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Maybe DON’T wake me up when September ends

I wish that I had brought the lapcom back with me to the house yesterday evening after work.  Alas, I did not, and so I am writing this post on the “smart”phone like some Zillennial.  It’s annoying.

Although, I want to be clear, putting the word “smart” in “scare quotes” as I did just now is merely rhetorical.  It’s snarkiness.  It is a true fact that modern cellular phones are indeed quite smart compared to all prior generations of phones.

They’re smart compared to most prior generations of home computers.  They’re smart compared to many prior iterations of the operating computers on board real space ships, for crying out loud.

And if rumors are correct, they’re smarter than our current strategic defense computers.  Though that could be false intelligence, just a negative rumor about the military, because such rumors are enticing and so spread easily.  I don’t know.

I’m just annoyed to be so susceptible to using the phone to write, simply because its presence is convenient, even though I very much prefer to write on the lapcom, or on any other real (as opposed to virtual) keyboard.

Of course, I use the phone for many other things that I previously would have done with something else.  Calculator functions are one of those things, and I have no complaints about being able to use the smartphone for them.

It’s quite convenient, though I can do relatively simple mental arithmetic pretty well without any calculator at all.  Still, it doesn’t take much for it just to make more sense to use a calculator, because the way it processes arithmetic is more direct and logical than repurposing a general biological intelligence to be able to do arithmetic via relatively elaborate algorithms.

You can use an LLM to multiply two three-digit numbers together, and it may even do better than most people would do at the task‒I don’t honestly know‒but it would be a waste of that machine’s capabilities, when you could just tap on your calculator app, or even just use an old-fashioned physical calculator.

You don’t use a VTOL fighter jet to go to the corner store for a candy bar, after all.  I mean, it would be pretty cool to see someone do it once, just for a stunt, but it’s not a sensible way to go for a snack.  Heck, it’s not really sensible to drive to the corner store, unless you have some physical infirmity that makes it necessary.  In general, walking is better.  You’ll not only get there nearly as fast as (and sometimes faster than) by driving, you’ll also be making yourself ever so slightly stronger and healthier because of the exercise.

A bicycle would probably also be a sensible way to go.  But it has the disadvantage that you need to park your bike and chain it up (unless you live somewhere far less petty-theft-prone than where I live), and in general bikes require more maintenance than feet do, or at least they require additional maintenance.

Anyway, I’ve had my troubles with bicycles, so I have a hard time talking them up, though I recognize that they have many advantages over motor vehicles and over plain ambulation.  My difficulty with bicycles is one of the many things about myself that frustrates me.  Still, there are many places that one can walk where bicycles or other wheeled vehicles are not going to work.  There are reasons why the Incas, for instance. didn’t really use any wheeled vehicles.

Well, enough of that weird little set of mutual tangents.  It’s the last day of September today, which means tomorrow will be the first day of October.  That’s just the way that works.  I’ve noted before, recently, that October is my favorite month, but the reasons for that favoritism have eroded over time.

Birthdays and holidays become just reminders of the fact that things are worse for me than they’ve ever been in the past; I have no one with whom to share any of them.  And the notion of changing leaves and bright autumn colors is just a cruel joke in south Florida, as is the notion of weather cool enough to require a windbreaker.

Whatever.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m sick of all this bullshit, anyway.  I would say it’s a waste of my time, but my time is wasted no matter what I do, so that’s not a good point.  But it’s also a waste of mental energy and effort, for something that does almost nothing for anyone, if it does that much.

I need just to shut all this shit down, and I don’t just mean the blog.  I’ve been gradually phasing out most of the relatively productive and creative things I do, though that hasn’t been deliberate or conscious.  It’s just happened, like I’m petering out.

Of course, given that “peter” is a word derived from the Greek for rock*, saying I’m petering out could be construed as meaning that I’m rocking out (dude).  But, of course, I am doing no such thing.

No, I’m just winding down, I think.  It can’t happen too soon, can it?

*Thus Jesus’s famous play on words when he said to Peter, “Upon this rock I shall build my church” or whatever the specific wording was.

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I haven’t had a drink or two, but I don’t care

It’s Tuesday now, the 29th of September—the 2nd to last day of the month—and I am writing this post on my lapcom, for the second time in three days.  Well, okay, it’s four days if you count Sunday, but with respect to blog posts, I don’t count that.

It seems that the last time I wrote a blog post on the lapcom on the 29th of September was back in 2022, based on the saved files on the lapcom.

I know, I know, I need to slow down with all this craziness or some of you readers are going to have trouble with your blood pressure or asthma or generalized anxiety or what have you.  It’s all so very…exciting, isn’t it?  Sometimes you have to step back and take a slow breath, just to keep yourself from feeling overwhelmed.

Anyway, I’m writing this on the lapcom today because I slept in the office last night.  It wasn’t any bad thing, though, don’t worry about that.  I just stayed late in the office doing a Discord call with my youngest so we could watch a couple of episodes of Doctor Who together.  That’s definitely a good thing, at least from my point of view.

But it did get to be late enough that there was no real point in heading back to the house for the night just to come back here in the morning.  It’s expensive, relatively speaking, it’s time-consuming, and frankly there’s nothing very interesting about the house.  It’s only real benefit is the shower (but I’m pretty good at doing “bird baths” in the office bathroom).  It’s not particularly comfortable nor welcoming nor personal.  It certainly doesn’t feel like home to me.

I guess the cats will have to scrounge a bit for their food for the extra 24 hours, but they’re cats.  They’re good at stuff like that, believe me.  They’ll be fine.

So, yeah, anyway, I slept on the floor on the office again, using my hoody as a blanket and the backpack as a pillow, and it was fine.  I slept no worse than I usually do (though admittedly, I didn’t really sleep any better than usual, either).

And that’s about all that can be said about my life.  I go to work, I go back to the house, I write this blog on workdays, I watch YouTube videos which are becoming increasingly uninteresting on average (though there are intermittent ones that are good).  I’m reminded of the line from the Beatles song I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party:  “There’s nothing for me here, so I will disappear.”

There really is nothing in my daily life that’s worth sticking around to experience.  Only things like watching Doctor Who with my youngest over Discord are of any real interest to me.

I suppose writing this blog is somewhat interesting.  Certainly, I keep doing it (so far).  I’m not sure whether that’s particularly good or not terribly good or what.  I suppose that depends very much on one’s criteria, doesn’t it?  After all, for something to be sensibly called “good”, one must first lay out one’s standards, because goodness very much depends on the purpose for which one is evaluating something.

A particular car may be a very good car, but might be lamentably bad at being a paperweight, and even worse at being a dining room centerpiece for a dinner party.  And someone can be quite a good doctor but a terrible administrator of a medical practice.  And of course, one can be a good singer-keyboardist but a terrible physicist.  Or one can be good at both, like Brian Cox (the physicist, not the actor).

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that goodness must be good according to some relatively objective and coherent measure, otherwise it’s just a vague adjective (or noun in the case of “goodness”).  As far as I’m aware, there’s no large-scale, global, ultimate measure of Goodness, despite what various religions and other dogmas might claim.

I’ve yet to encounter such a notion that’s even approaching coherence.  And goodness really ought to be coherent, if it’s claiming to be something universal and crucial.  But the real moral world is messy, even when compared to the world of myths and fairy tales, so there are no clear-cut absolute criteria.  Such things are just not terribly useful.

Maybe usefulness is the criterion that should be applied in the real world when speaking of goodness.  And usefulness implies a purpose, which implies some kind of criteria.  Maybe we would all be better off if we stopped worrying about Good and Evil with capital letters as if they were titles or offices or forces of nature.  The laws of physics themselves apply locally; maybe we’d be better off with a slightly utilitarian approach that evaluates goodness versus badness relating to the specific, local circumstances.

I don’t know, I haven’t thought all this through very carefully; I’m just thinking out loud as it were.  So don’t expect me to have arrived at some finished outcome, some theorem or system of thought.  I’m just spit balling as they say, or brainstorming, or…well, thinking out loud, like I said.  Though, of course, this is not literally out loud, unless you count the very faint sound of the keys being pressed as I type.

All right, that’s enough.  I’m tired, so I’m not going to push it too much to try to say anything profound.  I hope you all have a good day today, on this penultimate day in September of 2026 (AD or CE).  You might as well have a good day, by whatever criteria you measure such goodness, if you can.

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“When I try to get through on the telephone to you…”

Well, it’s Monday again, and as I foresaw and predicted, I am writing a blog post.  Yes, indeed, as Pink said, I’ve got electric light, and I’ve got second sight‒I’ve got amazing powers of observation.

It’s not all that impressive when you stop and think about the fact that I’m predicting (after foreseeing) my own actions, over which I presumably have some degree of control.  Such control is far from complete, but for stuff like this, it’s fairly effective.

I’m going to try to keep this post short today, mainly because I know people don’t seem to like it when I get too negative and depressed and morbid, but that’s very much how I feel this morning.  So, I can’t really express my feelings without bringing discomfort to my readers.  That feels churlish to me, and anyway, it doesn’t seem to do me or anyone else any good at all.

That’s no real surprise.  It doesn’t seem to be in my nature to do or to be good; it requires specific effort for me to do good in the world.  It certainly doesn’t appear to be my natural inclination.

Then again, the argument could be made that, because I choose to try to do good (at least sometimes) that means I am good by nature.  After all, if one is simply inclined to do good, or at least to try to do good, then one will simply tend to do so.  That’s good, of course, and such people are welcome.  But it’s not that impressive.  Like a very tall person easily getting something down from a high shelf for a shorter compatriot, it’s good and helpful, but it’s not that impressive, and it’s certainly not heroic.

Whereas if a person has a tendency to be angry and to wish people ill and to become easily frustrated and to desire to lash out, but they don’t do those things because they feel it would be wrong…well, that’s got a certain degree of admirability, since it requires conscious effort to restrain one’s impulses.  I’m not saying that it’s particularly impressive; almost everyone restrains a great many impulses in order to exist in society.  But it is something that requires at least a modicum of effort.

Okay, well, enough of that nonsense.

The point is, I’m going to try not to dwell too much on my depression and self-destructive thoughts, because it doesn’t do anyone any good, including me.  I’ve yet to receive any significant help from anyone or anything because of it, and though certainly I receive some well-meaning suggestions or thoughts or what have you, most of them are things I’ve already considered or tried.

So, it’s not doing me any good, and it’s not doing anyone else any good, as far as I can tell.  I’m just getting steadily worse over time, though that may not be obvious from the outside.  But the fact that I neither do music nor write any fiction any more is telling.  In fact, I don’t really do anything creative or artistic or scientific or whatever.  I just exist most of the time.  And it’s hard to see why I bother.

Ah, well, it probably doesn’t help that I had a particularly poor night’s sleep last night, even for me.  I’m already mentally exhausted, and I’m just starting the work week.

I did get some decent walking in yesterday‒about five and a half miles total.  Fortunately, I’m not having any negative consequences from that so far, and I would have expected to have them by now if they were coming.

Of course, my various chronic problems continue, including my chronic pain, my chronic depression and I guess my ASD (it’s congenital, so I guess that makes it chronic, in a sense).

Anyway, again, enough of this.  Even though I said I would try not to do so, I am dwelling on negative things, not just in my head but here on my blog.  I can only apologize.  I guess that’s one of the dangers of “stream of consciousness” writing.

It doesn’t really matter.  I hope you all have a good day and a good week.  October starts this week already, and it’s normally my favorite month, but there’s nothing really to which I look forward this time around.  It’s just blah.

Meh, whataya gonna do?

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There are more things dreamt of in your philosophy…

Well, you can’t in good faith claim that I didn’t warn you.  I told you yesterday that I would likely be writing a blog post today, because I am working today, which I am.

I am writing this on my mini lapcom, because I happen already to be at the office, and the lapcom is at the office, and I might as well enjoy making use of it, right?  As I’ve often noted, it’s much easier for me to write on the lapcom than on the smartphone.  That often means that I write too much when I use the lapcom, but today I think it less likely than usual, since I’m already quite tired and my energy is not at its best.

As I noted, I’m already in the office this morning.  I spoke with my sister on the phone yesterday evening, from the office, starting nearly right after I finished work.  We spoke for quite a while, and by the time we hung up, it was rather late—not crazily so, but still, it made little sense to go all the way back to the house, to try to get to sleep, to try to stay asleep, then to get up and come to the office again.

It’s not as though I had anything to do at the house other than put out some food for the neighborhood cats, and they’ll be fine until this evening; cats are pretty durable and adaptable.

So, yeah, here I am in the morning in the office, having slept on the floor, using the hoody that I keep in my backpack as a blanket of sorts (and using the backpack as a pillow).  It was a surprisingly good sleep, all things considered, though I wouldn’t call it good overall on an objective level.  I think, relative to what many people do, my sleep was rather poor, but that’s the norm* for me, anyway.

I will not of course be working tomorrow, and I will therefore not be writing a blog post tomorrow, though I expect to write one on Monday (exclusis improvisis).  That time will take of itself, however.  There’s no need to dwell on it at the moment.

I’m not sure on what to dwell, however.  I guess I can note that it’s been 24 days since the last time I wrote a blog post on the lapcom, which I can tell because I save them by date.  That’s a fairly long stretch.  And yet, it’s so much easier and more natural, more pleasant, for me to write using the lapcom.

It feels like an extension of me, like something almost directly connected to my nervous system.  It feel much more a part of me than the phone does, a fact which may be slightly ironic.  After all, I have the phone with me most of the time, and I read books on it—that’s by far its greatest strength—and use it to check the weather, and to send texts that are related to work and other matters.  It’s also my alarm clock, and in a pinch I can use it for emails (though that’s never very wieldy compared to a lapcom or desktop computer).

Okay, whew, I’d better slow down and calm down, so I don’t overexcite all of you with this gripping blog post!  I would hate to cause someone to have an increased risk for a heart attack.

Well…there are people for whom I think a heart attack would be good, for everyone else if not for the one who has the infarction.  There simply are people who cause a great deal of harm and suffering to those around them; even if nonfatal, a heart attack would likely take the wind out of their sails as it were.

I’m sure you could all name political figures and business people and even entertainers—let alone people you know in your own life—who would benefit the world by being significantly sickened or weakened by a health crisis, or even killed by one.

It’s not evil to wish for the ill health of highly detrimental people, but it may not be great for your own psyche to dwell too much on such things.  This is partly because wishes don’t do anything in and of themselves, and also because such negative dwelling is almost certainly not good for your own mental health.

It’s better to approach things with a Stoic sort of attitude:  you cannot directly change other people, and you cannot change the laws of nature nor most of the circumstances therein, so dwelling on them (except when literally, practically useful) is only going to tend to be futile and frustrating.  Instead, work on making yourself better, on not letting things bother you that are deeply unimportant, and focus on those things over which you do have some control.  There are fewer of them than you might imagine.

I’m being fairly vague about that, I know, but I don’t know what the specific thoughts and feelings and focuses are that might be optimal for your life, and it would be foolish of me to pretend that I did know such things.  The onus is on you, unfortunately.  That wasn’t my decision, it’s just the way things are.

In closing, based on the preceding paragraphs, I’ll just note that I suspect that people in general, and younger people more specifically, would do better if instead of all the therapizing that’s being done nowadays, they did more philosophizing.  I think studying and discussing philosophy, especially things like Stoicism and Buddhism and maybe Taoism and Existentialism, would be far more conducive to mental health, and might even enhance mental strength in developing minds.

And all minds are developing, despite what you might think, for as long as the lights are on.  You might as well make the best you can of it, whatever “best” might mean in your case.

Have a good day and a good remainder of your weekend, please.

*Norm!!

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Birthdays, Holidays, Mythology, Vectors, Maxwell, and a Beatles song…

It’s Friday again, the 25th of September.  There are only three more shopping months until Newtonmas.

Yes, I know that it isn’t strictly accurate to celebrate Newton’s birth on “Christmas”, because Newton was born on December 25th according to the Julian calendar.  The Gregorian calendar had been invented already; England just hadn’t adopted it (partly because it was a Catholic invention).

But Newton’s birthday was a lot closer to December 25th than Jeshua bin Josephus’s was.  According to what I’ve read and heard from scholars who specialize in such things, the Nazarene was born sometime in the summer.  Oh, and also, there was no census requiring men to return to their towns of birth ever promulgated by Caesar Augustus, not according to any single official record of any kind.  The author of that gospel just threw that in to provide an excuse to have Jesus born in Bethlehem, so that his birth could comply with certain messianic prophecies.

Yes, the so-called fulfillment of prophecies that is used as “evidence” that Jesus was the messiah was added after the fact, by people who never knew Jesus, writing decades (or longer) after his death.  This shouldn’t surprise anyone, really.  Religions in general don’t tend to be very coherent and consistent; they just sort of happen by a kind of memetic evolution, and they are made of various hodgepodges of prior myths and folklore and post-hoc shoe-horning into supposed prophecies.  They bear no hallmarks of having actually been created and/or delivered by supernatural entities of any kind, let alone omniscient ones.

I certainly don’t think any deity is responsible for the fact that today is Friday, so I will not be thanking one, whether God or Brahma or Amaterasu or Quetzalcoatl or Odin or Jupiter* or Whatever.  Also, I am scheduled to work tomorrow, so this is not the end of my work week, anyway.

I’m relatively pleased to inform you that I’ve been reading a decent book for the past few days (not continuously, ha ha).  It’s called Vector, and it’s about (oddly enough) vectors‒the mathematical entities that have magnitude and direction, among other things.

It follows the lives and insights and advances of people like Hamilton, who brought us quaternions (which are very cool) among other vector insights, and various other people who developed the mathematics and science of vectors (we will be getting to tensors and so on before long).

Currently I’m in the midst of the discussion of Maxwell and his astounding development of the principles of electrodynamics, including his recognitions that electricity and magnetism would, if oscillating, produce a self-propagating wave that would travel at precisely the “speed of light”, by which he deduced that light is in fact an electromagnetic wave.  (This accomplishment is one of the most impressive in the history of science, and it is a tragic injustice that Maxwell’s name is not as well-known as those of Newton and Darwin and Einstein and Schrodinger and so on.)

Indeed, the very invariance of the speed of light as revealed by Maxwell’s equations was one of the things that led Einstein to postulate that the speed of light is an absolute constant in all reference frames, leading to Special Relativity (and eventually, even more impressively, to General Relativity, which will make use of and extend the vectors and tensors and matrices to which we’re gradually being introduced).

It’s very exciting.  Honest, it is.

And, of course, there’s the very cool fact that quaternions ended up being useful for describing the curious properties of particle “spin”, including the fact that, for spin ½ particles (which are “fermions”), if you want to rotate it and get back to the state in which you started, you have to rotate 720 degrees, not 360.

If this seems counterintuitive, just think about a Mobius** strip.  Are you thinking about it?  Good.  That should distract you nicely from trying to grasp the nature of fermion spin.

Kidding!  It helps to show you how the notion is not something deeply bizarre or seemingly nonphysical.  With a simple Mobius strip, going around 360 degrees will land you on the opposite side*** of the paper from the place where you started; you need another full trip around 360 degrees to return to where you began.

I’ve occasionally thought that it would be fun to set up an art gallery or other kind of museum with a single “circular” corridor that crosses over itself (by going up or down a level gradually) and that requires visitors to go around twice to get back to the entrance.  It wouldn’t really be difficult to pull off, and it would be much better (I think) than the Guggenheim layout.  Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to commission such a gallery, so I’ll leave that as an exercise for the reader.

Don’t let me down.

Okay, well, that’ll about do it for today.  I should be writing a post tomorrow, so if that’s something that pleases you, then you can safely and reasonably anticipate being pleased, exclusis improvisis.  In the meantime, I hope you have a good day.

*Though the planet Jupiter deserves some thanks for helping make life on Earth more possible and stable by sweeping up a lot of the stray space debris that might otherwise have slammed much more often, or much more persistently, into Earth.  But, being a planet, Jupiter doesn’t require thanks or praise to do what it does.  It just requires physics.

**He shows up in the book, too.

***Though the Mobius strip has only one side, really.  And a Klein bottle has a continuous, single surface encompassing its inner and outer aspects (i.e., the inside and outside are the same), and crosses through itself without breaking that surface.  At least, it does that in 4 spatial dimensions.  Our three dimensional Klein bottle models are shadows, if you will, of a true Klein bottle, much as a drawing of a Mobius strip is just a shadow of such a strip.

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Wouldst thou blog that which thou esteem’st the ornament of life?

Hello and good morning.

It’s Thursday.

TTFN

Ha ha.  I’m just kidding.  It would be absurd for me to let you all off that easily.  Not that you don’t deserve to be let off easily; you probably do.  Whatever “deserve” means.

But it rarely matters in this world what you “deserve” or think that you deserve or have been told that you deserve.  Nature, physics, biology, the universe‒they don’t notice anything at all about what you might “deserve”.  They just do what they do, and if you don’t want to be ground into nothingness before your time, you’d better learn to surf on that chaos.

The notion of people deserving things has always been a bit strange to me.  It is nebulous and ill-considered in almost all situations.  What does it mean, for instance, for someone to deserve love?  How can you deserve something that is dependent on the judgment and emotion of another person or people?  You can’t have an innate right to another person’s esteem.

You can have a right, of sorts, to be left alone (as long as you’re not infringing other people’s rights) but not necessarily to be supported or admired or rewarded or what have you.

I suppose you can have a legal right, for instance, to health care (in principle), depending on the laws where you are.  But you can’t exactly have a moral right to it, because somebody‒a lot of people, really‒has to provide it, both the substance and the processes, the knowledge and the infrastructure.  You cannot morally own another person’s effort without a freely chosen mutual exchange for it.  Otherwise, you’re just enacting a form of slavery (which you’re only willing to do precisely because the service being provided is so important).  Think about the moral illogic there.

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve come to the pretty strong suspicion that “universal” healthcare is generally very good for a society.  It helps make the life of those in that society more stable and more worth living, and I think it tends to help people be more creative and productive, ceteris paribus.  And it can be made a legal right, as I said.

But it cannot be a moral right, and it’s important for people to remember that.  Because when people start feeling truly entitled, they tend to become unreasonable, forgetting that in the real universe, everything requires energy and effort and understanding, and there is always some tradeoff somewhere.

Again, I want to reiterate, I think universal healthcare is generally a good use of resources, one that has a sort of money multiplier effect on a society, at least when administered well (which is not a low bar to clear).  But, again, it cannot be a moral right.  It has to be paid for by somebody, somewhere.  You don’t have a moral right to a particular bridge being built, say, or to cable TV and internet access, or to a luxury car…or to any car at all, really.

How could people have an innate right to a car, for instance?  What would that mean for the billions and billions of people who lived before cars ever existed?  What about air travel?

Heck, what about space travel?  In the future, space travel might become necessary for most people to be able to work, rather as cars are in some places and situations now.  Will that imply that there is and has always been a moral right to space travel?  Have we all had our rights systematically thwarted by the tyranny of linear time and causality?  Whom do we sue?

I think we should dispense with the notion of “deserving” things in general, except specific performance or products for which one has paid through mutual, freely chosen exchange with someone else.  In other words, if you made a contract and you held up your end of the bargain, it makes sense to say that you deserve for the other party to hold up their end of the bargain.

Everywhere else, the notion of deserving things tends to be subjective and self-serving, and it tends to turn people into entitled assholes who appear to think of themselves as the center of the universe.

Of course, physically, each person is the center of their own visible universe.  Congratulations, you are experiencing the phenomenon of a 3-dimensional horizon.  It happens to us all.  You are not special.

Well, you are special in some senses, of course.  You have various specific, local aspects and attributes that are not exactly duplicated anywhere within our visible universe.  This makes you unique.  Which, ironically, makes you just like everybody else.

Dash was right; saying that everybody is special is just another way of saying that no one is.  And, in fact, except from the highly parochial, anthropocentric, myopic, terrified point of view of the typical human, no one is special‒not from “outside” anyway.

Still, it’s okay to think that the ones you love are truly the most wonderful people in the universe, because‒in the universe of your mind and experience‒they are.  Unless you don’t think they are, but that’s a different sort of problem.

Perhaps one of the biggest problems with the concept of “deserving” things is that it is a powerful impediment to feelings of gratitude.  And that’s pretty pathetic, both for those around the ungrateful ones and for the ungrateful ones themselves.  If you think you’re entitled to many things, you’re likely to be miserable, because you’re unlikely to get all those things to which you feel entitled, and you’ll be prone to make the people around you miserable, too.

You don’t deserve to read my blog.  And I don’t deserve to have you read it, nor to have you like and share it (as in my song, below).  But I am grateful that you are reading, and would be pleased if you decided to spread it around.  I am lucky to have any good things at all, as are all people who have good things.

And now, for real this time:

TTFN

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“All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity”

I don’t feel much like writing anything today.  Or, rather, I don’t feel like writing anything that isn’t morbid and gloomy and morose and dark, and I know that people don’t like to read that stuff.  Of course, this blog isn’t necessarily about entertaining or even informing other people, though it’s nice when I can do that.  This blog is of me, by me, and for me, ultimately.  Which should make me satisfied (though not necessarily happy) just to write it.

Well, satisfaction is a tricky and evanescent thing at the best of times.  It’s not a good biological strategy to have lasting satisfaction in any kind of organism.  I’ve talked about this before, and I’ve referenced Yuval Noah Harari’s example of the squirrel that is durably satisfied by a single nut:  it would be a content, happy squirrel for the short time it lived before starving (painlessly) to death.  That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly, but natural selection will never tend to allow such a creature to endure let alone thrive and reproduce.

Anyway, I’m not satisfied by writing this blog, but there is a pressure of a sort to do so, and by doing so, I relieve that pressure briefly.  I guess that’s a good thing, as far as it goes.  It’s not much good, but it is some good.

It’s about the only personal thing I’ve done in a long time.  I haven’t sung or played any music nor even listened to any music in what feels like a very long time.  I haven’t really been reading very much, either, and certainly not much about topics or from genres that formerly interested me.

I got a Stephen King book that I hadn’t read before, but I lost interest before the real plot even got going.  I’ve tried to reread Insomnia, which is one of my favorite Stephen King books, but that doesn’t hold me for long, either.  Neither Tolkien nor Donaldson pique my interest, nor Lovecraft nor Poe nor Shakespeare, and I can’t seem to summon the energy to do any science reading either.  Even my own stories are boring to me.

I am just washed out, maybe.  I am tired and I am alone.  And yes, in some spiritual solidarity kinds of senses, one is not ever alone, because there are people out there going through things such as what you are going through, and who would willingly offer you moral support or whatever.

That sort of reassurance has never made very much sense to me, let alone providing any comfort, though I appreciate the thought.  It must be a neurotypical notion of some kind, useful and even truly helpful for those whose identities‒such as they are‒are dependent upon their group or tribe or whatever, and who are able to feel connected by such means.  It’s never provided comfort to me.  If anything, it’s more depressing to know that many other people have been depressed, are depressed, and will be depressed out there in the world.

My feeling of being alone is somewhat analogous to the old Woody Allen joke, if joke it was, in which he said he doesn’t want to achieve immortality through his work, he wants to achieve immortality by not dying.

So, yeah, I don’t want to stop feeling alone because some hypothetical people out there are going through similar feelings or wish me well in some general sense, well-intentioned and appreciated though such things are.  It doesn’t work for me; it doesn’t assuage my feeling of being alone.  I want to stop feeling alone by actually having a friend or friends or family with me.

Of course, that’s a tall and rather hypocritical order.  I don’t even like being around myself, so it’s hard in good conscience to want to inflict myself upon other people.  And it’s not as though I can really conceive of wishing to “be” someone else, though I can certainly wish to change some of my attributes or improve myself.  Mostly, most of the time, I just want to get away from me, from awareness, from the constant internal pressure that brings no reward but which certainly punishes if not followed.

Anyway, sorry, this has not been amusing or upbeat or in any way optimistic.  At least you know I’m not sugar coating things.  Except, really, I am.  I do not let out anything like all the dark thoughts and notions that go through my head.

I actually almost always try to be more upbeat and amusing than I feel.  I try to be positive for other people.  I don’t know that I succeed very much, but I do try; it’s one of those pressures that I cannot easily ignore.  Doing it brings no real happiness or joy or satisfaction, any more than any achievement ever really brings me such things or ever has.  I just feel the pressure, the tension.

I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter.  No one really cares, and that includes me, at some level.  Like Kansas said, everything is dust in the wind.

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“Now far ahead the road has gone…”

First and most importantly for today, I want to say, “Happy Birthday, Bilbo and Frodo.”  So, I will say it:  Happy Birthday, Bilbo and Frodo.

Yes, though the movies were inexcusably unclear about the fact, Bilbo and Frodo were both born on September 22nd (Shire reckoning).  Mind you, they were born 78 years apart (Bilbo first, in case that was not obvious).  So the big party at the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring was a joint celebration of Bilbo’s 111th birthday and Frodo’s 33rd birthday (the year in which one officially comes of age in Hobbit culture).

Also, the people inside the tent in the big dinner at the party were chosen to total 144, matching their hosts’ combined age, a number also called (by hobbits and by us) a gross.  Many of the guests were quite miffed when they learned of that system, but as usual, Bilbo DGAF.

So, anyway, yeah, it’s Frodo’s and Bilbo’s birthday.

It’s also the day of the Autumnal Equinox, when the sine curve of daylight versus nighttime crosses the x-axis toward negative territory.  In other words, from now until spring, the nights will be longer than the daylight‒in the northern hemisphere, anyway.  In the southern hemisphere it is the opposite.

And, of course, it is the first day of Autumn, which is my favorite season and always has been (well, it has been for as long as I can remember, though certainly not longer than I’ve been alive).  It’s the time of most of my favorite holidays and so on (including Bilbo’s and Frodo’s birthday) and it was the time when school started again (which was a good thing to me).

Unfortunately, in south Florida, most of the physical charms of Autumn are almost completely effaced.  And the charms of south Florida have long since been almost completely blunted for me.  Unfortunately, I really don’t have anywhere else to go, at least not anyplace I could go in good conscience.

It would be nice to spend at least one more Autumn-Winter-Spring up north, to experience the change of the seasons again, before I die.  I’m not that optimistic about my chances, though.  I don’t see how it’s going to happen.

I often think about just…leaving here, on foot, and walking towards Michigan, just seeing if I can make it all the way back to the house in which I grew up, or if I would die trying.  Either outcome would be acceptable to me.  And I often feel that September 22nd would be an excellent day to start such a trek, since that’s when Frodo left Bag End to begin his own long journey.

Right now, though, I don’t know that I am in good enough shape for such a trip.  Though, of course, the trip would do at least a bit of working me into shape as I went along (or it might completely wreck me).

I think I have said here before that just going off for a very long walk would not be a terrible way to end myself, not least because nobody can intervene to try to stop you or hospitalize you, because you’re not doing anything that’s definitely life-threatening or associated with self harm or self-destruction.  It’s just walking.

That’s much more ambiguous than, say, nooses or blades or gallons of flammable liquids or big bags of rat poison or even bottles of analgesics of various kinds, all of which (and more) I have ready and set to go.  But those all make a mess, at least potentially.

Of course, I’ve also mused‒here as well as elsewhere, I think‒that maybe an ideal thing would be just to swim out into the Atlantic and keep going until it kills me one way or the other.  That way there really is no cleanup required.  Bury my body in Davy Jones’s Locker, you might say.

But swimming out into the ocean is more or less irreducibly frightening, at least to me.  I don’t think I could get past the activation energy required to start that process.  I’m definitely a good enough swimmer, but I’m not a comfortable swimmer, especially not in deep water.

Mind you, I’m also not exactly comfortable with poisoning myself with one or more things, nor with immolating myself, nor with hanging.  Those things are daunting, and I wouldn’t claim otherwise.

Cutting is less intimidating, interestingly enough.  It hurts, of course, but I’m pretty well used to that much of it (a face which can be frustrating in and of itself), and I have various topical lidocaine preparations that would make that process at least slightly easier.

But blood is messy, and I wouldn’t like to have someone need to clean up such a mess on my account.  This is also a problem with jumping from a high hotel balcony, which is another available option.  Maybe if I were ever to get to the point where I just hate everyone so much that I don’t mind inconveniencing anyone, even strangers, I might be willing to do one of those messy things.

Walking is still probably the best thing, though.  One might even see it as a test of a kind, a sorting process:  will one gain new self-respect and maybe even some contemplative insight on a very long walk, or will one die in the process?  Either outcome is not too bad.

Alas, I need to get in somewhat better shape before starting such a quest, and that’s frustrating.  My chronic pain doesn’t help, either, though there are interventions that can help that, at least a little, and it might even improve over the length of a long enough walk.

It would be nice to see the seasons change at a slightly accelerated rate while walking north.  But it may be too late for that this year.

Anyway, if I do such a thing, I’m unlikely to announce it here at the time.  I would likely just leave, and only maybe send intermittent reports as I go along, but with some built in delay such that, by the time people could see how far I had gone, I would have been well past that point.

Ironically, if I were suddenly to do that, I think almost nobody would even realize it.  No one tends to notice when I’m not around, as it were, except perhaps to feel a slight lightening in the air in rooms I used to inhabit.

Whatever.  Happy first day of autumn (in the northern hemisphere).  Happy equinox.  And a most joyous Bilbo’s and Frodo’s birthday.

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Trying to atone down the noise

First of all, G’mar chatima tova to anyone out there observing Yom Kippur (it’s not really a celebratory holiday, since it is the day of atonement; one observes it).

Mind you, someone really observing Yom Kippur isn’t going to be reading this today, nor will they be working in any way other than rabbinical duties (if they have them) and so on.  There’s no carrying of any burdens, certainly no driving, no starting any flames (or anything analogous thereto), and so on.  There should certainly not be any going to work or writing blog posts (or writing anything else).

But then again, I am not observant, not really, and I am not a believer (in anything really), so I don’t feel any deep shame about the whole thing.  It’s more a bit of sadness.  I am alone.  I wish I had a community or a family or somebody with whom to observe such holidays and traditions and even proscriptions.  I honestly don’t think I would mind which ones, at least up to a point, though I don’t think I would commit to any flagrantly destructive nonsense.

Though, as I say that, it occurs to me that I do plenty of things that are flagrantly destructive toward myself.  I just do so on small scales and in small amounts at a time; I don’t really want to get Baker Acted (again).

I do tend to fast on Yom Kippur, and I am fasting today‒no food or water except that required to take medication and such.  I actually did a pre-fast most of the day yesterday, though I allowed myself to drink water and I ate some food in the evening.  I like fasting, both conceptually and experientially.  It definitely sharpens my mind in particular ways, and it evens out my emotions a little bit (not always in a good state though).

I honestly wish I had the strength of character to fast more often or just longer.  To be honest, I would like the strength to fast indefinitely.  After a certain point, if you go without eating long enough, you never have to eat again.  That sounds like a real load off.

Anyway, I am fasting.  And I do try to use this event, this sort of chapter marker day, to possibly stop doing certain things I do deliberately to harm myself (without doing the sorts of things that make one subject to possible involuntary hospitalization, i.e., Baker Acting, though I do those sorts of things from time to time as well, and have done so recently).

The idea behind such things, from my own admittedly atypical perspective, is that I might as well do things that shorten my life, since frankly I am not feeling much of anything good about living, and have not felt so in a long time.  So, if I can chop at least some of it off at the end, that would be a net benefit:  decreased negative is a relative positive.

I am also more than open to the irony of possibly one day finding a true desire to live or something for which to live, only to find myself dying of some disease I invoked through my deliberate, earlier self-destructive habits.  It would be funny in a way, a practical joke that I knowingly and willingly played on myself.  Bazinga, as Sheldon Cooper might say.

But I will see if I can break at least one such habit today.  It’s not always easy; when I put aside certain self-destructive things, I often find that I begin to feel more depressed.  The prospect of living longer makes me feel depressed, because there are only very few things in my life that make it worth bothering with, and my most honest assessment is that it is unlikely to improve, ever.  Like a mortal who keeps a Great Ring, I will not grow or obtain new life, I will merely continue, until at last every breath is a weariness.

“At last”, he says.  It’s already happening and has been happening for a long time.  And there is no Valinor to which I can go to recover (as if they would have me, anyway).

So, yeah, anyway, that’s what’s going on with me today.  I doubt that I’ll keep fasting after sundown, but if I do, I will let you know.  It would be nice not to be fat when I die, at last.  Still, I don’t actually expect things to work out in the ways that I want them to work out.  That’s not the nature of reality.

Anyway, I don’t really do too much anticipation about the future, nor do I ruminate all that much about the past, despite what readers might think.  Though I try to prepare for various contingencies just as a practical matter, I don’t tend to have long-term expectations or anticipations.  The world is too chaotic for such things, and the universe makes no promises other than that it will follow its laws everywhere and always, whatever those might ultimately be.

So, yeah.  I won’t say “Happy Yom Kippur” because that doesn’t make much more sense than Happy Memorial Day does.  Have a good one, though, whether you observe it or not.  A “good” day is never an inappropriate thing to have, more or less by definition.

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Fevers, Chills, and Sweats, LLP

Hi, everybody.

(Hi, Doctor E!)

I’m sorry about not posting a post yesterday.  There was nothing deep or symbolic going on; I was just out sick.

You may recall that I left the office early on Tuesday, but I needed to go in on Wednesday because of payroll.  Well, by Wednesday evening, I was feeling really run down, and then by the time I got back to the house, I was starting to have some shaking chills and to spike a fever*.  This is despite the fact that I already had/have constant antipyretics on board (NSAIDs and acetaminophen, for instances).  So, though my fever never got very high‒just over a hundred I think‒that might translate into significantly higher without meds.  Though we cannot be sure; it’s not necessarily a simple, linear effect.

Anyway, between that and general aches and malaise and a dry cough and whatnot, I stayed at the house yesterday.

Sometime during the night last night, my fever seems to have broken; certainly I woke up quite sweaty and my temperature reads as it normally does on my digital thermometer.  So, now I am feeling a bit less ill, though I am by no means at my best, whatever that might be.

I don’t know, my best probably happened around the times of my kids’ births.  Certainly those were the best events to happen in my life; few things even come close.  Marrying my ex was pretty close, I guess, and what happened subsequently doesn’t change that fact.

I certainly wouldn’t go back and change it if I could.  I would not change anything in my past‒even if I were given that power‒if it had the remotest chance to prevent my children from being born.  That is non negotiable.

So, yeah, with some minor tangents, that’s a sort of summary of what happened yesterday that led to me not making a blog post.  I will also not be posting tomorrow, because it is a day off work this week.

I was considering not working on this coming Monday, because it is Yom Kippur.  I am not observant, but nevertheless, I almost always fast on the so-called Day of Atonement.  I think it’s good for a person to do that from time to time.  It’s a good sort of “reset” button, metabolically as well as mentally.

I certainly feel like I can use it.  But I don’t necessarily take the day off work when fasting.  And given that I’ve missed a day and a half over the last week, taking another day on Monday would probably trouble my conscience.

Anyway, maybe I’ll have some manner of spiritual epiphany during my fast.  It’s unlikely, though.  It’s never happened before.  I think I would need to fast longer than 24 hours to be able to expect any kind of spiritual revelation.  But who knows?  It’s not impossible to experience some mental clarity and insight after just 24 hours without food or water.

Whatever the case, it’s not usually a bad thing for me to eat less.

Well, other than all that, I am not at all sure what to discuss today, and though I am recovering, I am still under the weather.  So, I won’t try to introduce some other topic now, even in passing.  I will, instead, draw this to a close for the day and for the week.  I hope you all have had a better, or at least a healthier, week than I have had, and that you all have a good weekend, too.

Though I will be fasting, I plan to write a post on Monday, so you can look forward to that, if that’s the sort of thing to which you tend to look forward.  Take care.

*Those two things are part of the same process.  When you’re getting a fever, your body resets the target point of your internal thermostat; this is a real thing, and it lies primarily in your hypothalamus.  So, all of a sudden, your body perceives that you are much less warm than you are supposed to be, and so you feel subjectively cold and can start to shiver, even as your core body temperature begins to rise.  Indeed, the biological “purpose” of shivering is to make you warmer.