Did I mention SAD? Because it’s still that ton of bricks.
You know those days when everything gets to you? It’s been two weeks.
Three hours at Firestone today, only to have my car not pass state inspection (a correctable mechanical problem, nothing to be ashamed of, emissions are fine) didn’t help at all. Why three hours? Because they misinformed me about when they opened, and then proceeded to lose my insurance card. Spent an hour looking for it and calling the ins. co. to have them fax over a copy, because damned if I was going to drive out of there without proof of insurance.
Whine, bitch, moan. But it’s getting to be a serious problem. I’ve been nearly unable to work. We’re working on getting bright lights, and I’ve called around to doctors who (says my health ins. co.) have experience with SAD listed on their profiles. Left messages for, I’d guess, well over a dozen of them. You know how many have called me back?
Two.
The fact that I’m blogging random personal desperation is itself a big huge red flag. This is no longer “ah, me.” Part of me wants to get under the covers and not come out. Another part wants to yell heeeeellllllp.
Ethan’s been brilliantly patient and helpful through all this, down to sitting down with me to do web design, but he can’t rewire me. I’ve got about zero magic dealing powers left.
“Some 60,000 absentee ballots were despatched by authorities in Broward County, north of Miami, this month.
“However, only 2,000 of them have been delivered.”
I no longer care who wins. What do you think the probability is that someone somewhere will demand a recount, regardless of the outcome? Why, god, why can’t this great democracy have a civil election? Get me the hell out of this country. Please. Now.
(Go Sox. I am, after all, a Bostonian at heart.)
Madeline Albright: “I want to be in your parallel universe.”
Jon Stewart: “Well, you’re going to need a bong and a Grateful Dead album.”
Brilliant interview in the Daily Show on the 25th. What a subtle, brilliant and warm woman.
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I’ve been hit with SAD like a ton of bricks. The level of suck is unbelievable. Today was sunny and gorgeous, and it was lucky for me, but after sunset the change in world perception was palpable. Hence, I’m only expending energy on the essentials. Like, um, the Daily Show. But seriously, if I’m constitutionally incapable of doing anything else, well, why not the Daily Show?
Twenty-seven-year-old quadriplegic smokes pot to feel better, gets arrested because he has the misfortune to ride in a car containing a loaded gun and some cocaine, gets sentenced to ten days in prison. And dies, due in all appearances to negligence and callousness.
It boggles me that any human being can be as shielded from emotion as the judge who refused to put the boy on probation, the medical personnel at the hospital that refused to re-admit him when he needed it, and whoever the hell took hours to get him to a hospital from jail in the first place, when Jonathan was evidently in need of “acute medical attention.”
I have been, as a friend recently pointed out, fighting off entropy. So much to write about, but little time for reflection as always.
This photojournalistic take on Burning Man stopped me in my tracks today. Holy gods incarnate, I miss the desert.
To repeat, again and again, lest I forget: I am not what I do for rent money. I am what I do daily. It’s difficult to keep entropy at bay, there’s never enough time, but there should always be time to be who I am. Every day. Now.
Article in Wired today: “New Tack Wins Prisoner’s Dilemma.” Looks like Southampton took the annual PD Competition with sheer numbers – and a cool little strategy. The game goes like this:
[T]wo accomplices are arrested and separated for interrogation by the police, who give each the same choice: confess to authorities (defect) or remain silent (cooperate). If one defects and the other cooperates, the defector walks free and the cooperator gets 10 years in jail. If both cooperate, both get six months. If both defect, both get six years. Neither suspect knows the other’s choice.
Southampton submitted 60 player programs (within the competition rules: an entrant is allowed to submit many entries) designed to recognize each other when they are pitted against each other. Upon recognition, one of them would deliberately “sacrifice” itself to maximize the other’s winnings. As a result, Southampton’s players took the top three spots on the winnings roster. It’s all about research!, they say. That, and a fun way to start my morning. :)
(This isn’t about smoking. I don’t smoke, and generally can’t stand the scent of burning tobacco anywhere near me. No, this is about politics again.)
You know how you can’t get Cuban cigars here in the States? Well, now you can’t consume them anywhere else either. I’m incredulous, but it looks like there is nowhere to hide. Unless, of course, you laugh in Big Brother’s face. Exactly how enforceable is this crap? What, are they going to employ local junta to hunt me down if I want to smoke a cigar in Havana? Sheesh.
Thanks to Ben Hammersley for the link.
I haven’t updated in too long. Been too busy living, I guess, as usual. An article I read today intimated something to the effect of “humanists think in words; [natural] scientists think in things.” I’ve been thinking in things.
But this is too good to pass by. In a chat room, my other half just said:
<mindlace> my phone number is at the 9017018th digit of pi
How cool is that?! You can find out where your phone number is, too.
