Well, once again I couldn't sleep last night. I sat outside in the cold, smoking, until my hands were too frozen to be able to spark the lighter. I wish it wasn't so cold, because I love going outside at night. Although I guess it's kind of nice since I can be pretty much assured that there will be nobody else outside. I don't like people. Well, there are very few people that I actually like spending time around. I suppose I'm just kind of a loner. I don't mean that in a pretentious, "I'm too good for everybody," kind of way. I just generally prefer the company of myself or maybe one other person. I need to find my smizmar. I just wish I could find something that inspires me.
After coming in from smoking, I decided to just sit around and read for a while, so I grabbed The Mismeasure of Man by Stephen Jay Gould. I bought the book used about a month ago and just let it sit in my pile of unread books because it always seemed rather intimidating. I don't know why it scared me so much, but well, I have to admit I was wrong. It wasn't hard to read; it was completely fucking impossible! I guess impossible is the wrong word, but I was in deep. I spent the next six hours feebly attempting to plow through the fucker and barely even made a dent in the thing. I read it until my eyes bled and I slipped into a seizure. God, I feel like such a dipshit. Which is somewhat ironic considering the subject of the book. Maybe I'll feel better about myself when I'm done with it. Or worse, actually, since it's an argument against biological determinism and I've always gotten hope from the fact that my family is incredibly intelligent. I've always assumed that I might still have a chance. Damn it. Maybe I shouldn't finish the book. No, I've got to. Damn it.
Anyway, after I had read about as much as I could, and was thoroughly discouraged and doubtful of myself, I put in a Tchaikovsky CD and wore a pair of glasses that I found on the sidewalk one day, so I could make myself feel smarter. If I'd only had a pipe and a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, I could have felt like a fucking genius. I don't know, maybe I should go to school, but I swear on everything important to me that I cannot learn or even function like that. To be honest, I don't really have anything against working the graveyard shift in a gas station for the rest of my life, but I just wish I didn't feel so stupid. I think I need to go somewhere and just scream.
Ground control to Major Tom...
After coming in from smoking, I decided to just sit around and read for a while, so I grabbed The Mismeasure of Man by Stephen Jay Gould. I bought the book used about a month ago and just let it sit in my pile of unread books because it always seemed rather intimidating. I don't know why it scared me so much, but well, I have to admit I was wrong. It wasn't hard to read; it was completely fucking impossible! I guess impossible is the wrong word, but I was in deep. I spent the next six hours feebly attempting to plow through the fucker and barely even made a dent in the thing. I read it until my eyes bled and I slipped into a seizure. God, I feel like such a dipshit. Which is somewhat ironic considering the subject of the book. Maybe I'll feel better about myself when I'm done with it. Or worse, actually, since it's an argument against biological determinism and I've always gotten hope from the fact that my family is incredibly intelligent. I've always assumed that I might still have a chance. Damn it. Maybe I shouldn't finish the book. No, I've got to. Damn it.
Anyway, after I had read about as much as I could, and was thoroughly discouraged and doubtful of myself, I put in a Tchaikovsky CD and wore a pair of glasses that I found on the sidewalk one day, so I could make myself feel smarter. If I'd only had a pipe and a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, I could have felt like a fucking genius. I don't know, maybe I should go to school, but I swear on everything important to me that I cannot learn or even function like that. To be honest, I don't really have anything against working the graveyard shift in a gas station for the rest of my life, but I just wish I didn't feel so stupid. I think I need to go somewhere and just scream.
Ground control to Major Tom...