It’s a serious question.

One that emerged from a recent bout of brooding. ^[1] Do I have the capacity to reach a state of contented equilibrium with life, or will that hungry and restless shark swimming around in circles in the depths of my subconscious make it impossible for me to ever truly be OK?

I guess there are worse things than having a restless soul. If I ever get out of this junk drawer of a life of mine, that restlessness could make me very busy and productive.

Certainly, I long for engagement. I crave opportunity. I want to be in a place in life where I can show the world just how fantabulously amazing I am and reap the rewards due someone of my extraordinary abilities.

The ability to earn seems like this prize that’s always just barely out of reach for me. I know that there’s a lot I could contribute to society and the world, but I have to get out of my own way first.

I dunno. Maybe that’s the point. They say that what we truly fear is not that we are helpless, but that we are powerful beyond measure, and maybe that’s true with me.

Maybe I am afraid of my own power and the responsibility it implies. If so, I think I am getting over it, and doing so via good old fashioned greed.

I want money, motherfuckers. Money I can use to vastly improve my lifestyle by hiring an assistant who can take care of the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so on in a way that does not make me feel like I am taking advantage of a friend.

I’ve done a lot of that in my life, and I’d really like to stop. For once in my life I want to pull my own weight and actually contribute instead of being a drains on everyone

Admittedly, the people of British Columbia are not exactly groaning under the strain of my $1375 a month, but still.

And I want nice things. A comfy bed with quality bedding, a highly ergonomic office chair, a bevy of supple, muscular young men to stuff me at both ends until I pass out from sheer bottom bitch bliss, you know, the standard stuff.

Oh, and a car and driver. Something nice. Like a Bentley.

I would normally have said a Jag, but they have apparently lost their minds recently.

And of course, I want a husband, or at least a boyfriend. Someone I can dote on and care for and share everyday domestic life with. Someone to cuddle up with as we laze about in bed, reading or watching TV or talking. Someone to hold my hand to steady me when my anxiety threatens to overcome me. Someone who needs a sympathetic ear to listen to the events of their day and offer them understanding and support and a safe warm place away from the big bad busy world.

When you look at it that way, I’m really quite a catch.

Predictably, I have wandered far stray from whether I can be OK.

Oh well. Topics are just jumping off points for me. Someplace to start because it has to start someplace. Whatever I end up writing, it will come from deep inside me and be something that needs to be expressed.

And that’s the kind of thing that just can’t be confined to a topic.

More after the break.

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Dream hard, dream well

It’s good for me to ream about what I want my life to be like.

The more I dream about it and the more vividly I dream, the more real and possible it will seem, and hopefully one day, will seem real and possible enough that I can reach out and grab it.

Metaphorically speaking, that is.

It’s like I am trying to open a door of possibility in that all oppressing wall in my head and then somehow wiggle on through it.

I am feeling guilty because I haven’t done the third lesson in my sys admin course yet and it’s been almost a week since I did the second one.

I can’t afford to let this opportunity slip away like I normally would do. Normally, I would freeze up and, essentially, wait for it to go away because my messed up mental CPU now sees the opportunity as a threat and wants me to hide from it.

How is an opportunity a threat, you might ask? One word : change.

The primitive mind fights change blindly. The idea that a large change can be good does not compute when you are in a primitive mode. Like a wounded animal trying to bite the hand of the vet who’s trying to treat it, all the primitive mind knows is that a big hand is reaching in to get it and it has to fight back.

Or in my case, squeeze into the back of the cage to hide.

And that’s the thing about operating in a non-stop emergency mode : it can put you at the mercy of your primitive mind. Even if you’re a major league brainiac like me, anxiety and phobia can have you acting like an animal.

In a bad way.

But that’s the old me and the new me is going to bear down and do the damned lessons and accept that this dude is not going to teach in a way I enjoy and that I am going to just have to let the information wash over me without trying to put it in any kind of order in my mind and just hope that it will all fit together eventually.

I can’t let this slip away from me.

Tomorrow I shall do the damned work. Also…

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.