Title obviously a reference to this.
Today I ended up talking about being sleepy all the damned time lately.
What I should do is just keep sleeping, apart from waking up to pee, and see if what I need is the right kind of deep, restorative sleep I rarely ever get.
For reasons. Good ones.
I mean, I have my receptacle so I have all I need to minimize the disruption caused by the need to urinate short of a god damned catheter.
Some day, maybe. But not yet.
I usually don’t go right back to sleep after I pee because my brain needs time to “cool off” after all that overheating I do in my sleep. So I usually get up for a little while, or maybe just play with my synthesizer or read.
But that’s optional. Maybe all I really need to do is to keep a wet face cloth in a basin of water nearby so I can water cool my poor heat sick brain off quickly and easily after I pee (or while I pee, I suppose) and then go right back to sleep.
Problem is that I often wake up agitated too. So it may be that I have no choice but to get up and do something until I calm back down again.
Something about smothering in your sleep a hundred times an hour makes me tense.
Hmmm. I probably get dehydrated in my sleep too, given how sweaty I get. The obvious solution to that would be to drink some water while I am awake.
Which would just make me need to pee again all the sooner. Le sigh.
Why does life have to be so god damned complicated? So many factors to balance. So much stimulation threatening to overwhelm. So much scariness outside my tiny realm.
Guess I really should leave my cramped and squalid cave and go out there in search of the life satisfaction and sense of comfort and belonging I so desperately crave.
And sex. Loads and loads of sex. Oh, so much sex.
And I am sure I will make that big leap beyond my inner walls real soon now.
You know. When I’m good and ready. And I have my head together. And my health has improved a fair bit. And I am feeling confident and strong.
In other words, half past never.
I feel like I am on an infinite approach. Like I am in one of those dreams I’ve seen in movies and TV where the person is running toward some objective but no matter how fast they run, they never get any closer to it.
It’s just a target painted on the horizon. The carrot dangled in front of a donkey. A rat running in his wheel.
It’s like I am making just enough progress to make it feel like I am getting somewhere without risking the tragedy of actually going anywhere.
Because that would mean leaving (gestures to filthy roach-ridden fetid surroundings) all of this behind.
And like so many before me (and after me, and during me), I constantly choose the familiar but terrible over the new and scary but maybe better.
And it’s all because I am so god damned withdrawn. I am so withdrawn, in fact, that any potential activity that requires becoming more engaged and activated is automatically rejected and marked “impossible” by the bureaucratic bastards of my depression.
Why, I just plan can’t do that…. given the hidden set of rules I live under. The rules I don’t even know myself, let alone transmit to anybody else.
The rules that, on some level, I feel keep me “safe”.
Well a ship in a harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are for.
More after the break.
Our special purpose
As patient readers know, I have a big problem with the ideas that our lives a meaning and that there is some kind of purpose for us being here.
I can’t seem to find the blog entry where I wrote about the meaning of the meaning of life, but rest assured… it does exist.
I’m almost positive it does.
I think it must be our deep social programming, the stuff that operates on a level so far beneath the surface of our minds that we don’t even know it’s there, that insists to us that there must be some kind of purpose to our existence, that there must be a job we are meant to be doing, a role we are meant to fill, and we need to figure out what that is and start doing it in this global tribe we call humanity.
But like… whose purpose? And why would there be one? Where would this purpose even come from? And who says life has to mean anything at all? Meaning to whom?
Logically speaking, there is absolutely no such thing as a meaning or purpose to life, no matter how much our social instincts make us want these things to exist.
But that only covers cosmic, universal, inherent meaning and purpose to life.
We can create our own no problem. Who or what is to stop us?
However, it occurs to me that I am perhaps being too logical and reductive about this whole thing. After all, I’m almost as as human as everyone else [citation needed] and I have those exact same social instincts, so maybe I should try to fit myself into them.
So what is the meaning of my life and/or its purpose?
Fucked if I know.
Maybe this is painfully Gen X of me, but I resent the question. Who the fuck am I to question myself like that?
That aside, if there’s anything I am meant to do in this world, it’s communicate. Express myself. Think thoughts and transmit them to humanity at large.
I have at least figured out that much.
So I write, I make videos, I leave an absurd number of comments on BlueSky and YouTube and occasionally TikTok, and that’s still me trying to figure out how best to do this whole self expression thing in a way that works for me.
And on good days, I do feel like I am slowly figuring the whole thing out. Like I am homing in on what it will feel like I am “supposed” to be doing because it will fit me so well and let me express myself in a clear and simple way that lets me really get whatever messages I have for humanity out there in the world.
I have a lot of them. Humanity should really check its voicemail more often.
Some day, I will figure out how to get people to listen.
Is that not every visionary’s burden?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.