Gradually, I have came to this realization: I am in denial about my life.

I am not living with my parents. The bulk of my possessions are not awkwardly crammed in a little bedroom in my mom's apartment, forming a scene so messy that navigating from one end of the room to the other becomes a daily chore. (It will be straightened one of these days. Really. That's what I told myself over four weeks ago.)

I do not spend the majority of my waking hours in a grocery store deli, earning slightly more than minimum wage, doing work that ranges from boring to exasperating.

None of this is me. I'm not me. I'm somebody else. Living somewhere else, in another dimention. Having departed this body, I left this shell behind not long ago. Now, this shell goes about its routine from day to day, mostly oblivious to the nature of its existence. Its only connection with its former self -- me -- is through a psychic link that sometimes occurs when it is in a state of unconsciousness. That's why it doesn't like to wake up in the morning, or afternoon, or whenever. It wants to get back and reconnect with me. The only hope it has of this is to dissolve the conscious mind, and return to its natural state.

[fade to white]

Alrighty then. With that, tonight's linguistic experimentation in alternate realities has concluded, lest raving psycho boy become the dominant persona. We wouldn't want that now, would we? One thing leads to another, and soon vampire Willow would not only exist, but she would rule the entire world. Nope, wouldn't want that. Not at all. (Obviously, I've been watching too many season 3 episodes lately.)

This moment of semi-nonsensical inspiration is brought to you by Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animals.

Hmmmm.... Getting back to reality....

Yesterday at work, a coworker told me he was going to be quitting in May. He's got it all marked up on the calendar so everybody knows. When I asked him why, he told me without reservation: The place feels like a prison to him. He one's out. He's one of the more diligent workers on the team, and he just can't stand it much longer. Once he pays off the debt on his vehicle, he's out. He'll be going to join a tribe of wilderness survivalists. Literally. They've got it all planned out.

I'm not sure whether to admire this guy, or wonder what kind of drugs he's been taking. I'm leaning toward admiration, since he's not the type to plunge head-first into some scheme born of half-baked insanity. (Unlike certain other people, among whom I might include myself at times.) Sounds like they've got a reasonable plan, with skills and preparation to match. I wished him well with it.

Sidenote: Management didn't seem to have any problem with this when he gave long term notice of his departure. Maybe not all companies are created equal with regard to such things.

Ok, getting back to the denial thing. This time, I'll attempt to refrain from going off into a nutty, mad telepath tangent.

Having discovered the secret of cheap used book stores, I've been reading Chogyam Trungpa's Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Warrior. (Yes, he's the same guy who founded the Boulder Shambhala Center, where I have occassionally been known to attend meditation sessions.)

Reading the chapter which describes the cocoon, I couldn't help but say to myself, "This is my life now. I am in the cocoon. What's worse, I don't think I even want to leave."

(And no, I am not a Minbari, at least not to my knowledge. Then again..... I suppose there is some chance my soul came from over there.... Or not. Offtopic thinking now. Returning to the breath.)

The combination of influences being referenced in this rambling is almost too ridiculous even for my sad little mind to grasp. Then again, I suppose much of it is likely lost on most of the 5 people who read this web page, since nobody I know of is into quite the same combination of crap that I am. Probably better that way.

The cocoon that I am in. Perhaps a bit of fair use quoting would be in order. This will, however, require me to put on my shoes, go out into the snowy cold to retrieve the book from my car, return here, and find the appropriate passage. So be it. All in the name of web content.

But first, I'll have to take off my headphones, thereby cutting off the source of sweetly hellish music they provide... Argh.

Here we are.

... By darkness, we mean enclosing ourselves in a familiar world in which we can hide or go to sleep. It is as though we would like to re-enter our mother's womb and hide there forever, so that we could avoid being born. When we are afraid of waking up and afraid of experiencing our own fear, we create a cocoon to shield ourselves from the vision of the Great Eastern Sun. We prefer to hide in our personal jungles and caves. When we hide from the world in this way, we feel secure. We may think that we have quieted our fear, but we are actually making ourselves numb with fear. We surround ourselves with our own familiar thoughts, so that nothing sharp or painful can touch us. We are so afraid of our own fear that we deaden our hearts.

The way of cowardice is to embed ourselves in this cocoon, in which we perpetuate our habitual patterns. When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behaviour and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh ground. Instead, we wrap ourselves in our own dark environment, where our only companion is the smell of our own sweat. We regard this dank cocoon as a family heirloom or inheritance, and we don't want to give that bad-good, good-bad memory away. In the cocoon there is no dance: no walking, no breathing, not even a wink of the eyes. It is comfortable and sleepy: an intense and very familiar home. In the world of the cocoon, such things as spring cleaning have never been known. We feel that it is too much work, too much trouble, to clean it up. We would prefer to go back to sleep.

Hmmmm... Well, when I become unable to keep my own writing focused and on-topic, I can sit here and quote from other sources night in, night out. The mind is indeed a wild beast.

You feel it like no other creature because you are a vampire^H^H^H^H^H^H^H manic depressive nutcase.

Goodnight, world. Another day off today was wasted doing jack squat. Another evening tomorrow will be spent at the deli doing the exact same thing I did last night. But me, depressed? Never. Because I'm not here. I'm somewhere else.

Repeat.