We;ll, for what it’s worth, it worked.
Took my sleeping pill – mirtazapine – this morning before going to bed, and I have spent most of the day asleep as a result.
Which is par for the course for Mondays. The difference this time is that it’s been long, continuous sleep and not the minefield of minor naps I usually endure.
So bravo on that front. Mission accomplished. I will, no doubt, return to my stasis chamber after finishing this part of my blogging and get yet more deep REM-heavy sleep and get closer to catching up.
I definitely feel like I did a boffo amount of dreaming today, but I can’t recall any of it. What will probably happen is that some random thing I experience in my waking life will trigger something and it will all come flooding back to me.
Hope I am home in bed when that happens. It’s an intense experience , much like having a vision, and it burns through a lot of brain calories really fast.
I’d hate to have that happen on the bus.
I wish I did remember some of my dreams right now because then I could write them down in this a-here blog o’ mine. I find there to be something incredibly satisfying about writing down my dreams.
It’s intensely cathartic. Like I am flushing out a part of my mind that desperately needs it and my mindscape is all fresh and clean and bright afterwards.
Hmmm. I wonder if that means that a lot of the fog in my head is made of unprocessed dreams. That would make a lot of sense, at least metaphorically.
Not sure how to make my mind finish processing those dreams. I intuit that part of the problem is how I go about forcing myself to wake up and pull myself together so that I can get on with things.
In doing that, I stuff all those wisps of cobweb and mushroom cloud left over from my dreams into some pocket of my mind that has never seen the light of day, and that place gets pretty damned full over time, displacing my conscious mind.
No wonder it’s so crowded in my mind. There’s boxes everywhere!
Presumably, cleaning out my overstuffed mental attic takes more than all this wordsmithery in which I indulge.
Don’t get me wrong – writing this blog is extremely helpful to me. Getting my thoughts out of my head and onto the page makes me feel a heck of a lot better.
But it’s a slow and painstakingly delicate process, and I can’t help wondering if something more in the Eastern meditation school of things might speed things up.
After all, the cultures from which they originate have been perfecting their mastery of their own minds for millennia.
Surely that means they know a thing or two about clearing the detritus out of one’s mind and tuning it as an instrument.
And man, is mine in need of cleaning and tuning and setting right.
More after the break.
Experiment against compulsion
I’m playing Borderlands : The Pre-Sequel right now.
Well, sort of. It’s puased in another window. Normally, I would exit out of the game before I resumed my blogginating, but this time I chose to merely pause the game.
And it’s not, like you might think, in order to avoid a long initial loading time. The game is from 2014. That’s five years ago, or something like fifty in video game years, so it loads quite quickly on my “good to play anything made today” computer.
Pillars of Eternity 2, on the other hand, is from 2018, aka just last year, so it takes a while to load up, especially compared to all the ancient games I end up playing.
So no, the reason I left it on pause is not to evade long loading times.
It’s because it will really bug me.
Let me explain. I am someone with a strong compulsion to finish what I start. And when I exit the game before blogging, that makes that session of the game officially “over” and gives me permission to switch to blogging.
Thus, the compulsion is satisfied.
But you know what? Fuck compulsions. I am sick and tired of being bossed around by them. They are nothing but mental itches and can be ignored when they get out of hand and start making life worse.
And that is what I am doing right now. Part of me really, really wants to go close the game, but I am not letting myself do so.
Go ahead and itch away. I ain’t gonna scratch.
I think a weak character like myself ends up riddled with compulsions because they act as a crude substitute for actual motivation.
Compulsions don’t motivate. They compel. There is no need for a decision to act. You never have to figure out what you want to do when you are at the mercy of both negative and positive compulsions.
Otherwise known as “things you’re compelled to do and things you are compelled to avoid doing at all costs”.
Thus, my compulsions, aversions, and other mental phobias keep me from having to face that infinite hallway of infinite doors. The option paralysis that I normally face lies dormant because of how my compulsions limit my possibilities.
And all because I lack that vital “evil Kirk” id function that allows people to make strong decisions and then live with them without constantly looking back and second-guessing those same decisions.
I’m working on it.
I blame my wimpiness and timidity on the lack of an acceptable father figure in my childhood. My actual father we not suited to the job. His impatience and irritability made him the wrong person to handle me.
Honestly, I was too scared of him to relax and bond with him much.
Fathers, according to research, are supposed to encourage their kids to take risks, explore their boundaries, overcome their fears, and in general cope with the world.
Without that influence, you get the classic “mama’s boy” : timid, fearful, prone to escapism, lacking in courage and character, and overall, pretty wimpy.
Nobody ever taught me to keep doing despite being scared. Admittedly, given how clever and willful I was, this would not have been easy.
But it would have been better than being such a goddamned pussy.
And this is not about living up to some macho ideal. This is simply about having the courage and strength of character to deal with life’s challenges without simply running away and hiding from the world.
That kind of grit is something I admire and covet. I really wish there had been someone in my life who pushed me to excel despite how easy everything was.
As is, I wonder if it’s too late for me.
Must I always shiver in the shadow of my own cowardice?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.