Errata: This entire post is meant as a snapshot into the consciousness of the blogger, in the hopes that it would be seen to be entertaining. We, the editors of Ramblings of an Idle Insomniac make no finding in that department, and feel it's best to note that the writer here has a highly irregular mind. And while one would almost certainly have to administer a comprehension examination to any who aren't by now abundantly aware of this, the point is worth re-emphasis. While some, when finding themselves in such a mood, sleep on it and feel better in the morning, it is the avowed position of the staff that no problem that this crazed Wombat has ever had has ever been solved by sleep. As such, the Wombat has not slept since the following writing, and has instead taken a walk outside, acted, and played the below-referenced song several times on his most favored properly named object, and all is now as well as a reasonable person could expect it to be. The previous sentance is entirely hypothetical as there are currently no reasonable people on the premises to interrogate, but a full investigation into the matter shall be forthcoming. A simple fix, but if it is possible to accomplish those things in the dead of night then the R&D department at Insomniac Labs will be slaughtered by sundown (Ever thus to the useless). In summation, the following text made perfect and absolute sense at the time. And moreover, we further apologize for making this post even fucking longer. The Wombat has since perused this prelude and had this to contribute: "Editing staff? Please report to the testing levels at Insomniac Labs"
So there hasn't been anything here since Monday. To tell the truth I don't know why. I've been present about the internets; just quiet. It may be that I've as the Websnark (who I hardly ever mention here but is a fantastic writer. The only problem is that the topic of his site is webcomics, a matter that's, well, rather esoteric ;) and of little interest to many of you) makes reference to, gone tharn for a couple of days.
Remember Watership Down? It's the rabbit's term for the phenomenon that occurs when the fight or flight reflex is overwhelmed and they shut down and their only hope for survival is that the hawk doesn't notice them.
Am I about to take the hard fall from a looming shadow? I don't think so. But one can never be certain of these things. I mean, I did get photographed by a private snoop today. True story. I was walking along Revere Beach with my three [lovely] aunts (not to say that they are my only aunts or even my only lovely aunts, but they do happen to be the only lovely aunts of mine that I was walking along the beach with). A man in a leather jacket holding a camera appeared in front of us on the sidewalk I don't know how many times he clicked the shutter (ok so in truth I don't definitively know that he even clicked it once) but if he took a single shot then I'm certain he focused in on each of us at least once. No clue what to make of this. It's creepy as all hell and I wonder if maybe this blog has something to do with it. Of course, it could be nothing. Because if someone was tailing me it would be pretty fucking amateurish of them to make themselves visible.
It's a hell of a coincidenc, given that I was pretty much in the perfect frame of mind to freak out about that shit. I'm hardly paranoid as a matter of habit, but were paranoia to strike me the sort of mood I've been in today would certainly favor it. I think I can define it now, actually.
This is exactly how I felt during my sophomore year in high school, the year I was formally diagnosed with ADD, and the year I almost flunked out due to, among other things, extreme chemical imbalance that stemmed from a number of causes (Fuck you, Tom Cruise). One was most certainly the ADD. And of course, due to a number of factors, my size, my strange-ish metabolism, it was hard to discern the proper dosage of medication. The experimentation wasn't my favorite process in the world. Another was what was probably an undiagnosed case of depression. Causes there? Can't say for certain. I think that part of it had to do with my grandfather's death the previous year, and maybe another bit had to do with finding out that a friend from grade school had fallen in with a gang, but that was hardly all of it. And also, this was the year that 9/11 happened. I knew that the man with the button couldn't be trusted. Didn't have proof; that didn't come until later. But suffice to say, in the state of mind I was in this was a bad scene. And, given the nature of the events, I was hardly going to bitch about how it hit me, because I recognized that in perspective that shit was trivial. My father knew though. Sat me down and tried to reassure me. He said, "we're going to get them." I vaguely remember someone else saying as much.
Ha fucking ha.
But that wasn't it, either. Even more was piled on. English class. Great teacher. The material? Pretty much the cream of the crop of depressing books by American authors. Earnest Hemmingway's Farewell To Arms. F Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Upton Sinclair's The Jungle. Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman. And of course, JD Sallinger's Catcher in the Rye.
The silver lining was that my creativity took a serious upshot. I wrote some good poetry. Not high school poetry either. Good poetry, and this coming from people who knew what they were talking about. The problem is I can't seem to find any of it.
I was also experiencing a feeling of overarching detatchment. I felt disconnected from my school as this was also the year I decided I wouldn't be getting confirmed as a Catholic. I was disconnected from my friends; had few people I was good friends with at school and an entire hometown full of lost or fading contacts. And my situation at home was stressed by my lackluster performance at a school my parents were paying me to go to.
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell
Blue skies from pain
Can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail
A smile from a veil
Do you think you can tell
It passed, eventually. I was able to pull my grades out of the fire and didn't even end up needing to go to summer school. And the next year I found a home within the school in the theater, and the others in the Dramatics Society became a sort of second family. Hadn't completely kicked my problems, but I'd taken some steps in the right direction. Of course, I hadn't addressed everything...
I was in a similar but less severe situation when I first started this blog. New school, that at the time didn't seem to be capable of presenting and intellectual challenge. The one person I could relate to I fell off the deep end for. And the results were, well, confusing. And that fucker in chief went and got himself re-elected by appealing to the fear and loathing of the autonomic voters in swing states. And furthermore I felt as if I wasn't truly ready to leave the fellowship that I had grown to love back home.
Did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts
Hot ashes for trees
Hot air for a cool breeze
Cold comfort for change
Did you exchange
A walk on part in a war
for a lead role in a cage.
Gradually, I found some people I could talk to, and started to settle in. And this blog and the people I met on it helped greatly. It filled in some spaces, and gave me a place to challenge myself as a writer. It was also another phase (no clue which one) in my growing dependancy on the internet, which became my primary means of communication. The recent trend shows, as I've mentioned, that the people I'm in contact with the most, including those I've met in person and those I haven't, I speak with for the most part solely on the internet. And thus it's easy to be disconnected. People fade from the radar all the time. Some more inexplicably than others, such as a friend I made over the summer when I was doing community theater who for no apparent reason hasn't spoken to me in months. I didn't stop talking, of course. And she didn't block me or anything. Just stopped responding. Irksome. Especially given that this time around I have no connection to the place I'm taking classes and tenuous connection at best to those I take classes with. Missed a hell of a lot of my writing class and it made no difference. There's a paralell here, and if I'm hashing this out a bit methodically it's because it's something about myself I'm just now working out. You're witnessing it firsthand, actually. I don't abide well with detatchment. Not that I'm obsessively attatched to every friend I have, it's that a vacuum, well, sucks.
How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls swimmin' in a fishbowl
Year after year
Runnin' over the same old ground
What have we found
The same old fear
Wish you were here
Of course, it all passes.
Lyrics... well I sort of hope you know what they are. Bonus points to anyone who can figure out what the deal is with the title.
I just now realized that I've been neglecting Darfur: An Unforgiveable Hell on Earth. The site, that is. Every time I do end up discussing things with fellow students it comes up. I'm going to go ahead and add this to the sidebar right now so I don't forget.
So yeah. This was yet another long one. I was planning on something light and entertaining. I had something specific in mind actually. I'll still do it, but it's not going up here, because I just realized that it's perfect for Absurdity Jam. Speaking of which, anyone who'd like to be a member just ask, I think.
Is that it? I think it is. In any case, I need to go hit the library. If you made it this far, I hope you have a great day. Same goes if you didn't make it this far, but you really have no way of knowing that, huh? If you gave up early, my good intentions for you are a secret. Muahahahahahaha...