funny how it is always "maybe" I will "try" so non-committal. but just appropriate.

A letter from a good friend, a few pictures, and all this thinking is leading me towards the realization that maybe I need to try and loosen the grip of fear.

Last night I said aloud to myself: If I could do this for a living, in real life I mean, that would be pretty cool. So now that brings me to two thoughts. One, I have been talking out loud to myself a lot lately. Sometimes I wonder if people can hear me, and if so, what they must be thinking. Second, what would it take to convince myself this is real life?

Observation: Physical activity plays a large role in mental well-being.

And JUST NOW I had a revilation that was due in-part to this recent awareness of my overthinking tendencies, and part to an observation of what is possible when a person acts on whims and fails to consiously weigh all decisions and possible outcomes. I MUST CONTINUE THINKING IN THIS WAY. It might be my salvation. It might not be as fun today, but leads to a positive, generally beneficial lifestyle that has the possibilities for exreme highs and far fewer devistating consequences.

But just now a peaceful calmness and understanding swept through me. Maybe for just a second I held the truth - unconsiously it rose to a place in my mind deep enough where I still can't access it, but close enough to make a marked difference in general well-being (untill, of course, it burries itself back down into the super-subconsious or maybe even the collective unconsious - if you're a little nuts)

Like for just a second I felt as if everything was going to be ok. Everything that has been torturing my mind, flogging my selfrespect and slowly peeling the skin off the arms of my self-esteem leaving a bloody mess of muscle and tendon and bizzar flaps of somehting that doesn't seem to belong there - maybe they are all going to go away. Maybe they are not really doing these things, but it is a dream and I'll wake up reaching to nurse my bloody arms and find the normal slightly dry skin still intact. Or maybe the peace was just showing me what could be, if I could just figure out what actually was doing the peeling and how I can stop it. And if everything is reality - including this - I'm going insane.

I just realized something else just now, and it might be a poor or even immature conclusion to draw or belief to have but at this moment it is what I'm feeling, and so this is what I'm telling you. (who in the fuck are "YOU" anyway?)
When a person believes and tells me that they are good at a particular thing, and they then do that thing in my presence and either don't do it well, or do it in a way that is completley oposit of how I believe it should be done, I suddenly don't trust that person in that particular aspect and now have a huge ammount of doubt about everything they ever said or did or claimed to have expertise in. (the exception is if they tell me that the screwed up or had troubles that time or whatever. What I'm talking about here is if they did the particular thing and they did it extremely poorly and still boast about their prowess in that area)

Indulging in the physical today I opted for a Grande-Wet Cappuccino. More expensive, but by far my favorite. Usually I get a normal coffee. It’s cheaper, it does the job. But today, maybe because I felt deficient in some way I felt that maybe my increased level of contentedness would be worth the extra $1.50.

I am just remembering driving around in my car in high school. The great custom made stereo. The great music, picked by my great friends. And now here I am trying to think about fear and love and happiness. I never thought I was happy then, but I was.
Please give me those days back.

I think that maybe I did an ok job this afternoon, and I don’t even want anyone to know. Maybe because I did it for me. Maybe because I wasn’t trying to prove anything, just relaxing and doing the best I could. I am going to try the same approach tomorrow. Must not try to succeed based on the fear of failing. Fear is so motivational, but again another destructive force from the inside that is hard to differentiate from positive motivational forces. Fear keeps me from taking the risks I think would make my life a better tale.

Observation: I would have to pay a lot of money to have Cable TV.

Maybe the best times in my life were when I wasn’t ruled by fear. Could fear be the reason for my constant overthinking. Maybe. But also, maybe not necesicrly. Thinking and reasoning has lead me to the opportunities to not be guided by fear, and to be in the places where IF I chose to not let fear rule the amazing moments happen. So the balance is important. But how to know the exact right amount of every little element. How do I know when to not let fear guide me. I know. I must know, and it seems as if intuition leads me down the correct path; it’s just up to my APPERCEPTION to deturmine the possible outcomes and the probability of making another amazing moment in this situation. So maybe I’m doing ok. Just need to put myself in more situations where the circumstances are conducive to loosing fears and being free. Or maybe I’m full of shit. Scared, and justifying keeping my wall of fears so as to not make me have to do anything difficult, or different, or uncomfterable.

After all, nothing is unsurmountable except death – really. And it might be uncomftrable, might induce cognative dissonance, but except in death, life will go on. And like everyone says (and it seems as if few people actually practice what they preach) you only regret the things you don’t do.

But you can’t do EVERYTHING… can’t have a family and spend time with them and spend time in the war zones and write a novel and paint a painting and read to the blind and feed the poor and learn Arabic and re-read The Catcher in the Rye and see the Pyramids.

So I type all of this, type and type and type. And it looks like there is more typing ahead.

I love it when people think they are so fucking smart and sophisticated when they have been to The Met, or someother motherfucking museum. Maybe they read a goddamn book about some phylosophy. That's fine. That's good. But just because I never went to that museum, or I never heard that word before I am not less. I don't know big words, I can't spell common words BUT I don't think that makes me less of a person.

I’m not going to quit. Can’t quit now. More coffee, then we’ll get down to business.
OK, I just got more than I asked for! Good, but bad. Good and bad. Too much thinking leads me to these conclusions; but nothing is new except for the realization of this condition. However, this constant overthinking keeps me (generally) away from problems. Well, no - - - actually not away from problems entirely, but away from hazards that I am aware of, but it also puts me into hazards when my reasoning determines that the trouble or possible potential consequences of the hazard are either beneficial in the long-run, or might be the best overall solution to the problem in question. And also, constant hyper-vigilant reasoning can’t protect me from unknown hazards or negative subconscious drives; actually, it probably forces me into these situations. Fucking brilliant of my damn sub-conscious to do this to me. Consciously I think and think about the situation until I am confident in the absolute correct direction - - the best path - - but then it turns out to only seem the best path. Seem to me even during and possibly after I walked it. BUT inside me it isn’t, and only leads to a situation that produces more opportunity to think. To think and occupy my mind so I can’t get at the thing that is detrimental. So it knows that if I am not thinking about something it cooked up for me I will begin to think about it - - and how to fix the fundimental problems … the core of the troubling hyper-vigilance and IT. Wow. But why? Why does it exist… and why does it need to be there? And why? and why? and why?

OK, I am hoping to continue on my destructive pathway to enlightenment this afternoon. Sunny today – no rain – so maybe the thoughts will be directed in a wholly different way. There are more people around me now, but the music is louder so it might sort of cancel out revealing my process a little better. Maybe seeing all these people will allow me to glimpse something about reality that alludes my introspection. We’ll see. But getting started is hard. And this is just rambelling. And can anything ever actually be certain?

I read something today that I thought I would tell you about. Worth mentioning. One person looks at a material item and states that he can’t afford it. Another looks at a material item and wonders what he’d have to do to be able to afford it. Neither can afford it, but my bets are on the second fella getting it.

So understanding comes from knowledge. But only the knowledge of what is true, and actual. So If I had all the knowledge of my surroundings. No, just all the information about myself. I would at first believe that I would then be able to understand myself. However, it just occurs to me that even with a perfect self-knowledge there are so many external factors affecting any one person at any one time the best I could do is predict… still just predict. But first let’s go back. Go back to knowing yourself;

Fuck, this is getting nowhere.

Observation: Thinking in circles only appears to be logical.

OK, maybe I can trick myself into thinking by going over trust.

No use.

I’m done for the day. Unproductive. Random, ADD day. Too much stimuli.

I just maybe realized that for something to be perfect - it doesn't have to be perfect. But let me explain: sometimes precieved imperfections add to the whole, utilizing a synergistic effect that yields an end-result that far outweighs the preconcieved perfect (and previously desired) end.

How can I be unbiased during a month packed with this much? Thinking has always appeared hazardous, but now thinking is both imperative and damaging; I must spend every unoccupied moment thinking towards a solution, but each minute thinking makes that solution harder to catch. And yet, there is no other option. And I wish it would start raining.

Observation: a relatively static presence will change when viewed under different circumstances.

The rain would help speed my thinking, and maybe slow the destruction. Or is it the other way around, and my mind is still so far from an answer that the rain would speed destruction. NO! Ha. I know now: the rain would hurl myself into more destruction BUT, that destruction would allow me to see into the problem more clearly. Yes.

If it would just rain I would at least be allowed to stop thinking about the fucking weather and put that portion of my mind back on task.

So maybe the way to begin is to determine what exactly it is that I am thinking about. Or, what it is I am really trying to solve. Do I want the truth? Do I need to justify the truth? Am I trying to unlock the meaning of human life? The secrete of my existence? Do I want to figure out the secrets of happiness? Or am I trying to create the steps necessary to implement a life that would enable happiness? Am I trying to fix a problem, or make one? But maybe, I think I am getting at the actuality of the situation here…. I must be working on the actual question (or answer) to the ultimate problem of all. The question that can’t be written down, the problem we don’t yet know exists.

Still no rain.

If I was writing this to you in a fountain pen, one where I had an actual vial of ink sitting on the table above the paper, and just to the left, you would be able to understand more fully. A pen such as that would allow you to see the sane strokes, the honest mistakes. You could follow my speed, and enjoy the child-like penmanship. It would put things into context and connect you with me just a bit more. It might even frighten you. Some parts will. But that’s not possible. This is how it must be done, and this is how you must see me. And this is how you will form your decisions about me, and reality, and hope, and love, and longing, and truth, and lies.

I think the half-life of caffeine in the human body is around 4 hours. But hold on, let me check. Well, I was close. According to my mental averages of 3 sources just checked the half-life for me is about 5.5 hours. However, pregnant women or those on birth control pills doubles their half-life. And smokers have a shorter half-life than non-smokers.

There are several parts to my thinking. And separately they all could yield conclusions (could) but then adding the parts might not lead to the best solution (or even a cohesive solution at all) to the entire dealy. So does that mean I need to think about everything as a whole and try to come up with one whole, complete, enormously fucking gigantic solution? Oh – but does it have to be huge. Just because of the enormity of the scope of thinking doesn’t mean that the answer, or solution, has to be complicated. It could - - - and maybe should be so simple. Again, I really just don’t know yet.

Ha- It’s beginning to rain. Things will pick up now.

OK, no time to waste now. Fuck. I must hurry. Hurry. Fuck… ok. OK – good – it’s still raining. One part. I should pick out one part and begin with that one part, not drifting.

The rain isn’t helping. Or it isn’t helping yet. Too much preassure and expectations associated with the rain. Making me think about the pressure and subsequent failures of myself due to the rain. But really it is due to the rain. If it had never come I never would have failed in this way; it was really the thought about the possibility of rain that was the benefitial force. But was it? Expectations. Great Expectations.

this might be damaging

I am trying to make myself believe it is ok to look forward to things.

next task:

Find something to look forward to on a regular basis.

Is it possible to make up my own (completley overhauled) reality and live in it succesfully??? IS THAT WHAT PEOPLE DO?? do they?
huh?

Fine, silence = a negative responce.

This so doesn't feel like any ammount of reality.

What I am telling you now, is that I’m feeling the pressures of the ever-imploding atmosphere of chance, and perhaps destiny. Like I’m inside The Blob, and it’s pushing to keep me inside, trapping, holding me; knowing that if I just calm down, relax it’s poisonous juices will have a better change of eating away my skin; eventually eating everything but my – by then- brown teeth. But I need to get out, punch through this trap. Although I’m sure forcing what I do next will be more painful than the alternative: I must make more of myself than what seems to be where I am headed.

Can one better himself (NOT Him/herself. Fuck that shit. I am using the gramaticly correct himself referring to both genders; so fuck off) when striving for happyness on a daily basis. I don't think so. Daily happy people are fucking hippies. You must find that balance between striving, driving... and relaxing. Daily happyness leads down a path of deceptive bliss. soon, the bright sunny path lined with sleeping bags, pretty girls in dresses, and grande wet cappucino's turns dark and looses the girls, coffees and mountaineering gear. One by one. For it can't support such extravigances alone.

Ahhhhh..... nice to be back to seeing the neutral self in the mirror...

What the fuck. Today, for the first time in a really long time, I think I liked who I saw staring back at me in the mirror.

One motherfucking day at a time I guess

Happyness is achieved in daily life when I have a reason to look foreward to tomorrow.

I absolutley need to re-buy a few Nirvana albums. (this 10 dealy reminded me)

I am probably one fo the few adults in America RIGHT NOW that is (or is it who is) wearing velcro pants.

And it's strange what actually happens, and who shows up, and what I don't want to do.

So Maybe I have realized that things are possible. But finding that out made me feel even more alone...


*The later in the night it got, the more her mind began to take over. Two hours ago she could have told you the names of atleast 3 people who she considered her friend. Now, as the monitors continued to flicker, she could name only one.

Years ago Jenna had many friends. But, when a person gets older they aren’t supposed to have a group of friends anymore. Everyone begins to pair off, get married. It happens slowly. The first of her friends go get married was first greeted with shrieks of joy and millions of questions about where, what time, what are you having on the alter, can I help you look for your dress, what will your vows be…, but then, quietly questioned be each member of the group individually. All raising almost the same questions: Are you sure you are ready for this? Your life will change forever. Do you really love him?

After a few months everyone began to accept fate –accept what was happening to their friend. She was indeed got married, moved into an apartment with Chip, or Bill or whoever it was and basically disappeared.

It was not too far after that first friend dissapeared that another announced plans of Holy Matrimony. And suddenly as Jenna sat in her chair enclosed with bullet-proof glass at 2 am she could only think of 1 person who wasn’t headed down that path. Who wasn’t going to play the only hand that would be good enough to win her freedom from the group. And this was only 2am. She knew that 4am was absolutely the lonelyest hour of the night.

By 4am she probably wouldn’t have any friends left at all.

Thinking about this again wasn’t doing her any good and she knows it. “Not this again. I really need to stop this. Fuck.” So she stares back at the monitors, hoping they will be enough to keep her mind at bay for another night. “All right you crazy sons-of-bitches, it’s your turn to keep me from going crazy in here. After all, it’s you guys who keep me here. So really it’s the least you could do for me. Right? Don’t you owe me something?”

And by 2:23am Jenna had begun making up who the man sitting in his room in monitor 4 was.

Grabbing his chart from one of several avacado green file cabinets surrounding her “work station” she takes a refresher course in what appears to be Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - OCD.

“Well old fella, you don’t seem to have it too bad, don’t have that much troubles. Let’s see why they put ya in room 4 tonight” she would think out-loud turning the pages in the file. “Let’s just see how crazy you are.”

The area that monitor 4 displays is a small room. The camera must be mounted in the celing, in one of the corners. She can see the bed, (really just a mattress layed out on the floor - no box-springs or bed frame in room 4) a window that is too high for him to see out of, but will let some light in during the day, the toilet (that, of course, has no lid or seat, just a basic steel tube sticking out of the floor with a button to flush it sticking through the wall above), a mirror on the wall next to the flush button and the door (that is locked with a dead-bolt as well as an electro-magnetic lock that can only be opened from inside the monitor room). Next to the bed there are a few indentions in the wall that act as shelves for 2 books. They look like paperbacks.

Finnishing looking though Mr. Turnley’s chart she puts them back in their place and returns her attention to monitor 4. “Hello Mr. Turnley. Who is this man, this Mr. Turnley? What path did you walk to end up in Room 4 of this shit-hole? And why in the fuck are you sleeping? No one sleeps in room 4!!”