Sick and Tired

I haven't posted for awhile because I am one lazy-assed, miserably busy Sociopath. Misery being the key word. I'm sick, exhausted and belligerently homicidal. What's new?

But let me tell you, if I could get my hands on the wriggling sludge of a human who contaminated me with their filth- you couldn't fathom all the devilish things I'd do to them if given half a chance. Hell, even I cannot think of a torture satisfying enough to rectify this heinous transgression.

People push my buttons on purpose. I'm convinced. Sometimes people say or do things so stupid in front of me, that I find myself gazing intently into their eyes, searching for that gleam of menace that would make it all make sense. But alas, I do not find it. There are really humans that idiotic and ignorant in this world. Too stupid for any kind of useful manipulation.

Of course, then there are always the smart ones. The actually smart ones and the ones that think they're smart. Personally, I don't have a preference. I enjoy them both just the same. Everybody has their weaknesses, I just happen to be talented at finding those pesky little nicks in the armor of the masses, that's all. That's not to say I don't have some flaws of my own.

Oh contraire, I have myriads of interesting little quirks. Like my complete lack of patience and explosive temper. I overreact harshly to what others may consider 'little things'. I realize this is not conducive to success. Which is why both of those traits are very carefully masked.

I am by no means foolish- and that is what emotional people are. Authentic emotions are never allowed to surface. Sure, I express 'anger' all the time- after all it's only human. But never the real thing. Why? Because honest emotions are harder to control. Especially when the entire spectrum of your emotions are all simple variations of anger. That can lead to trouble.

Perhaps I will elaborate another time.

Quote of the Day: Immortality

Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon. ~Susan Ertz

Literary Fiction

I am currently reading Hemingway, the title of the particular novel is eluding me for some reason, though the content is fresh in my mind as newly fallen snow. I must say, after having just explored some work of John Irving's, namely A Prayer For Owen Meany, it is refreshing to experience a new style. Honestly, after completing that 620 page monster I felt as if I'd vomit if I saw one more fucking hyphen or fully capitalized sentence. Already, I can just tell Hemingway's habit of forgetting about a little thing called a 'period' in his paragraph-length sentences will probably get to me by the end of this book as well.

Why is it all 'literary novelists' write their 'brilliant' works of art embedded with oft-times irritating, yet ingenious patterns? I do not deny or wish to debate the obvious skill and imagination it must take to create a novel with such layers of meaning. However, wouldn't we all just rather read American Psycho? Literary fiction is like voluntary homework. They are generally written with all of the 'strategies', 'devices', and 'styles' the english language has to offer; they are so riddled with layer upon layer of hidden meanings, symbols and possible interpretations that they lack absolutely nothing. But entertainment value.

The way our society has evolved has made that one seriously lethal fault. You could put the secret to life, next week's lottery numbers and a map to the Well of Youth in a book and no one in this day and age would read it, if it was written by Mark Twain. Why? Because life is too short to waste it reading a boring ass, moldy book. Or so is the common thought.

Personally, my taste in all things is both varied and eclectic. That includes my taste for literature. However, the reading of a work of literary fiction is no small task. It takes time, patience and a bit of a masochistic edge to endure such a daunting task. Not an activity I can enjoy so much as of late; when time is a thing of mythical wonder and patience is spread so very thin. Perhaps my friend Hemingway will help ease the stresses of being alive and not indulging in a murderous rampage. Irving sure didn't

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”- Ernest Hemingway

Quote of the Day: Mistakes

Continuing where my last post left off, a quote on mistakes;

“Mistakes are, after all, the foundations of truth, and if a man does not know what a thing is, it is at least an increase in knowledge if he knows what it is not.” -Carl Gustav Jung

C2H3O2(1-)= Acetate--Procrastination Is Key

Chemistry, much like life, is a bitch. I'm currently bogged down with more work than I can even recall but strangely, I don't really mind as much as I would have imagined. Don't get me wrong, my irritation levels have reached a fever pitch, yet still the opportunity to play with new toys somewhat evens up the scales.

Stress to me is an almost refreshing feeling. Sure too much 'responsibility' can be annoying, but I thrive on urgency. Slow and steady just isn't my way. I suppose that's a large part of the reason why I am such a devoted procrastinator. I work better close to the deadline and seem to pride myself on surpassing those who started much earlier.

I don't know, I guess the biggest issue with all this extra work is my exponentially declining Me Time. Very important for a barely controlled psychopath. I'm very fond of my personal space, and even more so of those seemingly now extinct opportunities to be alone. Alone and free of menial tasks such as general human interaction or feigning Give A Damn.

Between trying to convince my family I actually love them and convincing my friends I'm three dimensional, I have once again become a busy busy bee. Honestly, at this point I'm not convinced the grass isn't just dead on both sides. No matter; that's what the neighbor's hose is for.

That reminds me of a surprising insight one of my friends had involving me the other day. Which is surprisingly rare, considering. A group of us were engaged in a completely inappropriate conversation about someone or other when all the sudden we were confronted by our supervisor as to what we were discussing. Immediately I responded with a smooth and completely appropriate alternative to the truth- practically without thinking.

The lie came so naturally that I didn't have time to consider how others may view my obvious faux paus. Anyway, long story short, later on after the incident one of my friends commented at my seemingly silver-tongue. She, apparently 'didn't know I could lie so well'. Unfortunately for me, that was an epiphany I'd have rather avoided. The lesson here kids, is everyone makes mistakes. It would be foolish of me to think I was an exception.

“I never make stupid mistakes. Only very, very clever ones.”-John Peel

Least Politically Correct Quote of The Week

"Molestation victims are just pissed they didn't get full on raped"-Anonymous

Ouch.

Bipolar Yay or Nay?

I've been considering more and more lately that I may actually be bipolar. I mean sure, I've always known I've had symptoms, but each time I become manic I disregard the possibility as absurd. At the same time I realize that how I perceive the disorder is different from others. I have few emotional swings, it's more like a change in energy. Which in turn, alters how people think I feel.

That probably doesn't make a ton of sense, but it's the only way I can explain it. I've been practically rushing- almost like a speed rush, for the past week. Then this weekend it was like getting knocked right off the log. As if I were mentally attempting to swim through sludge. Not very fun.

Most of the time I am 100% monotonously level headed. But I go through cycles of hyperactivity and then an almost depression. It has nothing to do with being happy or sad- just level of motivation. Very odd. And very unappealing.

I enjoy the monotony of my existence. There is something freeing about not giving a fuck in the same way Empaths do. I don't want to be emotional or caring. I'll leave that dull job to you, the professionals. I am very grateful for the existence of such a disorder as Bipolar however. Considering, it has gotten me out of a lot of jams in the past. Why is it they get so much more leeway than poor, innocent, mentally mangled psychopaths? It's simply unfair.

"There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness."- Kay Redfield

First Lesson of Sociopathy 101:

We lie.

So sure, I did say I'd post yesterday but, you should've known that I can't be trusted. Therefore, fifty/fifty blame both ways? Anyway, it has been a busy time for me. So many things to do.. plenty of time but too much procrastination, let's be honest. It's interesting being back in the game- I almost didn't miss it. Funny how you can appreciate things more while you're doing them.

But alas, I truly did need a break. A mental vacation of sorts. Usually(always) my idea of a 'vacation' is complete isolation and solitude from any person to person contact with the real world. Why? Because when I interact with people I have to work. Work work work. And what do I mean by 'work'? Actually, I can tell if you're reading this you're probably a smart cookie so you probably have a good idea what I meant by work. Buuut, I'll spell it out-I have to lie, bamboozle and B.S. That is NOT conducive to this Socio's version of R&R.

I lie, bamboozle and B.S on a daily basis, why would I make that have anything to do with my vacation? Honestly, my most pleasant moments occur when I am completely alone. Lonely lonesome Socio. Almost catchy, isn't it? That was a rhetorical device I just used there, bet that wasn't what was going through your head when you read it. No no no. That is something completely off topic and blatantly bafoonish (made up word..) that only I would think of.

But anyway, long story short (and now you're thinking, 'Wait. What story?') I am eternally (or at least until monday) grateful it is now the weekend. And although I have much work to do, at least I can do it peacefully alone. For me, that's what it's all about.

“Being solitary is being alone well: being alone luxuriously immersed in doings of your own choice, aware of the fullness of your won presence rather than of the absence of others. Because solitude is an achievement.” -Alice Koller

A promise of what's to come...

My apologies, the last couple of weeks have been hectic to say the least. I'm hoping to be able to say that tomorrow will mark the end of this extended hiatus. I promise some sort of post with more to say than just "I'll be back". But unfortunately, that is what you are stuck with today so,

Till next time.