Sunday, December 23, 2018

hermitage

I've always been very sensitive, and when I'm around people, I bottle everything up.  A social anxiety thing or whatever, I'm not even sure.  If this depression of self expression is as harmful as Gabor Mate says it is, this is arguably a highly effective defense from that.  I just won't be around people.  When I'm alone, I can express whatever I want.  Disconnected.


My screen name was "disconnected" for a long time, a long time ago.  It was often misunderstood to mean that I felt disconnected from my emotions.  What, no, I feel disconnected from all of you people.  Only now do I see how the two are correlated.  My feelings of disconnection result in an affect of emotional disconnection.  That is what people see.

Disconnection has many consequences, but even physiologically, it's not healthy.  Nor, it seems, is the stress of being around people.  This internal conflict could be why I fixate on how I might get the most out of a singular connection.  Letting one person in has been almost tolerable.  Maybe some day it will work, but any more than that feels like a bad idea.

So yay, I'm around people all the time now.  Actually, that's not true.  I still spend massive amounts of time alone, but numerous days a week, I've been in rooms full of other humans.  Losing track of myself, getting stoned at every opportunity just to keep the stress from what could be quite serious consequences.  It's all about navigating this to the best of our ability, with whatever works for us, but our options aren't always ideal.

I even ran out for the first time since I started growing, but I'm very resourceful, as long as my resources don't need to involve other people.


Update, 2/21/2019: "Dear Joshua, it has come to our attention that there was an error in calculation for the grades in your CIS-1100 class this past fall. Your grade has been raised and your new grade is an A-. This new grade will be reflected on your transcript within a few business days."

Not so bad, all things considered.

Sometimes I think, I never really enjoy things.  Everything I want to do is like addiction.  It's either escapism, or it's stressful as hell.  Maté defines addiction as something we do for short term benefits, and keep doing, in spite of long term harmful consequences.  We have to weigh those benefits and consequences, but the more irrational we are in said choosing consequences over finding something else to do, the more we're probably talking about addiction.

So, I'm pretty rational about choosing behaviors with the least harmful consequences, but it still feels a lot like everything I do is self-medication more than enjoyment.  I wouldn't say that enjoyment never happens to me, though.  I'm pretty sure I've had enjoyable experiences.  I just can't seem to figure out how to have them on purpose.

Saturday, November 24, 2018

drugs

Next semester, I'll be taking pre-calculus, physics, programming in Python, and Spanish II, so won't be writing many papers.  Decided to do one of my last for a while about addiction, attempting to lay it out in a way that needs to hold up to a little more scrutiny than a Facebook comment.


https://docs.google.com/document/

Had to be 5-8 pages.  I had to touch on each point briefly, as getting into detail would have made it much longer, but it's the closest I've come to organizing my position on the subject in one place.  Now linking to the final draft.  Originally, I just rambled about coffee way too much.

Sunday, October 14, 2018

rambling stoned catharsis

Got both sweet potatoes and the regular high glycemic kind from Intervale last week, so my bag was extra heavy.  The terrain here is all ups and downs, and I insist on riding the sort of bike that makes it all more difficult.  I still didn't get to kickboxing afterwards, but that's also after three hours of язык de inglaterra and two hours of Испанский.

Still, I've barely been training once a week, and need to get back there more.  I've been so busy with all the book learning that all my injuries are almost entirely healed.  I need to do something about that.

Learning has proven to be more difficult than I remember it being.  I wasn't expecting so much of my time to be gobbled up just going over the material again and again.  I guess it's what they call studying, but I used to just remember things the first time a whole lot more easily.  You know, when I was like nine years old.  One of the many things I've learned in spite of that lately, is that this does in fact decline with age.  Not necessarily as a form of deterioration, but just the way the brain works, as we get older, our neural connections proliferate around utilizing what we already know, and less around remembering everything.

If this were English Comp I, I'd have throw a citation in there.  That is, I'd have to rearrange my words to be more citable, taking less creative license first.  I don't think my English teacher understands language though.  She keeps giving me bad grades when I try to explain it to her¹.  In a science class, of course, your paper needs meticulously accurate citations.  Creative writing becomes unnatural when held to that same standard, though.  Assumptions can be necessary to avoid getting bogged down, losing all readers, instead of just the ignoramuses.  Hyperbole isn't deception or laziness, but a way of adding emotional connotation.

These sorts of things can get lost in translation across certain boundaries, differing sociopolitical tribes, generational divides, cultures, sub-cultures, where hyperbole or imprecise language is immediately read as flagrantly dishonest.  There's neurotypically an assumption that we all know the basic facts, and if I'm exaggerating, it's to make a point.  People do this all the time among friends and family, colleagues, and in forums and periodicals devoted to a narrow enough audience where such things can broadly be assumed.  I've had to work on clearing those boundaries more easily.

I wrote a paper using "exemplification" to illustrate the value of nationalizing healthcare costs, but I didn't anticipate a reader not knowing technical jargon like "nationalizing" or "healthcare."  Turns out that people often have no idea what I'm talking about at all.  I expect my readers to look up anything they don't understand, and when they can't be bothered to do that, eh, my writing isn't for them, anyhow.  It's usually just this thing I do for my own reasons, but I guess that makes for some bad habits.

So, anyhow, doing better the last few days.  Spent the weekend studying, instead of making excuses not to.  Feeling ok, but have a lot to do tomorrow, and maybe that's where I oscillate from feeling ok, to oh fucking hell, what have I gotten myself into..  I'd planned on cutting way back on getting stoned, and even did for a little while, but this shit is way too stressful.


1. MY IDEA OF A JOKE.  I'M ACTUALLY TRYING MY DAMNDEST TO GET GOOD GRADES.  NOT QUITE THERE YET, BUT GETTING BETTER.

Tuesday, October 2, 2018

nothing as it seems

Had to ride my bike in and out of Burlington in the pouring rain today.  Aside from that though, I haven't done much.  I'm exhausted.  I was all caught up and ready for school on Monday, but after both three hour classes,  I was done.  I didn't ride out to the produce share, like I'm supposed to, didn't go to kickboxing like I'd planned.  Not doing much better today, but maybe tomorrow.  Kinda has to be tomorrow, as I'm out of time to procrastinate.  I'm constantly falling apart, just barely managing to pull it back together, before falling apart again.

Aside from grieving, suicide can be a shock because it's so often unexpected.  The Jenny I knew wasn't suicidal, she only spoke of it as something she'd thought about in the past, when her depression was worse.  Well, I guess her depression was worse again.  It's so easy to forget how often that does tend to happen at some point or another.

I knew that she was making choices on the presumption of never being that depressed again.  I tried to warn her at the time, but it probably just came off as bitterness.  Especially since I was quite bitter, but that doesn't mean I was wrong.  Finally seeing some hope, some opportunity, what can we do though?  Aren't I doing the same thing?  We have to go out on a limb, in the hopes of being able to handle all the stress. We're supposed to do it even when the odds are against us, pretending we're above the risks.

It's so easy to identify with feeling better, ourselves and each other.  That is; you are a suicidal person, I am not, or vice versa.  I thought Jenny was happy, certainly not that she was suicidal.  She wasn't who I thought, in a very serious way.  An oversight that's often forgiven, but probably shouldn't be made so easily.  It's conceivable that she'd even been suicidal when we were together, and I hadn't realized at the time.  Particularly towards the end there, when neither of us were doing so well.

I wonder how much this varies from one person to another, but so much of my reality is predicated on my understanding of other people.  To realize that people aren't feeling at all what we'd thought can be jarring.  My emotional responses, how I feel about everything, chain reactions of interpretation.  Figuring it all out as best I can, but need to be more mindful of just how wrong I can be.

Need to err on the side of being nicer to people.  Need to be able to deal with the stress that entails.


 · º · OCT. 18, 2018  ·º  ·

Now that my emotions have have settled, I've also been thinking about how I can be tragically right.  Instead of trusting reason and comprehension, I let my emotions dominate my understanding of.. so many things.  I remember noticing that she wasn't wearing her engagement ring.  I never cared about the damn thing, but I knew what it meant to her.  At first, she made up an excuse, but a week later, she still wasn't wearing it, so I asked again.

"I can't do this anymore."

As if she were carrying me, but part of why I feel guilty has to do with why I never put up a fight.  I guess you could say, I couldn't do it anymore, either.  Her burdens certainly weren't going to be any lighter in my absence, I thought, but what I thought didn't seem to matter.  Losing her made me feel so low, so full of self-doubt, and I let that carry me instead.  I just left, shaking my head in futility.

That is to say, in part, I left for my own reasons.  I abandoned her, knowing she still needed help.  It's strange how people feel compelled to jump in, and argue that there was nothing anyone could have done, let alone me.  It's an oddly defeatist position to take such a strong stand on, but suicide clearly confuses a lot of people.

I didn't think she was happy.  I was afraid she was happy, because that would mean I was wrong about so much, and I had in fact been dragging her down.  My concerns were petty.

Monday, September 24, 2018

muy triste

Had to explain to two of my teachers today that I lost someone to suicide recently.  I'm having trouble even looking like I'm ok.  I have to at least make it to classes to qualify for financial aid, but I'm a wreck.  I haven't been able to do much more than that.  I was ok for a few days, but it started with looking at a picture of her.  Something I haven't done in years.  Barely remembered what she looked like, right?

Now I can't make it stop.  I never really moved on in a healthy way, just buried it all behind me.  Suddenly it's distracting, exhausting, a more acutely painful wound, that I realize isn't going to be healing all that soon.  I just want to sleep and cry and I keep losing track of why anything matters.  My teachers will cut me some slack, but I need to get it together.  I'll be fine in a few days right?  Maybe a week?

WEDNESDAY, 10:45 PM

Meh, but life goes on.  All caught up on my assignments, aside from an English paper about something that happened to me sometime.  I think I can handle that one.  It's looking like I won't be acing anything just yet, though. Maybe next semester, after I've shaken some of this rust off, but for now, I'm just hoping to pass everything.

FRIDAY, NOON

To convey my comprehension of narrative and description, I even finished my little essay about that time I moved to Winooski.  My English teacher suggested being upfront about this suicide business, lest teachers mistake my behavior for disinterest and apathy.  No, nothing like that, I thought.  I've gotten pretty good at keeping that much to myself.

Friday, September 21, 2018

i'm sorry, jenny

Everyone tells me not to feel guilty and the like.  It's not that I feel guilt, I argue, but I could have handled the situation better.  I could have been a better person.  It's not outside the realm of possibility that this would have made a difference.

All so very reasonable.  It's just a fact, and some regret is probably healthy.  I believe in trying to be a better person, and this means being able to face when we haven't been.  How serious the consequences can be.  One person inadvertently took it a step further though.  I shouldn't feel responsible for her death.  I suppose some would call that the same thing, but it's not.

A few hours later, it occurs to me that I do.  I didn't just "handle things badly."  I was outraged that she didn't want to be with me anymore.  She said that she wanted to stay friends, but I cut her out of my life completely.  It took me years to forgive her, but it seemed far too late to worry about it too much.   I had no idea how badly she was doing.  Can I honestly be sure that I did not contribute to that?

No, I can't.  I can't even say that I didn't try.  I wanted her to feel bad.  I can't even say that I didn't know she was a vulnerable person, on an already fraught path.  I never thought it through.  I just thought I was right to feel what I felt - but this means nothing.

That isn't the person I want to be, and it's not the person I have to be.  I know that the most I can do is to be better, going forward.  Of course it hurts, but it is what it is.

   9:00 pm   

It occurs to me that more broadly speaking, I've been doing the same to everyone else.  It's how I cope with living in a society that doesn't seem to like me very much.  My self-esteem behind a bristling wall of well fuck you too.

It doesn't matter if I'm right to feel that way.  It's not all about me. It's not some finely constructed philosophical argument, but my twice exceptional ego run amok.  Consequentially speaking, it also seems to be a bad approach to life.

   1:00 am   

It's a good thing I never keep alcohol around anymore, but no matter how stoned I get, it's just not the same.  I'm still way too lucid and conscious.

This is a horrible way to realize that I still care about a person so much.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

suicide

Jenny took her own life a few days ago.  I had no idea she was even struggling.  I haven't spoken to her since we broke up.  I just assumed she's probably doing great without me, and would be happier never hearing from me again.  There were countless times over the years, when I'd think about contacting her, just to see how she's doing, but I'd burned that bridge for no good reason.

Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference, but I don't know that.  Maybe it would have made all the difference.  All I know is that I shut down the possibility itself, and I feel sick about that.  Suddenly, my perspective is very different.  My anxieties feel so trivial, reality stark and imperative.  My prideful ego, myopic and childish.

Thursday, September 13, 2018

onward ho

Started learning Python in computer science, which is better than I'd expected.  Wasn't sure how basic it would be, but thought I'd have to wait until next semester to start any kind of coding.  That class has been going well, everything we've had to do somewhat interesting, and so far, effortless.  We're barely a few steps past ("hello world") for now, so we'll see how that goes.

My second Spanish class went better.  When it was my turn to express how well it was going to my classmates however, I go completely blank half the time.  Like I don't know a word of it.  Feels so familiar compared to Russian, seems like I'm learning it quickly.  Think I'll be ahead of most of the class within a few weeks, but probably still act like a deer in the headlights when they're all hola! mi nombre es, como te llamas?  It's interesting I guess, to see the way language difficulties compound social anxiety, and vice versa.  Yay, practice TT

Least I don't need to write papers or talk to anyone for math, but I'm in over my head there.  Had to skip intermediate algebra, straight into graphing and functions, which I know nothing about.  Really, still need to brush up on how to solve for X², but even here, I feel like I'm catching up quickly.  Had to buy a fancy calculator I'm still figuring out how to use.  Think by the end of the semester, I'll understand it all well enough to go back and correct any weak grades I get early on.  Some teachers let us do that, and unless I'm getting them confused, my math professor is one of them.

Finally, English Composition class.  I keep forgetting about this one.  I'm sure it will be good practice, and the teacher's criticisms probably helpful.  About as fundamental as you can get though, which is why I wanted to get it out of the way early.  This teacher is much less laid back than the others.  Right off, she buries us in color coded rainbow copies of syllabus outlines, guidelines, and other assorted informational materials.  She scares me a little.

English, Spanish, math, science.. Just like in 7th grade again.  Sort of amazing to think that's the last time I was in a situation anything like this.  Even in basic ways, like being around this many people on a regular basis.  Practicing even that itself and as uncomfortable as it gets sometimes, I have to keep reminding myself that there were reasons I hadn't tried this sooner.  Pretty good reasons.  Well, some of them, anyway.

Sometimes still feel a bit like I'm teetering precariously, and just trying not to look down.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Turns out, this was also the day Jenny killed herself.

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

como estas

Estoy muy nervioso, siempre.. pero, vivi mi primer dia de escuela, mi primer semestre tiempo completo. Mi profe de espanol no hablaba una palabra de ingles, cual era muy torpe. Estare atacar fuerte al Duolingo para ponerme al dia.

Also really liked the part of the class where we had to introduce ourselves to everyone five times over.  Hi, my name is ___ - what is your name?  Hi, ___ where are you from?  I am from ___.  Etc, etc, in Spanish.  My espanol is weak to say the least, but so is my English, when I have to talk to people.

Ansiedad sociales!  I found myself unable to remember anything and just embarrassing myself over and over.  Awesome.  On the upside, I'm highly motivated to practice at home until I'm speaking it fluently in my sleep.

Tomorrow, computer science and algebra.  I ordered my ridiculously overpriced books a week ago, but I guess I should have ordered them the week before that.  I was afraid I wouldn't be nervous enough, showing up  with the proper textbooks and all.

моя голова болит

Thursday, August 30, 2018

twice exceptional

I've been fumbling a bit lately, almost dropped the ball on the financial aid for this semester due to misunderstanding what I needed to do.  Doing it at the last minute, waiting for bureaucratic wheels to turn, hoping it's still in time.  I've been laying around most of the month, between semesters, and too injured to train.  Recently increased my dosage of Zoloft to 50mg, as I seem to need it.  My meds person suggested a therapist, too.  With all that's going on in my life, probably a good idea.  My last one fell through for dumb insurance reasons, but I haven't looked for a new one.

He seemed to understand exactly what I meant, about Zoloft insulating me from real deficiencies in my life that erode mental health.  That I'm concerned about depending on it, because it won't work indefinitely.  He cited the view that meds should be used to establish a healthier lifestyle, so that they're no longer needed.  Even had a mnemonic device for it.  Meditation, Exercise, Diet, Socialization.  I think M should be mindfulness, but he said meditation, so whatever.

I'm doing great with the first three, but that last one is a problem, and doesn't seem to be going anywhere.   I'm interacting with people more, but still not liking them a whole lot.  I prefer to be alone over being around people that make me feel lonelier than ever.  Sure, let's try explaining it to a therapist again. This one has specialization in "twice exceptional" kids and the neurotic trainwreck adults they become.  Twice exceptional, being a term coined in the 90's, for gifted sorts with disabilities that screw it all up.  Not that I know anything about that.

I've had to tell this story a handful of times now, about the array of circumstances that have been integral to this recent shift in my life, but until now, I've been leaving out what sure looks to be the greatest part.  Turns out giving up coffee didn't have that much to do with it, but I finally opened up to someone about what did.  Might as well type it out, while I'm at it.  It should add some much needed context to relevant entries a few months ago, that I fear may have been rather cryptic.

Last November, I still had some Zoloft from my old prescription, so when I realized what was going on, I started taking 12.5 mg, immediately.  I set up an appointment to get more.  I knew that I was going to need it.

I've been in a pretty sorry state waiting for my life to come together, since getting back on the Omnitrope.  What's it been now, over two years?  Three?  I've lost track, but waiting was getting very depressing.  It doesn't really work like that, but I didn't know what else to do.  So, it was great to have someone to talk to for a change.  Someone that I actually enjoyed talking to.  Someone that I eventually came to consider a good friend, which is not exactly a term I throw around lightly.

She introduced herself maybe two years ago, and it turned out we had all sorts of common interests and ideas to argue about.  For over a year, we went back and forth, at substantial length and frequency.  She lives in a land over the sea and far far away, and having spent almost twenty more years on this earth than she, I was supposed to be happy for her, when she met someone.  I think she met a whole new social circle of someones too, but we didn't talk about it much, so I'm not sure on the specifics.  I realized why she'd suddenly been brushing me off lately.  Being happy for her would have been easier if not for watching our friendship washed away in the process.

Could I have been stronger and held it together, as would clearly be more appropriate to the situation?  To be entirely honest, no.  I tried like hell to keep it together.  I failed, relatively speaking.  I felt completely alone again.  Abandoned.  I had a bit of a meltdown.  It took me a while to make sense of the situation, but produced some interesting results along the way.  Changed my life even.  I can't live like that anymore.  I'm done with meeting people online.  Hardly even feel like posting anything.  Time to figure out how real life works.

I dealt as best I could, month after month.  For way too long.  It had been three months since I'd gotten a single word from her.  Over six months since we'd had a conversation that wasn't an unpleasant attempt to discuss the situation.  I thought the writing was pretty clearly on the wall, as it were, and it kinda struck a nerve.  We weren't friends anymore, maybe we never were, I don't know.  Maybe I'm just crazy, but at that point, I just needed closure.

Yeah, socialization is a tough one.  People suck.  Not that I blame anyone.  She inspired me to do all this, and I know I'm one of the people who suck, here.  Life is too complicated for petty bullshit.

Thursday, August 16, 2018

fucking ribs, goddammit

Spoke too soon last week, on not being injured.  I seem to have costochondritis again.  This time, my sternum.  Much less debilitating overall, being further from my core.  No problems jogging, biking, or even most exercises, so I didn't realize I was injured, but a week later, attempting a single push-up still proves excruciating.

I remember the moment it happened, the sharp pain across my chest during grappling.  Didn't seem bad at the time, seemed fine within a few seconds, but I know, sudden sharp pains like that are a bad sign.  Nothing much to do but wait to see what I can't move, the next morning.

Striking has always been my forte, but I've become determined to get the hang of this ground game stuff.  I know I can overcome my deficiencies with enough practice, but don't think I should risk going to a single class this week.  Again.  This is so frustrating.

AUGUST 26, 2018

Ten days later, I can do five push-ups, but it's still painful.  Concerned I risk making it worse trying to do more. 

Fall semester starts soon.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

one semester down

Ok, so just one class, but still.  Pretty big step forward.  The last assignment had me on the ropes, this morning I was rushing to get it looking a little more finished, until I was ten minutes late for class.  I've never done something like that before.  I'm not usually one to be late for anything.  If I couldn't arrive right on time, at a nice calm and leisurely pace, ah screw it, I'm going back to bed.

I considered it, I considered the possibility that I can't do this, but I'd already done it.  I'd thrown together this half-assed presentation at the last minute, and now all I had to do was stand up there and wing it.   Easy, right?  To do well, no.  All sorts of shit could go wrong, but still, not doing it at all would be dumb.  I can do something.  I don't know if it will be any good, but even if I don't find it in me to do my best, per se, I can do something.

In the end, I got A's in everything.  So, yeah.  Now I've got until September before starting full time.  The silver lining to which being that all four classes will probably be easier for me than this one.  All straight forward subjects that I chose for wanting to learn.  Well, except English Comp I, another general requirement, but somehow, I think I might be able to handle that one.  All very basic though.  I might get through it.

Afterwards BJJ again.  MMA yesterday.  I hate that my two favorite MA classes are back to back like that.  I need more time to recover between them.  I thought I might be ready to try both anyhow, so now I'm feeling rather beat up.  My lower back is particularly sore, but I'm pretty sure it's just stressed, nothing out of place, torn, or broken.

This one guy I keep getting paired with, because he's about my height.  He's new, but with prior experience of some sort.  Yay, right?  He's really aggressive, and honestly built way stronger than I am.  Might have been great ten years ago, but I'm struggling to keep up now.  I'll have to see if I can still move tomorrow, but I think I might be ok.  A little beat up, but ok.  No actual injuries.

Plus I've been riding my bike out to this farm once a week, where I get random produce from a free produce for poor people program.  Life does seem to be more interesting lately.

Thursday, August 2, 2018

feather weight

Had to sit out a round to catch my breath during BJJ the other day.  Sat next to the instructor who must have thought I was looking discouraged.  Maybe I was.  He tells me I'm  doing well, getting better or whatever.  

We chatted a bit.  I've been practicing the talking out loud to people.  He mentioned weight classes and how there really isn't any way around how much sense they make.  I've come to terms with that.  Size isn't everything but it sure as hell matters.  Height, strength, weight, reach.  I'm a bit short on all of it.

Aside from that though, I'm old but mostly holding my own against all these younger athletically inclined students with fully functioning pituitary glands.  MMA schools are a little different than traditional martial arts in the type of students they attract.  They tend to be stronger, maybe because  MMA can be more daunting.  So, it's an uphill climb, and I've got a long ways to go before I can assess how much skill it will take to make up the difference.

My interest in martial arts has probably always been rooted in wanting to compensate in a primal sort of way.  I've learned a lot about what works and what doesn't.  A whole lot doesn't.  Even as the months go by, I hardly ever submit anyone.  I'm careful when being reckless would be more advantageous.  I wonder how much of a difference being more aggressive would make, but know winning isn't really the point.  I tap easily, and I try not to muscle anything too much.

Which sounds very enlightened and all, but it's not how dopamine pathways work.  Being aggressive creates a positive endocrine feedback loop, when it goes well.  Losing repeatedly means weathering a rather less positive feedback loop.  For the most part, I've learned to set my ego aside.  I lose a lot, but I'm getting better.  I'm in much better shape than I was six months ago.  I don't feel like I fell down a flight of stairs anymore, for days after every class.  Tonight, I got in a few good take-downs, and an armbar.  Transitioned smoothly from a failed kimura.  Mostly lost, but that I'm having any success at all against experienced students is definitely progress. 

As a smaller grappler, there's a principle in BJJ that's especially apt - space is the enemy of leverage.  If you're on wrong side of an already lopsided equation, it's especially important not to give opponents any space, because it amplifies the disparity.

I have a hard time with this.  It's counter-intuitive, but it can be critical to essentially hug everyone, to make the most of leverage.  To be effective, it often has to be done aggressively.  Wrapping myself around a person and not letting go.  Keeping as much of my weight as I can on their upper body to maintain a position, so that I can attempt a submission. 

This is basic, but typing it out, it doesn't seem so crazy- it can be weird.  I've gotten used to it on some levels.  I hardly think anything of getting someone in closed guard or even spider guard, but my arms are more reluctant.  I'm working on it, but talk about exposure therapy.  Especially when it's been like 90° and so humid :(

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

growth hormone and metabolism

I've started hating this class.  I still don't get the point of it.  I just do the work, no idea what I'm supposed to be learning or showing that I've learned.  This research paper really threw me.  We're supposed to write a paper about whatever we want.  I could do that on my own time, what the hell.  Guess I've had a hard time with the unstructured nature of it, that can't be in my normal rambling format.  I have to ramble in a way that resembles a research paper or something.  Also, I have to research something.

Doesn't help that I don't know that I've ever done this before.  Seems I'm expected to know what a research paper is.  I think maybe in third grade, I did a paper on ancient Egypt.  If I can just scrape together something on par with that, maybe I can still do well enough overall.

I was teetering for a while there.  Ah, fuck this crap.  It's not my fault it's so dumb.  As if evading blame has anything to do with anything.  I needed to get something done, so at the last minute, I actually did it.  Rough draft due tomorrow, so it can be very flawed, but I did something.  Had to skip MMA class to finish it, though.  Guess that means I won't be too beat up for BJJ tomorrow, at least.

Interestingly enough, after all my reading of research papers, I actually learned a bunch of stuff.  It suddenly makes a whole lot of sense why GHD makes me so tired.  Metabolic function turns out to be important; the burning of fat provides energy for exercise or stress, and GH plays a role in that.  If I understand correctly, it's what they call lipolysis.  That alone will mean feeling fatigued way too easily, in both body and mind, but it's also involved with glucose metabolism, and protein synthesis for muscle growth.

What none of these studies thought to even consider is that the brain uses more fuel than any other organ in the human body, and as I understand, glucose has something to do with that, too.  I've been running on auxiliary systems my whole life.  It's amazing that the endocrine system adapts in this way, compensating somewhat, so that I'm not a complete vegetable, but reading about what's actually being diminished really helps me understand why life feels so goddamn hard all the time.

A number of the papers also touched on the controversy regarding treatment of adults.  There are some risks.  Apparently, it can cause adrenal insufficiency or diabetes in some rare cases.  It's such a complex interdependent system, that adapts organically on it's own, to varying extent.  There still isn't a solid consensus that deficient adults should be treated, but the more I read, the less sense that makes to me.  It seems to undercut every single system in my body, increasingly over time as I age - unless treated.

So, it's great that I'm still on it for the time being, but I should really be on about twice what I am.  My dosage wouldn't be adequate for these studies, given my IGF-1 levels, and I better understand what that means, now.  My latest labs came back well on the low side, but my doc doesn't care.  A crap endocrinologist I'm locked into seeing by our crap insurance system.

Still, it's enough to do this stupid paper, and then roll for more than five minutes without dying later tomorrow.  I can almost forget that I'm 43, until I'm gasping like a fish out of water, much to my opponent's amused pity.  Respiratorily, skeletally, muscularly, metabolically, even neurologically, and these medical science jerks aren't sure it's enough of a problem to warrant some relatively minor risks?  Just doesn't seem to add up.

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

muddied waters

I think about my own emotions a lot.  What it is that I'm feeling exactly and why.  I've often found that the closer I look, the less clear it becomes.  Terms like happy or angry, love or fear, never really fit my own experience very well.  I'd easily apply them to others, but that's because it's easy to forget just how complicated other people can be, too.  I can't speak to whether this is about me personally, or me, as a human being.

My mother's often used something my father said to her, as an example of how emotionally abusive he was.  She'd ask if he loved her, and he'd reply that he doesn't understand what love is.  I've been trying to understand my father all my life, too.  I suspect that he was just giving a straight forward answer.  Maybe a little too bluntly because he felt cornered, but some of my emotional skepticism might be hereditary.

On the other hand, I've been of the belief that emotions basically matter more than anything else in life.  Dying wouldn't be so tragic, if it weren't so sad.  Everything that matters comes back to our emotions, in terms of whether or not we think they matter.  For most, the proposition would seem fairly simple- emotions are the natural outcome of events that happen.  Death makes us sad, because it's terrible. 

This is simple, straight-forward, but absurd.  Subjective, arbitrary, opinion treated as self-evidently and objectively factual.  Emotional responses to the same events can vary wildly.  We learn what's terrible and what isn't, we learn what to be emotional about, and we learn it very differently, depending on our lived experiences, and what we've been taught.  Pure reason goes nowhere without emotional weight applied to every variable.

Emotions provide the fertile ground for what we're going to believe matters.  What makes us happy, what makes us angry, sad, anxious.  I'd still argue that this is extremely important, and that we should strive to be a whole lot more mindful about what we feel.  I've certainly found it to be more confusing and misleading than initially thought, and highly impactful on what I actually try to do.  Or in my case, more often why I do so much nothing.

I've never liked the idea of being more callous.  To be less feeling is to lose something that struck me as most important.  I guess I've been rethinking that.  The world sucks.  If I'm going to try living in it, I've got to get better at dealing with that.

Friday, July 13, 2018

alienation familiar

Oxytocin is released in a wide variety of ways which have no direct physiological basis.  Shaking hands, hugs, eye contact - release must occur by subjective interpretation.  This is learned and often very cultural.  There may be some underlying instinct or sensory benefit, but for the most part, we learn what hugs mean.  We learn to respond to them with oxytocin, when we're within normal ranges for a healthy well functioning endocrine system.

Another interesting facet of oxytocin is that it's extremely tribal.  I wonder if it could even be the physiological basis for tribalism.  Under it's influence, we feel warmth, sympathy, and trust for those that we recognize as one of our own.  Alienation from those we perceive to be other, not one of us.

So, back to my first point, oxytocin is released by social rituals and normative familiar behaviors.  When people fail to signal their familiarity, oxytocin isn't released.  Without oxytocin, the default state is distrust.  It can run a gamut, from hate to fear to indifference.  It strongly moves the needle in that direction, while individual propensities for those feelings also vary widely for myriad other reasons.

It's a cooperative process, where such signal failures result in distrust, the disconcerting absence of oxytocin on both sides.  If someone shakes your hand in a way that's alienating, or refuses to shake it at all, the pathology is shared.  The alienated will also be perceived as alienating.

The depressed often talk of the need to keep up a facade, as if most of us understand intuitively how problematic it can be not to go through the proper signaling behaviors.  I've learned to act like a more normal human being in all sorts of ways.  I even smile for you bastards.  I hate smiling.  Staring into your eyes while trying to listen to whatever asinine noises you're making, I do that too.  Still, my behavior might not be quite familiar and normative enough.  It doesn't come naturally to me, for whatever myriad reasons.

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

nocturne

This college class takes an odd turn at the halfway mark.  Aside from the little weekly essays we're supposed to write, we're supposed to turn in a more extensive paper after six weeks, and another one when the semester's over.  The first was a personal essay, attempting to answer the question, who am I.  The second though, is a research paper.

We can research anything we want, and it can even be something we're already well versed in, except that it needs citations and a bibliography.  The teacher gets oddly quiet when asked for specifics or help figuring out what to do the paper on.  As if there's some significance to making us wing it. I'm thinking growth hormone deficiency, or something more precise, like the impact of growth hormone deficiency on protein metabolism.  I'm substantially less comfortable with whatever this vague assignment is supposed to be about.

My personal essay is here, though.  Too long to paste into my blog.
 A+

I've been thinking some more on why I'm not a night person anymore.  I don't get drunk and play video games anymore.  I don't do much of anything imaginative or enjoyable anymore.  Not because of any sort of value judgment about it, but because everything has to be about utility for the time being.  I need to do everything I can to get myself out of this hole, and when I think about how gradual this has been, how long ago I stopped watching television shows and movies, gaming less and less, I wonder how long my mind has been secretly planning all this.  First, I had to get my head out of the clouds.

It all helps, but none of it ever feels quite good enough.  Life is not supposed to be this difficult, but adversity itself is not the problem.  It's every little thing I need to do, all day long.  It's still quite a struggle to focus on whatever's right in front of me, but I'm doing it.  Maybe in another year or two, I'll feel like I can handle it.  There are even a few classes I look forward to taking, once I clear these lame pre-requisite hurdles.

For now, I can't risk eating poorly, or drinking beer.  Getting absorbed in a video game, or messing up my circadian rhythms.  Jogging on the days when I'm not kickboxing.  I wake up early every day because that's what's most conducive to being functional.  I've finally resigned myself to the notion that "who I am" has been problematic.  I don't know who I am anymore.  Scattered memories, dubious proclivities, so much nonsense.

Maybe someone with a functional pituitary gland can go to bed late or scarf down coffee and donuts without worrying about it.  Many an obese alcoholic still manages to be way more functional than I am.  I've had to take drastic measures, and I'm still skeptical of how well it's working.  I don't even particularly want to be functional.  Just seems that I need to be, and it's taking everything I've got to figure out how to get there.

It's as if I couldn't fathom that any road worth taking could be this long and arduous.  If I've understood what I've been reading lately, that would be a function of the pre-frontal cortex, which develops last.  Usually late teens, early twenties.  I was still losing baby teeth and wetting the bed, until I was about eleven, so yeah, sounds vaguely plausible to me.  Hormones are involved in triggering numerous developmental phases.  Probably even neurological ones.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

dimensions of self

This class is an odd one.  Not so much for it's novel character, but because it's also mandatory.  Someone not only came up with this distinctive mash-up of a course, but it was agreed upon that we should all have to take it.  It even defies being given a straight forward name.  I thought Dimensions of Self and Society had to be some sort pretentious misnomer, that it was more like an Intro to College class, or something.

Now that I'm more than half-way through it, I'm still not entirely sure where it's going.  We've been reading all these little bits and pieces of literature, poetry, and history.  Throughout which, there's been this thread, vague, but it seems to be one of self-determination.  From the struggles of slaves to attain it, to poets writing about the choices they've made.

That being only half of it, as it's also very writing intensive.  Lots of focus on how we personally relate to the material.  Another dimension of self, self-expression.  I guess?  Vermont is an odd state.  Writing about myself though, yeah, I think I can do that.  I'm just not sure what it even means.

I've been wondering if I'm even a night person at all anymore.  That was a huge part of who I was, for so long.  Now, I barely even remember what it was like.  I simultaneously loved being up late at night, and dreaded being awake during the day.  People are so much more tolerable when they're all sleeping.

I don't feel that I've changed all that much.  I still can't stand people, but when I moved to New Jersey, a few things changed.  I had to be awake during the day, I started treatment with an endocrinologist. I started jogging and eating healthier, because the people I lived with eat that way.  I had to get used to dealing with people more, and maybe I do dread it less than I used to.  I don't honestly know what caused the change, but I transitioned gradually but thoroughly into a day person.

Just the other evening, I was thinking about how I used to enjoy going for simple walks at night.  I liked being out at night.  Just for being outs sake.  At night.  The later, the better.  I was thinking about how that doesn't really appeal to me like it used to.  How am I supposed to get anything done, in the middle of the night?  I fear I may have lost something, here.

I certainly don't identify as a day person.  Or a morning person - and yet it's difficult not to get up before 6am sometimes.  Usually because I've been going to bed so early lately.  I don't want to be awake during the day.  I don't particularly want to be awake at all ever, but it's easier to control than it used to be.  Sleeping whenever the hell I felt like it was certainly problematic.

Another thing I did back then, was abandon everything I owned, keepsakes from childhood and the like.  I threw out old paintings I did as a teenager.  I abandoned the notion that I should identify with any of it.  That there was any point in holding onto any of it.  Everything we are, a matter of circumstance.  Circumstances change.  If I premise my life on transient notions of self, my footing will never be stable.

What then does it mean to identify with anyone else, when I no longer identify with myself?  Not that I'm free of it, but I do get tangled up in these contradictions.  I'd like to be a night person again, someday.  Whatever that means.

Thursday, July 5, 2018

school and more school

I had to move the desk anyhow, so decided to try placing it differently instead of putting it back the same way.  This room is about the same size and shape of a room I had a computer in, over ten years ago.  The desk inadvertently positioned very similarly, with a window to my right, two doorways behind me.  One to a kitchen, the other to a bathroom back then.  A closet and a hallway now. 

Enough alike that I keep feeling like I'm back in that old apartment.  With my eyes affixed to a computer screen, street sounds and sunlight from the outside world behind me and to the right.  Looking in that direction, I miss my cat.  Instead of seeing him sitting there staring at me from his food bowl, it's just a lonely closet door.

Like then, I'm even doing martial arts again - and with no serious injuries to report at the moment, I might add.  After fending off what I'm pretty sure was a sinus infection, I slacked off, barely making it to one class a week, but I've picked it back up.  Still floundering a bit, but feeling like any day now, I should be able to find the groove again.  Where I sorta feel like I know what I'm doing, and I'm kinda good at it.  Not quite there, yet.

Getting lots of praise from my college teacher though.  Second class in a row, he singles me out to gush about about deep and profound a passage I've written was, how impeccable my cadence and alliteration.  I had to look up alliteration.  As the rest of the children looked at me, wondering what the hell the teacher was going on about, it was rather awkward, but I've been getting A's.  I suspect English comp will be similar.  I have a lot to learn about formatting and what college papers are supposed to look like, but I've got the best words.

I'm starting with basics next semester.  English composition I, college algebra, intro to computer science, and a foreign language.  К сожалению, they don't offer Russian, so I'll be back to learning Spanish for two semesters.  At least it's still one of the four I'd like to be able to fluently watch cartoons in. 

It'll be interesting to see if I can juggle that much, while still getting beat up two or three nights a week.  It doesn't sound like all that much to me, but I spend half the week recovering as it is.

Monday, June 18, 2018

boulder dash

Trying to do this on my phone.  Computer's all dismantled because the apartment needs more work, and my computer desk was in the way.  The desk is falling apart, so it couldn't be moved except piece by piece.

This was scheduled for tomorrow morning but I got it mixed up with another appointment I had today.  I dismantled everything a day early.  Not so bad, I thought.  I should spend more time away from the PC anyhow.

Feeling lousy though, not up to doing much.  I'm starting to feel a little more confident in my ability to procrastinate judiciously though.  I know how long it will take me to write a paper and it doesn't need to be today.  Thankfully, as I clearly can't be bothered to type anything up right now..

I'm getting it all done so far.  The other appointment that was today was to set up financial aid.  Again, shocked at how easy that part has been.  Most Americans can neither afford college nor qualify for much aid, but I'm lucky in that I have nothing at all, and am officially disabled. 

So, it's all set.  I'll be going full time in the fall.  Guess we'll find out how disabled I still am.  I have some doubts about my competence, but so far, so good.  It's long past time I gave it a shot.  Especially given that it's so affordable for the time being.  Maybe I should also clarify that this is just a two year community college.  Paying for real college gets much trickier.

I don't feel I have much choice, which is probably what I was so afraid would happen.  Now that the big scary ball is rolling, I need to keep going.  Feel like I spend half the week recovering from the other half as it is.  Some days I think I'm doing remarkably well, but others, it all feels like it's on the verge of crashing down on me.  Would be nice if I could keep improving, but that's looking iffy at times.

Which was all essentially what I'd intended.  Sink or swim.. Alright, fine.  Maybe I can swim.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

fear of scarcity

I've been sick the last few days.  Just a head cold or something, but blowing my nose this much is debilitating in itself, and feeling rather lousy on top of that.  Being sick feels a lot like how I normally feel, only amplified.  It's even more difficult to concentrate, or even think about doing anything.  I hope this is my last day of it, because I have another paper to write. 

That I might have to do it while feeling like this seems particularly unfair, but I guess it's the same old idea, might have to do it anyhow.  Get over this inertia, hammer something out.  BJJ is out of the question though.  This would not put me on good terms with my training partners.

I keep wondering about this feeling, most noticeable when it fluctuates.  What does it mean to feel like I don't have the energy?  I can't?  If my apartment were suddenly besieged by hornets or something, I'd find the energy pretty easily.  Not because of any miraculous burst of adrenaline, but because physiologically, the energy is there.  I'd just have to collapse into a heap and take a nap shortly there afterwards.

On an unconscious level, I'm calculating how much energy I have, and trying to keep the needle from dropping into the red.  Not actually being on empty, this becomes arbitrary.  Subjective.  How do we figure how low is low?  A quarter, a third, below half?  Half of what?  Is this based on some lizard brain instinct to make sure we always have enough in reserve, for those times when we might go a few days without food?  Do mental health conditions throw the whole calculation off?

I'm pretty sure that I have more energy than my lizard brain is telling me that I have, even when I am sick.  My immune system might need that, though.  Think I read somewhere that healthy fats are best for keeping the immune system powered. As long as I eat some peanut butter or something, I should be able to write a paper without all these unpleasant biochemical reactions hassling me like this.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

week two

Made it through another class today, but I definitely have attention span issues.  Even had that so very typical moment, where the teacher says, "Josh, ideas?"
There was only one way I could respond.  "Ideas about what?"

I can't remember what I was thinking about that took such priority, but my mind had been elsewhere.  I had no idea what he was asking me, but I recovered quickly.  Just a few words, and oh, right, here's my distractingly decent response.  Good enough that most can forget that fleeting moment of awkwardness.  I think it was something about Buddhism.

I think about things like all this, while I'm trying to think about something more imminently relevant.  At least I pulled it together.  I didn't panic, curling up under the desk to hide.  Real slow like, so no one will notice.  I'm having some doubts as to being able to do this full time, but still think I should give it a try.  Have to deal with getting that rolling soon.

Even went to BJJ class afterwards.  Signed up for a year commitment, so that I could get the cheapest rate.  I feel confident now that I'll be doing this for the foreseeable future.  Although, I'm terrible at holding target pads for people in kickboxing.  I get distracted and well, you can't get distracted when you're doing that.  Even doing the combos myself, my mind drifts elsewhere, and suddenly I'm doing a combo I learned ten years ago.  Muscle memory.  Cerebellum memory, because my frontal cortex is being uncooperative.  I can hit my training partner in the wrong places and that's not good either.

So, as the theory goes, if I keep at it, my attention span will get better.  It just takes a while, and the trick is to do at least well enough that I can keep at it, in the meantime.  I can't piss my training partners off too much, or get poor grades.  So, kind of stressful.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

learning to read and write

Have to turn in my first college paper the day after tomorrow.  One of the courses I'm taking turns out to be very literature oriented.  The textbook is a book of essays.  I've had to read two so far, and they were only a few pages long.  Much lighter reading that Sapolsky or Krauss.  Almost want to say too easy, but I knew college would start this way.  I'll have to take a lot of easy courses these first two years, just to accumulate credits.  Still, I'm quite nervous, being new to all this, so it's probably good that I'm not starting with physics.

Anyhow, since I haven't felt like blogging lately, figured I'd post my essay here.

“Explanations exist; they have existed for all time; there is always a well-known solution to every human problem — neat, plausible, and wrong," ~H.L. Mencken

Life is complicated.  I've been having some trouble figuring it out.  I don't understand how the rest of you get through it without inflicting all sorts of harm and misery on yourselves and each other, but alas, we actually don't.  They say we're making progress, though.  Here in the twenty first century, there are only an estimated thirty million human lives still being held in chattel slavery.

After reading these two essays - "Learning to Read and Write," by Frederick Douglas, and "Library Card" by Richard Wright - I figured I'd give my self some time to digest what I'd read before attempting to write about it.  Well aware that this is just the sort of gibberish my mind uses to get me to procrastinate, I pretend wasting some time on Twitter to be the better idea.  I almost want to argue that it can be a more productive endeavor than some might think.  A small fragment of this latest evolutionary leap in human interaction we call the internet.  Learning language, learning to speak, learning to read and write, across telephone lines, radio waves, cable television, and now Twitter.

I try to imagine books, reading and writing, in a world without all that.  A world where I go from reading these two essays in a matter of minutes, to reading a tweet, which points me to an article about Kalief Browder.  He was only sixteen when thrown into prison, pending trial.  Never to be convicted of anything, charged only with a petty misdemeanor that was eventually tossed without ever going to court.  He spent years there, much of it in solitary confinement.  I'd already known all that, but this tweet linked to an article about a research paper Browder had done, as a student at Bronx Community College, prior to taking his own life.  A research paper on solitary confinement.  It struck me that there were parallels between his work and the two essays I'd just read.  It all strikes me as an effort to rise above oppression, by learning, and then by sharing what's been learned.  This goes right to the heart of what humanity is all about.

As put by another great writer, Michelle Alexander, more black men are in prison today than were enslaved in 1850.   To quote the thirteenth amendment of the United States Constitution, "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime," in a country that has the worst incarceration rate per capita in the world.  Not merely the "western world" or the "industrialized world," but our land of the free imprisons more of it's citizens than any other government anywhere.  Iconically, it's the old plantation state of Louisiana that's now known as the prison capital of the world, where prison labor is a booming industry.

For most of my life, I've agreed with Dr. Martin Luther King's assessment, that the moral arc of the universe is long, but that it bends towards justice.  Many a compelling case can be made for that being the way things are going, but I'm not so sure, anymore.  When we seperate technological advancement from social progress, distinguishing all the suffering that's been mitigated by advancements in medicine, comfort, and distraction, are we really making social progress at all?  There's probably less abject suffering.  I'm just not so sure it's because terrible people are being any less terrible towards each other at all.

These two essays both touch on the power of communication technology.  What progress would we have made, without books to facilitate the spread of ideas?  Where would we be, if books were taken away, our means to learn about the world, sharing ideas across great distances, across history, our knowledge and conceptual framework predicated on countless others we've learned from?  I suspect that we'd be back to square one, all that progress collapsing in short order, without the technology that's not only made it possible, but keeps it going.

Maybe this is why, at times, it does not seem like such progress after all.  So much of it depending on what people have access to, but this is also what's been changing.  The spread of ideas through technology growing increasingly ubiquitous throughout the world, seeping into even the most totalitarian states, growing more and more difficult to keep at bay.  I get very discouraged and cynical at times, but I am looking forward to seeing where it all goes.  It is precisely because of our ability to exchange knowledge and ideas, building upon each other's efforts, that I do have some hope.

Frederick Douglas writes that learning to read at times felt like more of a curse than a blessing, and while I can hardly imagine what he went through as a slave, that sentiment does resonate.  So much of what I've learned and taken for granted, shattered as I've expanded my horizons, as only reading has made possible, from books to social media.  Comforting narratives about progress and evils left well behind us, crushed beneath the weight of learning just how terrible the world still is.

Richard Wright also comments on this matter, no longer merely feeling that the world was hostile, but coming to understand it as fact.  As horizons expand, learning just how murderous and hostile humanity can be, and struggling with that realization.  I struggle with this myself, both the feeling, and the understanding that it's all too accurate.  I struggle with how to approach this.

I consider what Douglas and Wright then went on to accomplish though, having taken those steps.  Looking forward, using any means available to learn, using that knowledge to fight for what might be possible, merely by sharing their own ideas, in much the same way they'd shared in ideas of others.  Even long after their passing, their own writing still changing the world to this day, on their behalf.  On humanity's behalf.

Saturday, May 5, 2018

unparalleled solipsism

"To argue that, in a universe which seems to have no purpose, our existence itself is without meaning or value is unparalleled solipsism, as it suggests that without us, the universe is worthless.  The greatest gift that science can give us is to allow us to overcome our need to be the center of existence, even as we learn to appreciate the wonder of the accident that we are privileged to witness."
A paragraph towards the end of Lawrence Krauss' latest work, where I wonder if this is something that he worries about.  There's almost this assumption that this is something we should worry about.  He seems a bit defensive, but his solution has a nice poetry to it.  The book is full of stories.  I was hoping for a little more science, little less history of science, but it was still interesting.  Not as good as the first half of his previous book, which I never finished a few years ago, for no good reason.
"The story I have told is not the whole story.  There is likely to be far more that we don't understand than what we now do.  In the search for meaning, our understanding of reality will surely change as the story continues to unfold."

"The greatest solace that science provides, comes from perhaps its greatest lesson: that the best parts of the story can yet be written."
It helps to look forward to things.  In getting through our days, our years, and even in trying not to forsake the entire human race.  In our willingness to put up with the very universe itself.  I don't think it has anything to do with meaning.  I don't think it means anything.  It's just the way we're coded.  A cognitive fabrication that keeps us moving forward, which helps propagate our genes, or at least not starve to death.

It might be important for a well functioning human psyche, if you're into that sort of thing.  I guess I'm giving it a try.  My days have more shape lately, I look forward to some more than others.  I'm a little vague on where it's going, but have a sense that I might figure something out.  I'm happy to be doing martial arts again, in the meantime.  Even if it does turn out that I am in fact a bit fragile.

The important thing is to find a reason to place the next step, a sense of direction, going somewhere for some reason.  If we're pretending that anything is really important, per se.  If we want to get from one day to the next, we probably should be.



Almost looking forward to reading this one next.




Monday, April 30, 2018

recovery time

I remember reading a while back, about some parallels between depression and our innate responses to being sick or injured.  Maybe it was just one particular type of depression.  The symptoms being like a protective response, the drive to recover, going all wrong.  As if a reflex is being tripped, and feeling like we desperately need to recover, far too often, for no good reason.

There could be some truth to that.  Maybe not that it's the root of the whole depression problem, but possibly a piece of it.  I've been thinking about this feeling, that the more I'm doing, the more I start letting myself lay around doing nothing again.  It's a feeling of needing to recover, of being justified in taking time to do so.

Entirely reasonable in a way, but it's still a feeling that comes over me far too easily.  The more depressed, the more easily.  It helps that now I have a good excuse for it at least some of the time.  I hope that means I'm still moving in the right direction.

I missed a class tonight that I wanted to go to.  A guest instructor was teaching Muay Boran, but I had to call my doctor, pick up some groceries, and walk a dog.  I got the date mixed up, saw the reminder in my feed too late. 

I worry about how little it takes to get me mixed up.  Grown-up school coming up in like two weeks or something.  It's May, right?

Friday, April 20, 2018

few minor hiccups

Finally went back to training on Wednesday, and it was fine, aside from a few hiccups.  Ok, lots of hiccups.  It started towards the end of class, and I couldn't stop.  It was problematic on a number of levels, and by the time I got home and could relax, that spastic valve in my throat somewhere was getting really sore. 

It was still sore the next day, which can cause the hiccups to start again, so I took aggressive measures of prevention at the first sign of that.  A variety of tricks I know, because I've always been hiccup prone.  I've never gotten them during a martial arts class, which was particularly inopportune, and it's been years since I've gotten them at all.  I had to use every trick I know.  These were persistent.

So, upon googling it, I learn that it's not an uncommon effect of rib injury.  There's a nerve that runs right through base of the rib cage, which has the odd function of stimulating hiccups.  That must be torturous when you've got broken ribs.  I find myself wondering when this has ever been useful to our survival as a species.

I'm mostly recovered, but it must still be sensitive.

Friday, April 13, 2018

wet paper bag

It's kind of like when you think of a great retort the next day, but it's way too late.  If I'd taught myself Russian twenty years ago, while Daniel was still alive, that would have made a world of difference.  He would have taken me travelling to Russia with him. Doing so would suddenly make a whole lot more sense, and it would have shown interest on my part, engagement.

I couldn't seem to figure out how to actually be interested or engaged.  Only anxious and lethargic.  It didn't occur to me that I could teach myself Russian.  Nor did it cross my mind, the various connections doing so potentiates, to life, to people, to living in the world.  I'd always been stuck in this limbo of thinking I'd be capable of things like learning languages, in general.  If I set my mind to it.  Yet, afraid get specific and set my mind to it, only to find that I couldn't.  Afraid it would be too difficult.  To concentrate, really.  To simply sit down and do it.  This is perplexing to me now, as I'm doing it and for no good reason.

I still haven't been back to training.  I went as far as to get all ready the day before yesterday, left my apartment, but my ribs were still pretty sore.  If my self diagnosis is accurate, it should take at least another week, while aggravating it will just make it worse.  I started thinking about how rough class can be even when I'm at my best, and decided it was probably still a bad idea.  I'm afraid of taking this much time off, though.  I don't trust my neurophysiology not to shift in some way for some reason, negating all of this.  I'm afraid breaking the routine of it might risk that.

It makes no sense and I really sympathize with how hard it can be to sympathize, but I'm afraid of how easily it seems I can open my eyes in the morning, unable to think of a single damn reason to ever get out of bed again.  Let alone reasons to do all sorts of other things.  Thinking can be a lot harder than it looks.

Friday, April 6, 2018

donut fries

Not to be confused with doughnuts.  Americans have a way of simplifying things, their bad spelling aptly reflects that.  It's like a step and a half up from neanderthal grunting.

Judging from the commercials that find me even on the internet now, this is how they eat.  It's a lot cheaper, too.  Buying any variety of vegetables adds up quickly, and most of them rot in just a few days.  It's taken me like twenty years to figure out how to cook them, and like realizing the emptiness of emptiness, that sometimes it's better not to.

I've been doing ok, I use lots of legumes, but I've known a lot of people who just grab something like donut fries instead.  Coffee, to help trick the body into thinking we just ate something substantial.  Not that I'd know anything about that myself. I've always liked simple coffee though.  The sorts of things they grab at Starbucks can be something else.

I get the munchies at night when I'm fasting, and I see videos like this in my feed.  Reading through as I ponder my latest one line critique of capitalism, there it is, taunting me.  I seem to have some kind of willpower, but getting myself to do things gets so much more complicated.  I keep slipping.  I figure it out again.  It's not that complicated, but I forget that I just need to decide to do things.  Wait, how does higher executive functioning work again?

My ribs are still too sore to do much, so I've become more acutely aware that I've been gradually doing less and less, already.  As if taking judo is some sort of excuse not to do much else.  Like there's some sort of "done stuff" quota that I need to fill - so that I can spend the rest of my time bored, wondering why I'm not doing anything?  I'm having trouble getting it through my head that doing stuff is good.  It even seems to put me in a better mood.  Doing nothing hasn't worked out well, and yet still, it's this incredibly labyrinthine task to keep that in mind, to keep pushing forward.

ya eshe ochen lenivets

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

month two

..and yeah, I've been overdoing it.  Trying to do BJJ/Judo twice a week, and my ribs are getting really sore.  Not quite healing before the next class, and getting a little worse each time.  Went up against this big guy today, easily more than twice my weight, and not afraid to use it to his advantage.  My ribs being weak and sore to begin with, did not handle that well.  It hurts to sneeze, let alone try to pull an armbar from guard.

I'm pretty sure I'll need to take a few days off, and switch to one grappling class a week.  Go back to more kickboxing classes instead.  They're ok, but they lack competition.  In my old school, we sparred just about every class, but here, they only spar during saturday's open gym, and I haven't made it to that, yet.  The free-form nature of it bothers me.  Finding someone to spar with becomes a more social process.

I think this is probably the only context in which I enjoy competition.  I've learned not to care about winning individual matches, so much as getting better at winning more generally.  Although I have gotten really good at losing.  I enjoy the practice, but without the competitive part, it feels like it's missing something important.

Not that big of a deal, but it's frustrating.  I'm bored and restless and not so good at pacing myself.  I'm pretty sure this is bordering on intercostal cartilage strain, though.  One of those things that doesn't get stronger with the stress, but rather gets worse and worse if not given time to heal.  It should get stronger if I do that.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

you humans all look the same

Passover was interesting this year.  My family was there, some extended family, and a friend of my cousin - and her husband, the jeet kune do kickboxing instructor from the martial arts school I just started a month ago.

It was surreal.  As we were introduced, he laughed and said we'd met ..but I couldn't place where.  He looked really familiar, but my brain was looking in all the wrong places, weddings, other family get-togethers.  I couldn't place who he was, and had to ask.

Combat Fitness, he offered, but I was still confused.  He had to go so far as to tell me that he teaches the class, before it clicked.  Doh!  I don't go to his class as often as some of the others, but still.  I guess I'm not so good with faces.  The difference in context really threw me.  

Got me thinking about how context dependent my awareness of other people can be.  I compartmentalize everything, to better cope with various people I deal with.  I was shocked to find someone in the wrong compartment, but I think I handled it ok.

I mean except for not even recognizing the guy.. and I wonder why I have trouble connecting with people.  I can hardly pay attention to superfluous details such as what their faces look like.

Monday, March 26, 2018

autophagocytosis

It's odd that I've become such a health nut.  I'm not trying to "eat healthy," just trying to avoid processed foods, breads and pastas. Meat, eggs, dairy.  Beer, coffee, sugar.  Anything without enough nutritional value. Once I learned how much is lost when you strip the bran hull to make white rice, eating brown rice just makes a whole lot more sense. Or sometimes quinoa.

I miss making lasagnas and quiches, but there's a lot that can be done with plants.  The amount of flavor you can get grinding up their seeds can be impressive.  I've gotten into the habit of doing this almost every day.  Well, not grinding my own spices, but cooking myself a big flavorful lunch ..before fasting.

Does it seem I'm getting carried away?  I'd have thought so myself, until reading about autophagy or rice bran or adenosine receptors.  Then it's a no-brainer, and honestly, it's not that difficult.  Changing habits can be difficult, but once I'm in the swing of doing things differently, going back seems unthinkable.  At least until life throws me back one way or another, but maybe that doesn't have to keep happening, right?

Another case in point, my body seems to have adapted well to the regular stress.  I'm no longer limping after class, or even the next day.  Sore an awful lot, but not cripplingly so, anymore.  I wonder if up-regulating autophagy helps with that.  As I understand, it should help with a lot of things.

All these things require thinking ahead in a way I haven't done so much before. They all make little to no difference in the short term.  Eating better feels better, but eating donuts feels pretty good too, so that can seem like a wash.  No, it's more about how eating too many donuts too often will feel after a year.  Five years.  Twenty years.

In theory, eating a donut with some coffee would be fine now and then, but once I'm out of the habit, I almost never get around to it.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

speaking of addiction

Walking home from BJJ class Thursday night, I thought about how I often question the point.  I thought about how much I enjoy it, and how that should be more than enough.  Not sure why I have so much doubt about it.  As I've been going to more classes, I've been getting back into the swing of it, my old skills gradually coming back to me.  My muscles getting back into shape enough to do what they're supposed to.  Sort of.  I have a ways to go.

Next class isn't until Tuesday.  I have some other bullshit to worry about in the meantime.  Land baron called, said the apartment needs to be inspected, next Thursday.  I hope it's just a routine thing, and not because they're selling the house.  That would be a huge hassle I don't want to have to deal with.  I also have to clean my apartment before then.  A small hassle, that I can't even deal with.

So, doing well, but could be better.  My apartment is messy again.  I keep thinking about what I'm doing differently, that might be making things more difficult.  Maybe I can scratch running off of that last, but I'm not sure.  It is a unique type of cardio that might be uniquely beneficial.  Lots of snow again, I've barely been able to run twice a month.  I ran out of that omega-3 stuff, maybe that's it.

I also stopped drinking coffee entirely.  Just tea once in a while, this past month or so.  I should probably try coffee a little more often.  I keep reading articles about how coffee drinkers live three times as long, can hold their breath for half an hour, and spontaneously learn coding.

I'm spending too much time at my computer.  That one occurred to me recently.  I don't know how it happened, but bad habits come creeping back.  Next thing I know, I'm sitting here all day, every day, not feeling like doing anything at all ever.  Still doing some things, but that's not the point.  I've been mostly doing lots of this, and feeling worse.

Pretty sure I need to put some discipline back into doing less.  Go back to meditating for a few hours a day if I have to.

Bah, just when I was starting to get the hang of Twitter.

Friday, March 16, 2018

new rules

I've been making lots of rules for myself lately.  Turning everything into daily rituals.  I don't know why I need to do this, but it seems to help me do all sorts of things that I need and want to do.  Without it, it's always never right now.

New rule being that after I meditate, I can check my PC as I eat breakfast, but have to get off within fifteen minutes or so of finishing my granola. Then a few hours later, after I've done a few things, I can cry about being tired, and.. what is it I do at the computer, again?  Mostly nothing.  It's just a zillion places to look for something to do.  Something to respond to or be angry about.  YouTube videos about theoretical physics and Mongolian street food, and there are always new articles about socialism and how much America sucks.

The vast majority of the time though, I'm just bouncing between these places, not even doing anything.  Just bored, looking for something to engage me, and distracted by that, itself.  If I must do something so painfully useless, it has to be at the end of the day, when I allow myself to get stoned anyhow, forgetting everything I'm supposed to be doing for a while.

Then I get all confused when my aunt calls and invites me to have dinner with them, for my cousin's birthday.  She gave me three hours notice, but still.  I'd just eaten my last meal for the day, my carefully planned intermittent fasting, where I cram as many calories as I can afford before two or three in the afternoon, so I won't be that hungry when I go to bed.  I don't eat again until that granola.

Around what I consider to be the end of the day, all going according to plan, until my aunt called.  I had to decline, with a bumbling explanation and apology.  She then invited me to see my uncle play jazz on Wednesday.  I can skip class for it, as long as I have a few days to plan around it.  Time to decide which other classes to go to instead.

Also stressed because my bathroom ceiling sprung a leak.  I suspect due to my upstairs neighbor spilling water all over the floor, eventually saturating the ceiling panel, which started to slump, tearing a small hole above my shower, where it connect to an adjacent panel.  Now I have to deal with this too.

I don't understand how people juggle all the crap they do.

but I guess maybe I can figure it out.

Wednesday, March 7, 2018

disciple

It seems rather like learning how to self-regulate my behaviour.  Doing things I don't feel like doing, Not doing other things, when I really feel like doing them.  In a sense, maybe that's fundamental to everything else.  I can't pursue much of anything, if I can't get out of bed when I don't feel like it. 

It's easy to think we're great at this, until one day we're really sick or injured, and allowed not to test ourselves.  Mental illness can mean feeling sick and injured every day, but needing to get up anyhow.  I'm getting better, but still worried that it's a house of cards that could come toppling at any moment. 

All it takes is that shift in perspective, an event that jars this way or that, a change in neurochemical distribution.  It doesn't feel very stable, but I'm wondering if I could even try playing a new computer game, without letting myself play it all day long.  Not sure I should risk it.  Farcry 5 looks pretty enticing.  So does a good cup of coffee, though.

My legs are all bruised, my muscles sore, and another kickboxing class tonight.  JKD/Jun Fan kickboxing, whatever that means.  It seems like a nice place, they have a different instructor each day, each with their own specializations.  It's going to take my body a while before being able to handle it all without so much complaining, but I'm really working on this doing-it-anyway thing.

Thursday, March 1, 2018

cognitive distortions

I have trouble admitting that this is an issue.  My cognitive faculties are awesome, often the only thing I've had working in my favor - but that doesn't always work in my favor at all.  Social anxiety means always trying to imagine what might happen, how interactions might go, and that makes some sense, up to a point.  A point that I often blow right past before going off the rails and obsessing about something ridiculous.

A lot of it is plausible, well thought out, and that can make it especially deceptive.  I'm often afraid of things that could conceivably happen, without enough information to be sure how improbable it might be.  Even in trying to read people, I'm prone to guarding against worst case scenarios, rather than what's most likely.  It can be hard to tell, so better safe than sorry.  I probably shouldn't risk leaving my apartment or talking to anyone at all, just to be sure.

Starting martial arts classes, I have all sorts of concerns.  Some of them more valid than others.  I worry about being too fragile and feeble in my old age, but this is one of the most ridiculous of all.  I have no evidence that my body is going to disintegrate under the stress.  I seem to be able to handle it pretty well, all things considered.

Third class tonight, first two were kickboxing.  Not so bad, but now for the real test.  I have to say, it was pretty rough.  Towards the end, I had to take a break to avoid puking, I was so exhausted.  Walking home, my legs felt like jello.  I wasn't entirely sure I'd make it, but what was that feeling in my head?  A glimmer, I almost want to say, of happiness.  I haven't grappled in how many years?  It's hard at first.  It's supposed to be.

I also worry that I won't be able to find partners anywhere near my size, and this is a little more valid.  Not because I'm freakishly small, but at 5'6" (1.7m? and oh yeah, 55kg) it is a bit like being the smallest kid in class, all over again.  I think most people at my end of the height and build spectrum tend to avoid this sort of thing.  That is frustrating, but not a good reason for me not to go at all.

It was a bit of a issue in the kickboxing classes, but not as bad as expected in the judo class.  Two of the three people I was randomly paired with would have even been within a weight class.  The one guy who was bigger wasn't that much bigger.  So yeah, I worry about way too much stupid shit, instead of just doing what I want to do.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

reiterations

I've been slipping lately, but I've expected that I would somewhat, that it's ok, I've committed myself here, so I can afford to backslide a bit, without all being lost.  Just not too much.  I'm trying to remind myself here, of why I've been doing these different things, pushing myself in different ways.  There's this odd correlation between doing good things, and believing that I'm a good person.  Knowing that I can do something when I get around to it doesn't seem to help my self-esteem at all.

The big question though is whether or not this cognitive shift yields a change in behavior.  Will I get some exercise or allow myself to be driven to distraction, until it's time for bed.  That is the question as to how chemical this all is, how much it matters what I think at all.  Maybe it's all just chemistry that the ego rationalizes.  I have to operate under the assumption that what I think matters, I guess.  If I'm wrong, no harm done.  The inverse isn't really true at all.

If I spend the day smoking pot and playing video games, I can make excuses and in the end, no, it doesn't matter, but I'm going to know I'm not going to impress anyone like that, least of all myself.   Within this cognitive process of caring what other people think, I've realized there's a component to it, of caring what I think.  I know I'm not a terrible person or anything, but I'm not particularly impressed, either.

I don't expect to be, but it seems to help to at least strive for it.  Particularly, in the absence of actually giving a damn about anything all that much.  I'm still here, and I still have to live with myself.  Odd how this slippage comes with prosocial-media behavior and blogging.  Maybe it's just that when I'm feeling scattered and aimless that I start wanting to babble about something.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

what even matters anymore

There is a surreality to life that nags at me.  As I think about memories, experiences, it almost seems clear, that I've lived in a world of my own creation.  The human mind seems to make a lot of assumptions prior to even getting started on figuring anything out.  If it feels real to me, and it feels real to you, parameters are defined.  Schemes of labeling and consensus, we navigate the world by this social radar, and yet it's all guesswork.

I know, all sorts of things are really important.  I'm not saying that I don't feel that.  I just know it's bullshit.  This isn't reality.  It isn't objectively anything at all, but these chemical triggers, shaped by evolution, what helped us survive.  Our eyes and ears make sense of the world, as was most successful in not getting ourselves killed.  Not what's real, we don't see atoms or hear wavelengths.  Just whether or not we're going to bump into something.

Our minds, interpretations, operate much the same way.  Navigating by what works, defining what's real by what gives us feedback.  As social animals, we give each other feedback, we factor into each other's interpretation of what's real.  Not necessarily in the most amicable of ways, but we form each other's reality, we form our own reality, but none of it is objectively real.

It's all just the firing of neurons, thoughts and ideas that come and go in an instant.  Real in that sense, but the firing of neurons sure isn't what it feels like.