Barbeque Pizza, Cheap Cabernet, Spinach salad.

Roommate off of his prozac.

Week-end cluelessness.

I don’t feel like I can write publicly on this thing anymore. Not with the same voice I used to.

There was something in the news last week about writers who use “I” and “me”. How they are overly inwardly focused. According to whoever did the study, wrote the book, or whatever. These people are generally more unhappy, insecure, losers etc. Fuck. I use “I” all the fucking time. Me me me me fucking me.

I suppose the idea is that happy people write more about other people. Happiness is only real when shared. That was from “Into The Wild”. Alex Supertramp wrote it when things were going badly in his Alaskan bus. I still don’t know if I buy it.

2008

I broke up with ******. It wasn’t a clean breakup. It was a process that spanned weeks. I ripped her heart out. I know I did.

I ran from Waltham and her and moved into an apartment in Cambridge. My roommate is a young, quiet locksmith with depression issues.

I went from a Scientific Technician at a large contract organization to a Research Scientist at a small pharmaceutical company.

I started dating, for the first time at 28 years old. I had my heart hurt for the first time.

I’m still so restless. Being single doesn’t change that.

Maybe I met ****** too early in my life.

I have to move again, for the second time this year. My landlord’s house that I rent in was foreclosed on. It’s ugly. I’m not paying rent because she doesn’t own the house. She’s stealing our mail now.

There’s an exam on Tuesday that I’m not ready for. I can’t study anymore for it right now due to high anxiety and stress. I always get through these things somehow. Somehow I don’t think this one is going to be ok though.

I’m not happy right now. Usually I’m happy.

The opening ceremonies were interesting, I wish I could have been in the stadium to see it.

I’m telling myself that I’m boycotting the rest though.

Yes I am stressed out.

Stress stress stress. It’s not financial. It’s not health related. Those fronts are wonderful.

Career stress. Presentation in front of the whole company stress.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I just need to get into it. Sunday. Tomorrow needs to be productive in terms of laying out the presentation. If everything went wonderful, I would have a draft to show to people on Monday for feedback. I need to do that. Maybe I’ll get a massage tomorrow. If I’m tense and stressed still. It’s 7:12pm. I need to write my Emily and Hiroko emails.

I hate that I have to do this. I hate that I have to live like this. I wish I was passionate about my work. I hate that I’m not amazing or terrible at anything.

I’m in a good mood today. 🙂

2025 me here: This was such a transitional phase of my life. I’ve made almost all my old posts public now, but some around this time are just too personal to share.

I have a wonderful Murakami book to read. I don’t understand why it is so difficult to actually sit down and enjoy it though. I know it is a pleasurable thing to do. Why do I do things that I know are unfulfilling wastes of time instead?

Online news and video sites. Video games.

I never feel like reading a novel is a waste of time, even the throw-away fiction. It still feels like I’m exercising an important cognitive muscle. I feel the same about writing.

I screwed up my sleep schedule over the past two days. Waking up at 4am to get the GITR presentation/summary ready. Then last night, staying up until about 1:30am then waking up at 6:00am to get the lab presentation done. Being tired at work makes it difficult. It makes the day drag. I feel less productive. This afternoon it was torturous.

Writing and reading. I still am not doing enough. The Murakami book I have is wonderful but it is difficult for me to sit down and read it even though I know it is pleasurable. Why do things I know, are not as satisfying draw me in. Like online news and video sites. Video games. I know I would feel better after reading for an hour or two. Or writing. I never feel like reading a novel is a waste of time, even the throw-away fiction. It still feels like I’m exercising an important cognitive muscle.

I need to ask *** out on Saturday night. The comedy club is my first idea. Other ideas include, just a drink or two out at a bar somewhere. Maybe a Jazz club or something. Or a place where some band plays. I need to send her the details for the comedy club tomorrow. What else is there?

I’m actually feeling kind of tired, maybe I could sleep now. Maybe I should draft the email to *** here. She liked how I write in my little notebooks.

Why do people believe in God?

Today I let myself shift from agnostic to atheist. Why am I drifting this way? Why not the other way towards faith?

The people that believe… it can be explained with evolutionary theory. A church, mosque, temple, and their associated communities provide a social support structure that helps the people in it have greater survival than those not under their umbrella. Religion encourages and accommodates children and families. I believe that throughout successive generations the people resistant to religion tend to have less children than the religious. That’s not a controversial view. So there are a lot more people today with genes predisposing them to believe.

So then, what about people like me? My grandmother believes… I share 25% of my genes with her… but I get the sense that she doesn’t believe very strongly. I don’t even know if she goes to church anymore. She took me when I was little. I was baptized. I had first communion. My mother made an effort. I hated going. The school made efforts. I went to a Catholic grade and high school. There were school masses. Catholic studies classes. In junior high, grade 8, when it came time to be confirmed into the church I balked at the idea. My mom wanted me to do it. Guilt, and installation of a sense of obligation were applied from all directions. I remember how stressed out I was at the time. I ended up lying about when the ceremony was and skipped it. She was upset but got over it. I think she lied to my grandmother and said I was confirmed.

My father came from a protestant upbringing and never went to church. He and his family are not religious at all. I don’t think I have the mix of genes that predisposes me towards belief.

I think we are complex learning machines. Machines can learn. There is a whole programming field that uses neural networks. It’s based on the concept that thousands of small units working together, making yes or no decisions can learn and adjust to problems. It works because when sensory input is channeled through the incredibly complex network in a way that produces a positive outcome these pathways are reinforced, and will be used next time a similar input is seen. This is how our brains work, except in a more imperfect way. When we think of things in a way that we or others reinforce positively, these neural pathways are developed. This is where our personality comes from, how we respond to what we sense in the world, this is what allows us to imagine and dream, everything.

So what happens when you die? Non-existence? It’s not very comforting to think that this short run of life on this small solitary planet is all we get. I just can’t convince myself that anything else is likely.

What is reality then? How should I know? I’m just an imperfect machine that can’t comprehend… maybe dwelling on this is the the path back towards agnosticism.

I’m getting Xanga rage right now. I want to change the way my page looks but can’t figure out how to do it anymore.

What is all this extra shit on here now! Fuck!

Isn’t this a blogging service? Why is it a labyrinth to just find how to change my page layout? Can I just have an edit layout link? Really, that’s all I fucking need right now.

I’m a computer science major and can’t figure this garbage out.