Even now I laugh out suddenly. Laughter is disconcerting when it’s the self medicating kind.
I think you need some soul searching. Go to Japan. Why do you think? It’s your face I can tell. You’re depressed.
I paused over the enter key. It was an innocuous request to do some trifling thing, but I could have sent it to anyone, why her in particular? What would she read into that? When you’re depressed, every small thing becomes insurmountable. The backspace that doesn’t work on the keyboard does not censor like it should. The fuzziness on the bottom of the laptop display seems to be growing like it shouldn’t. The universe is breaking down.
Have you heard the news. Yeah it’s all over fb. So they were from him? Smooth. I laughed and stared at the monitor. What was I doing? Ah, I resumed typing wordlessly. I tried to look at the laptop as she moved pointedly away. When did he ask? Saturday? I thought it was a joke actually. Why are we tiptoeing, whispering, circling around each other, like there’s a corpse in the middle of the room or it just might be sleeping, but no one wants to see if the thing’s dead.
According to Deida, the masculine seeks freedom. The essential masculine ecstasy is in the moment of release from constraint. This can take many forms, the sexual release of orgasm, facing death and living through it, succeeding in your life purpose, or competition in sports. Deida even characterizes philosophy as a masculine pursuit because the moment of insight is a release from the tension of the struggle to understand.
The feminine does not seek freedom, but love. Hence, L’s blog: Dr yang和Dr Burke，即使不是因为演员和剧组解约，他们会在一起么？他们最终会幸福么？我不知道，这个问题其实困扰我已经很久了.
I’ve been attracted to the self help genre recently because each book offers a solution to what living the good life means. The masculine and feminine ideal tosses another factor into the equation, that our gender predisposes us to seek different things in life.
An excerpt from an article I was reading about David Foster Wallace:
Furthermore, I thought David, at 46, was at a safe age, when things are most likely to be okay or okay enough: the mad search for sex and success that consumes one’s twenties, and then leaves a hangover into your thirties, is done with; the sense of failure, the feeling that it’s all been a waste, that hits after 50 hasn’t come yet. Middle age, which might be a crisis, can also be a calm.
With S in the car: I was teaching a 50 year old man. He told me it must be tough to be in your twenties. You have your career, you’re busy all the time, on top of that you’re looking for a partner. I grimaced at the thought.You have it easy I suppose, you’re doing what you like. But you know, there’s job security, because I’m an Asian, and there’s a lot of Caucasians at work.
I want to rise above it all and pronounce in a sweeping statement. This is who I am: … I do not have that wisdom. I just want to retreat into my room and sleep it off.
My sister walks by. Oh you aren’t working today. Nope, don’t feel like working anymore I answer.
This is self protection at work. It excuses me from trying to change because I am such and such a person (substitute the many labels I have for myself). It attracts pity, something which I instinctively try to push away, but which makes it worse. Intellectually, I can understand self-destructive behavior, but emotionally, it is harder to ignore.
I was trying to sleep it off, but S messaged to ask how I was. That’s the universe telling me to snap out of it.