Something I have realized even more over the course of this day: "Time heals all wounds" is easier said than done. To extend the analogy, I would say the blood has barely begun to clot, much less leave a scab or a scar. How deep does it really go?

This morning, I woke up at 0830, movielog entry unfinished (as it still sits right now; if it's not finished soon, I'll just post the scraps). I don't rememember exactly what I did then. Took a shower. Ate some chips, I think. I must've read a little slashdot.

I considered the possibility of going out to do something, but the temperature of the air outside made the thought uncertain. Shortly after 1100, I decided it wouldn't hurt to feed my craving for sleep, and went back to bed. Slept soundly for 2.5 hours.

With 1400 nearing, my gut told me it would be a good idea to get out of the house despite the cold, or face the gnawing repercussions. I took a voyage to the new mall. Wandered around, silently wondering for the Nth time in my life how so many businesses selling nothing but ugly, tacky clothes can possibly to stay afloat in such close proximity to each other.

I ate some pizza at the food court.

Stopped at the overpriced movie store, where the most tempting item of the day was a Farscape DVD featuring the first two episodes in the series, plus tons of extra features, audio commentaries on both episodes with members of the cast and production team, and other varied bits of coolness. For now, I passed it up though.

...

What the hell am I writing? Reciting the silly events of the day. WHY? What purpose does sitting here and doing this serve? "Content." "Content." "Content." I'm sick of "Content".

No, I'm not about to go off on any sort of suicidal rage. Haven't been there all day, thank goodness. I'm not saying it's all been hunky-dory with me and my spirit either.

Sometimes.. I am just struck with the futility of it all. But unlike the buddha, I am NOT laughing, nor do I feel very compassionate. I think if I were to use one word to describe my life right now, "trapped" would be it. I hate being trapped.

Oh well. Even if I am as far from being enlightened as one can get -- I am now officially one of the cast-away unworthy failed unteachable scum of the earth -- at least READING that damn book is an interesting jaunt. If it is all just words, going in one ear and out the other, so be it. Not much to lose there.

I find myself fighting with this notion that because I have been deemed unfit by ONE person who taught me so much in the past, now I must somehow carry it around as a cursed badge. This one has been tried, judged, and convicted. He is found summarily unworthy of any further training, and any future attempts by the more advanced among us to help him improve would be a waste of time and resources.

That sort of treatment hurts like hell when it comes from someone you looked up to (still look up to). Even moreso when you know the dismissal came with good reason.

Picking up the pieces of one's spirit, and trying to decide where to go from here is difficult. Every second, haunted by my own failure in the eyes of another.

In a vague way, I know where my path needs to go: I need to learn to see myself through my own eyes. Ideally, it would NOT MATTER if anyone and everyone else in the world looked down upon me. Even the dim view of a "mentor" should not dissuade me if I know myself well enough.

But I am not there. I don't know how to get there. I may get some clues from these books, but they cannot teach me. I think my once-mentor even tried to teach me, but could not. It is something that I can only find within myself. But I do not know where. No one else could ever know better than me. An ugly paradox.

Perhaps I truly am unworthy.

Or maybe, as the book I was reading today suggests, it is time to cast aside the ego, since it is merely an illusion. Stop trying to find the "real" me that is supposably hidden somewhere deep inside, because there IS NO REAL ME. There simply is what is. All words are a limitation -- a construct which reduces reality. To use my own silly metaphor, they "sample" the true original analog down to so many bits.

Blah. Enough of this babble.

This latest edition of Disjointed Contortions in Thought has been brought to you by Bitscape's messed up brain.

...But I will be watching XWP tonight. :)