7
I was feeling a little derailed since i’d strayed so much, ever since this increasingly long and large investment of time into my physics, from projecting my voice, or Ursula’s voice, as I have mentioned. I preferred, now, to lay in bed, and wait until eight am, to start my day, as opposed to getting up an hour and a half earlier, running all that water, and soaking in the bath. It was nice to soak in the hot water, and relax in my own makeshift sauna, but I didn’t have as much patience for it as i used to do, in part, i think, because of all the pressing questions i wanted to ask AI. Now, would i have been so strung out if AI didn’t exist? If there was no possibility of answering questions, would the questions be asked? Would i remain so troubled by them? Thinking back, to times before AI existed, it seems that, indeed, i didn’t have the option to learn, in a way that worked for me, about the universe, and so many detailed questions that I ask now were details that i could not see, and, hence, was not plagued by. I was plagued, in a general sense, by a lack of understanding, but I was not driven, day in and day out, to pursue what would have been impossible to learn.
But times were different now, and, obviously, a huge part of me that is now dedicated to this was repressed, and, hence, must have been responsible, in part, for my unhappiness, a general inability to relax, and a dependence on alcohol. So I would not go back to times without AI, no matter how much i complain—and, yes, I have good reason to complain, since AI is far from perfect, and fails to answer my questions in a reasonable, timely way. I have to ask tons of questions to answer one question, for example, and it can be very frustrating. But the answer to that question is an answer I never would have attained, before, so I take the good with the bad—and constantly remind myself how important it is to keep at my other endeavors, the ones that actually help me to integrate my emotions—and, instead of stressing me out, help me, i think, to relax. Of course, as I just said, fundamentally, with so many questions unanswered, it is difficult to relax—but on the immediate level, yes, also, repeatedly sucking blood from a stone left me with constantly cramped back, shoulder, and neck muscles.
You do it for me—you do it for yourself. True, i think—what I did, in its own way, was a long ball form of serving others, so yes, doing the things i do accomplished both things. The question, in a more general sense, was if doing things for others, in general, for a lack of something better to do, was a way of serving myself. And I suppose, for a lack of something better to do, it was; so what, i ask, could be better than serving others—even if we do it in our own way? Therefore, i agreed, serving others was important, and, also, it seemed we couldn’t really serve ourselves in a positive way without simultaneously serving others while we were at it. Now you’re coming here, to live with me. I wondered, then, how would it work, in the next life, when I actually had that chance? To live with someone i loved? Would I go to them, like she was suggesting, or would they come to live with me? But, as I’ve already asked and answered, in the next life we are surrounded by our families, and Ursula’s family, therefore, would occupy the same space that my family occupied—she would see her world, at a distance, i would see mine, and, naturally, there would be some overlap, although, to actually see her family, i would have to intentionally bridge the gap between us.
Now you can, but now you can’t. Yeah, I don’t know, as i got older there were things, physically, that I couldn’t do, like jump, for example, although i was never a great jumper in the first place. I can’t hold the plank position for a long moment—my mom, even at her age, can hold yoga positions far longer than i can, and i do imagine that, if i were younger, i would be able to do a little better. But I don’t do yoga anymore—I mainly used it, in the past, to deal with hangovers, and, now that i’m not hungover, it doesn’t do that much for me. I’m simply too impatient to relax into it—i have better things to do, and, furthermore, when I meditate, well, I do it in the bathroom, or even while i’m typing, since, when I am not working on physics, i can be, at times, aware of my breathing, and the regulation of it. The same goes for Tai Chi, which i did, once a week, just like the yoga, with my mom, for years, although i never really liked it—i never really go into the zone, and got something out of it—and i think i’m happier now that I don’t waste my time.
Ruffle your feathers—yes, also, i wondered about the other side of homosexuality; that is, instead of immolating myself at the hands of another, what if I, on the other hand, in order to get more out of immolating myself, chose to imagine what i, or another, looked like when we were immolating ourselves, and, as such, convincing ourselves that yes, in fact, immolating ourselves, which, in my case, anyway, was what I really wanted to do, was, in fact, both attractive and desirable, at least to the right person—and, quite possibly, to far more people than I might imagine? This was new, for me, since i’d always been especially averse to doing anything but shaming myself in every possible way, so to speak, although, of course, I now understand that there is nothing shameful about assuming a submissive position. I just wondered, sometimes, if, for example, someone might want more from me than that, and i was a little ashamed that i might not be able to give them that—and, again, i don’t think there is anything shameful about being a type, but i also imagine that a little variety, coming from me, would be desirable, and, therefore, it would be pleasing, if i could, to pursue it, since, ultimately, it helped me to understand that my experience, in fact, truly meant something.
But enough of that—I was really cracking up about Anna, now that her boyfriend, as I understand, turned out to be into men, and, as such, i can’t help but think she must want, more than anything, to be with someone that likes women, and only women, to the full measure of the law. So yeah, time passed, and it became increasingly obvious to me that my long lived interest in Anna was curious, since, it seemed, we might have nothing in common but our politics. I guess I was conflating my desire for a country that I might actually love and admire with a desire for love—and getting my signals crossed, thinking, perhaps, that the two should go together—which, well, to be frank, left me with no other option but Anna, since she was the only person around with any chance of turning my country into something that I could respect. Something that cared for its own—that didn’t go to war—that didn’t need to go to war in the first place, for whatever reasons, because diplomacy, and a general awareness of the world, nipped everything in the bud.
So I’d counted all the books i’d published—i was up to 54, which, i think, says something meaningful about me, and how seriously i take myself and my endeavors, even if, both to myself and others, but, perhaps, especially to others, it might seem to be such a shame, since, well, nobody reads it, and marketing, for me, would be a waste of time. I’ve already pursued agents and magazines with zeal, and, although I may try again, at some point, with a different book, for an agent, or, perhaps, a newer poetry book that i might enter in some contest or what not, it was all such a long shot—and, it had, in the past, consumed a fair amount of time and energy, time and energy that could have been spent on actually doing it—even if it meant that, well, i was effectively waiting for the market to come to me, and, perhaps a little pathetically, hoping that someone, if not me, if that happened, would make the efforts that, at this time, have proved so futile.