Realizations

The universe, I’ve found, is a fickle thing that bends and tests most of us in ways beyond our immediate comprehension. In the endless pursuit for the continuance of Cosmic Balance we are blessed and cursed countless times. It’s ironic when you get perspective from the absolute most unexpected place. I’m much less jaded and honestly more relaxed about things in general. It’s amazing what some closure, a good night’s sleep, and some reflection on past habits that desperately need to be broken can do.

I spent the evening reflecting on how trite and, in truth, borderline emo everything here has been getting and that’s not what I want. Of course I will always write from a perspective that speaks to whatever it is I’m going through or experiencing at that point in time, but I’d like something other than my useless commentary on my myriad of failed relationships to stand the test of time. I sat last night and read over the countless volumes of text I’ve authored in the last four years. HOLY FUCKING MOSES! I write way too much. Three and a half gigabytes of pure text, endless pages all speaking to a maelstrom of topics. The sad thing is that I found a pattern. I read over some of the pieces I’d authored about past relationships and found something both disturbing yet comforting.

Hidden behind all the insipid babbling was a measure of eloquence but it was mired in teenage angst, weak prose, and useless complaining. I realized that I have a dangerous pattern of falling immediately and ridiculously hard for women that show an initial interest in me. My passion bursts through like water against a failed flood game and I end up letting the more overwhelming aspects of my personality run free and rampant. Not a good way to build any kind of relationship or dynamic. But as I sat there reading this god awful work and trying fervently to convince myself that I didn’t actually author it, it struck me that I allow feelings of attachment to override the base emotional standing of neutrality that I normally exercise and it skews my insight. Think House on methadone instead of Vicodin. If I’m moderately miserable then I’m incredibly analytical, observant, and contemplative. I can figure out anything and everything in seconds. Introduce anything that elicits a warm fuzzy feeling and my penchant for analysis falls like a house of cards.

It’s a little disheartening to make the realization that I can’t do the things that set me apart if I’m serenely happy but I guess I’m more like House than most people or even I would like to admit. Introduce a cure to the misery I live through daily and you stymie my rational mind. My kryptonite! So let it be known, no more women, ever! No happiness for me! I will simply tolerate being mildly discontented with life in order to keep my keen mind.

Sorry I know that sounded incredibly emo, but the truth is that I can’t risk giving up or letting go of the only thing that makes me special and separates me from the myriad of other faceless people. I have an innate acumen toward intuitive and deductive reasoning and I’ve been squandering it chasing women that don’t appreciate me and honestly don’t deserve me. I make excuses about why they do or how they’re not too bad and still end up alone in the end. If my rational mind were as keen as it is when women aren’t involved I’d never end up in that situation. I think that as much as sex with myself for the rest of my years might suck, it’s the cost of maintaining my intellectual capacity.

More to follow later, on a topic not personally related to me.