Calm Like a Bomb

In this finite life, we have to manually choose what to fill it with. For every little choice we make, there is one we did not. You win some, you loose some.

Lately I’ve been switching cynicism for optimism and distance for social contact, choices on conscious and subconscious levels that improved the quality of my life. But of course, there are things I have to leave behind for that: Death and Rebirth, no one escapes it but few are as acutely aware.

I used to watch a lot. At events I would stay out of the way and while everyone else might have been having a better time than I did, I was quite satisfied simply standing by the sidelines. From when I was a child, I mostly just spent my time analyzing my peers and pretty much every situation I encountered.

I still do, but in the last couple years I’ve begun to actively participate. To ask questions once in a while, or simply shut down this endless wondering and just enjoy the moment. Not because I am no longer interested, but because the reward of social contact is infinitely more satisfying than merely observing it. As a long lost friend once said to me,

You’ve got sheep, herders and crows. Herders have the power but the responsibility, sheep have the comfort but the mindlessness, crows have the insight but the loneliness.

One can choose to lead, follow or observe. I am unsure which category I fall into now, but I do know the loneliness became too much of a factor.

 

At times like tonight though, I wish I would have just grown immune to it, and kept my nihilistic distance. I was talking to a friend moments ago, and one of “those” remarks I tend to make seemed to have hurt her. She left soon after.

Being inapproachable might have been a bleak existence, but at least it spared me and those close few, from this shit. I was one to come to, but who never came to them. Someone you could trust with your darkest secrets, but didn’t understand your feelings- since my priorities were elsewhere.

“Analyzing again?” Someone asked me not long ago, as I was staring at a group of partying students. To my own surprise, I had to say that no, I wasn’t- my mind was just elsewhere. Even though I still don’t relate to nights of heavy drinking and pointless chatter, I no longer wonder about those who do.
In one sense, I really miss that. But in all honesty, all things considered, it seems like an utter waste of energy to try and analyze the behavior of a flock of drunk students dead-simply having a good time.

But at least I didn’t hurt anyone with my distant behavior.


 

A six hour full analysis of my computer just failed. That’s right: Six hours of testing this bitch and nothing to show for it.

I’ll try again when it’s not 2.45am. The analysis is a trick the nice folks at Dell Customer Service taught me. Apparently this thing can analyze every single switch inside its body, from the cable ports to the little LED that tells me the webcam is working: everything is tested. I am insanely jealous.

The point is to generate an error code, which I am to call in and they will send me a replacement part. If it’s my hard disk as I suspected before, they will send me a new one, to arrive the next day. Note that this phone call took ten minutes and not once did they ask me what the fuck I had been doing with that poor device. They didn’t seem to care whether I dropped it, dunked it in my beer glass (impossible for several reasons anyway) or fucked its ethernet port (ditto for the same reasons). All they need to know is what’s wrong and how to fix it as snappy as possible. My kind of people.

Of course, if this thing would bother to fucking work enough to complete the simple task of spinning its CD-ROM (which is where it froze), we’d all be very happy.
That is to say! I was half expecting to have to turn in my laptop for several weeks, giving me a window of time enough to do some serious studying. Hell, in this mess alone I managed to look into two of the five courses I’ll be tested on next week.

When I was a kid, I was hooked on Prince of Persia. Later, Doom. Half-Life. Counter-Strike. And that is when the MUD-ing started.
I grew up addicted to computers, and while it’s been worse in the past, that addiction is still there. I can not sit in the same room as a computer and not be on it. It has to be malfunctioning pretty badly before I lose interest in it. Perhaps it’s because of that addiction, but I just need the input. Boredom is a hellish experience for me, you see, and I’ve been known to grow bored at the most impossible of times.

I sometimes wish I would spend a little more time and effort on meat-space (yes I went there) things.  Take MUD-ing, for instance: Eight years at an average of six hours a day. Hell, I could have been the next Kirk Hammett by now, with better hair even. I do get a lot from it, but it’s a fine line between “scientific/intellectual/cultural research” and “utter waste of time and potential.” It’s kind of stupidly ironic, with the gobsmacking amount of time I must have spent in front of a screen by now, that my greatest accomplishments were elsewhere entirely.

I think I’ll focus the test on the hard disk alone and leave it running while I sleep.
Yeah.

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