, how interesting it is that I can be quite content and no matter how much my brain or soul or whatever ‘me’ is huffs and puffs, I will have an anxiety attack. Every trick I have ever learned, decades of practice, and some goddamn… thing is messing with my zen thing, man. I am powerless in the front of chemistry. But ho! Chemistry to the rescue! I pop a few miligrams of specially crafted chemicals and 15-50 minutes later, I turn into spock mixed with the dallai lamma. Calm, serene, almost nothing can get me riled up at all, even when people are screaming and insulting. Which … I have to admit I find darkly humorous since that level of calm is what I have always aspired to, but from within, not from pills.

I guess I don’t have a point per se, simply to share how remarkable I find… existing. The fact that chemicals can fundamentally change how I perceive reality, perceive emotions, perceive people, is frankly amazing. Don’t you think? And conversely, that choosing to remain calm can change the chemicals in my body and brain.

Really does make you wonder where exactly the ‘me’ that is me… is.

Seems like it ought to be in the brain, right. But if my stomach can cause seratonin imbalances which cause emotional imbalances, and I am the sum of my emotions and thoughts, well, then my stomach has a voice in the choir of ‘me’ just as much as my brain. Or what about when my heart goes nuts during a panic attack. just a big squishy pumping thing for blood can cause emotional and mental changes. Isn’t that remarkable? How strange.

I simply wanted to share some “huh. fancy that.” thoughts with you today.  Get ya thinkin.

To the future:

So, I thought I could give you a heads up on the plan here. The plan will be implemented as soon as possible, but frankly severe health problems have to take precendence. I work hard but Im not willing to literally work myself to death yet.

So, the plan is to do a couple things.

1: Culture Corner.
Release daily (or hopefully as I get better even more frequently) regular articles that Im currently naming Culture Corner. These articles will be on… culture. Over my life I have dedicated myself to a fanatical study of culture, I adore culture, so after asking my closest friends and people who know me the best: “what the hell can I write about daily? I don’t know HOW to blog!” The idea was tossed around that since in real life, people really enjoy hearing me talk and engaging with me about cultural, in general, then write articles akin to whatever you’d talk to some cute girl at the coffee shop or grumpy old man at the gas station about.

So, I’ll be hitting… all kinds of subjects. Dance. Movies. Story telling as an art. Poetics. Sculpture, tv shows, fashion, video games, drama, comedy, philosophy, speculation, observation and just plain sharing things I find cool and hope you do too.

I hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing comments and questions in the near future!

2: fiction
I will continue writing stories, of all styles sorts and genres. I will post some here totally free, and the rest on kindle for about as cheap as I can make them, and as often as I can make them.

Now, I am telling you what to expect, and I hope you can look forward to it. But I want to resolve my health crisies first so that it isnt an empty promise where I post thrice and then go silent for months again. I feel that is only fair to you, dear reader.

So, I really do look forward to providing a ton of great content, Id love to hear any suggestions for articles you may have, and otherwise just… wish me well as I try to get through this roughest health patch.

Cheers,
Skull

Vox: a problem to be examined.

So… here is an interesting problem I am musing on.

First, a quick overview. 1: I would very much like to write interesting, daily–or more than daily–articles for readers to enjoy. 2: What to write about? And how should it sound? 3: Several people pointed out that since A: in real life, all my life, people far and wide of all types have genuinely enjoyed talking to me because I am apparently quite good at and engaging in conversation. B: given that, just write articles as though you were talking 1-on-1 with a person, and people will probably enjoy it. 3: I…have a myriad of mental health issues, some of which pills and therapy have helped and some of which not. However, about a dozen experts and just associates have recommended journalling as a good help. And I suppose 4: part of trying to put my life back together is becoming more vocal and communicative on the whole.

So… to that end, I am having a problem of finding a Voice. So, I can see the wisdom in the articles bit: people like to talk to me, but since I am trying to talk to everyone/no one in particular, how do I accomplish that? By writing as though I were just being rather long-winded at someone in conversation. It seems fairly reasonable, and at this point all I can really do is give it a shot and see how it turns out.

However… the journal thing.

I have tried keeping a journal about 30-40 freakin times over my life, and every single damn time except once (see ‘candlelit journal’) I have stared at the page for an hour, then tried to write something, reread it, loathed it, and promptly given up this stupid hobby.

Which, in a way, is odd, since some of my favorite games like Bioshock, System Shock, aaand tons of general mystery things from shows to games to novels almost always involve learning about a suspect via journals, trying to find clues via journals… hell I know much of the history of the world that we know we only know because people kept journals.

…but I just cant seem to do it. I am in general quite happy to talk (some might even say I dont shut up) but somehow a journal always feels… ridiculous and… hollow. “But you write stories” I can hear you object, “and youre not talking to anyone there.” Technically true, but I either have characters talking to each other or I am sort of talking to the universe and explaining a situation, kinda like telling a friend an anecdote of my life, only in a story it isnt my life, its made up. So I genuinely don’t know HOW to write a journal.

…now you could argue this right here is almost a journal. Sort of, I suppose. But really, this is a stream of consciousness, and also since the vast majority of blogging is basically journalling, not the ‘articles’ I prefer to write I figured hell, maybe one of my readers might actually have some insight or advice.

….heck, Ive even tried to jazz it up, making the tone like a Starfleet Captain’s Log. Because role playing/acting is fun. Buuut it works for the first few sentences and then I run into the same problem of I dont know what it should sound like. Who am I talking to, myself? Seems ridiculous, I can do that in my head anytime I wish. Okay, an imaginary friend? Again ridiculous, and again, I can already have a full blown discussion with imaginary people, I do it all the time as daydreaming/story building. Then maybe im talking to whomever might read the journal, after my death or during some police raid or in my biography a century later or …whatever? Then… okay, but I feel I then have to tailor the tone to explain everything and it just gets exhausting and I cant be honest about things, and the whole point of a journal, as I understand it, is to allow yourself to be more open and honest.

But I do that already, mostly. So I dont see the point.

Hmm.

Further on the point of Vox: my changing tone in my stories, and trying so hard to get my muse back and write as profusely and profoundly as I used to. …that one is still a mightily stuck sticking point. …actually dont know what more to say about that point here besides that essentially I want to do the Team America World Police Secret Signal to express my emotions about this frustrating issue. So picture that.

Moving on then, I suppose Im not entirely sure why I made this post. I am writing it while extremely… unwell, and I dont really even know who my readers are anymore.

Maybe this is journalling? Just… shouting into the void.

And maybe someone will hear? Maybe you’ll hate it, be bored, love it, I have no freaking idea.

And maybe no one will.

A quote comes to mind. “I can never figure out if The Runners are running towards something, or away from something.” “Does it matter? Sometimes it just feels good to run.”

End log.