On randomness

The one thing that I break merely by observing...

No, actually, I just wanted to use a quote that once again illustrates how utterly irreverent and arrogant I am, but only to people dorky enough to know what I'm referencing. That includes only one person who reads this blog and he's usually too busy to actually do so, so I'm really just expounding on my own megalomania to myself and the world at large, both of whom are already well aware of the fact.

As predicted (and observed) earlier, I've been oscillating in mood a very great deal the past few days, but with much smaller amplitudes and a much heightened sense of...not resignation, because that has a connotation of defeat about the word. Acceptance, perhaps, or serenity about events that I largely have no control over, and thus am not allowing to bother me as much as I used to. Talking about it, chewing it over and over again in my head and in my blog like a piece of metaphysical cud, however, appears to be helping a great deal, to my benefit and to the detriment of everyone who is reading this. Just how often can we tread over familiar ground before we get tired of the same old scenery? It's like running a marathon in the back yard of a Brooklyn brownstone!

I don't think I'm going to be blogging in a stream-of-consciousness fashion again anytime soon, however. Especially not after reading a book like House of Leaves. The book takes me to cold, dark places, and the stream-of-consciousness takes whatever elegance my writing might have had and cock-slaps it into the gutter. I'm somewhat inclined to go back and delete that last post, but my sense of completion and general honesty won't allow me to do so. And my obsessive-compulsiveness as well, which, for whatever reason, mentally takes on the aspect of a very, very bossy six year-old girl who keeps shoving me in absurd directions from behind and throws major temper tantrums whenever I try to avoid something she absolutely must have me do right now as of yesterday, dammit! So the currently tally goes: my ideal reader is a literate, mustached old British gentleman with glasses and a noncommittal "harrumph," my wit is a whip-wielding dominatrix, and my obsessive-compulsiveness is an annoying little six year-old girl.

And people wonder why I'm a psychological and emotional junkyard. With persona fragments like that, how could I be anything but?

I sort of stopped with the blogging about Wikipedia entries for a short bit (Yeah, I know. That lasted all of a week and a half.) I just don't have the time for it right now, with Musicals Tonight occupying almost all of my free time and P90X occupying the rest. God, I'm turning into a total meat-head. It must be one of the great ironies of modern life that you have to take a social life, a brain, and a fit body and choose two out of the three. I know I didn't stick sleep in there, but that's because you sort of need sleep in order to really be physically fit. As much as that offends my general world view and sense of time management.

I'm also aware of the irony in complaining about not having enough time while sitting here at 3:30 in the morning blogging about almost nothing. I need to go shower, jot down a few story notes, and get to bed. God, I can't believe the cruise is coming up in four days. I can't decide if that will be relaxing or stressful - I guess a lot of it depends on whether or not the cruise sends us the rest of the goddamn tickets for the passengers. Jesus Christ, we've never cut it this close, and I've never come this close to bitch slapping people I've never met. I might just settle for slamming the phone into the table a few times. In the same spot where I was slamming my head last week, preferably.