a hectic two weeks.

I haven't posted on here in a while. Two weeks to be exact. It's been a long two weeks. I'm moving. In fact tomorrow I'll be out of my apartment and between places for a week or two. That's fine but it does make things busy and annoying. Julie and I broke up. It was the right decision but that doesn't make me exceedingly happy about it. I'm glad I was with her for as long as I was though. She was with me at the wrong time though. If we both had our lives together when we were going out then I'm sure it would have worked out much better, but that's not how it worked.
She only ever knew me while I was somehow insane, and There's not much I can do about that. I'm getting to know myself better and I'm dealing with not being with Julie surprisingly well. For about a week before we actually broke up I was dreading and expecting it so I got some songwriting and ranting and the such done. That helps a lot. I'm not even sure if the songs are worth playing for anyone but damn do they make me feel better.
My head is feeling ok but I've some things I haven't had the ability to deal with lately. I'm afraid I may be Bipolar. It seems that my first quarter here (well I don't actually know the time span) was all a manic episode. Everything I did then fits with the diagnosis. I realise the conflict of interest involved in self diagnosis, but I haven't been too far off in the past and I've got a pretty good psychological knowledge. I wish I were as good at dealing with my problems as I am at dealing with the problems of other people.
It will be nice to move to someplace new, but the process of it is very very annoying. Because of my couple of weeks of craziness I have more things to deal with now than I would have had I planed a bit better. It's nothing too huge but I'm not looking forward to various hassles. I never really had someone to be with at night or when I was feeling lonely. Even so, I wish I did now. Julie at least filled the role in some emotional way.
It's a horrible catch twenty two, when you're sad and in hard times you can't get a partner, but that's when you need one. You only get the support when you don't need it.
Mental illness seems to have a lot of those. Catches are all around, and I'm sure tired of them. I'm kind of tired of everything. Work, The world. I still want to be here in hopes that better things come along, but I'm not enjoying the world as it is. some things are going well, work for instance, but that is of little countenance.
These things will either work out or they won't, either way I must deal with it. I'm working on it, and It's hard, but such is my lot.

I hope to have better things to report next I post, but such may not be the case.

the neuroscience of storytelling.

It looks like there hasn't been any research on the neural basis of storytelling. Not so much as one neuroimaging study. It seems to be an unresearched thing. That is what I want to study. I want to study the way that brains tell stories. Which parts of the brain are active, what is going on in these parts, how does making up a story differ from telling one which is remembered, how does writing a story differ from speaking one. There are a lot of questions and all of them are rather interesting and would be easy to make studies about.
It would be interesting to see if the brains of people who tell stories for a living are different than other people. Do the sorts of stories you tell cause different brain morphology? If you are a trial lawyer and tell a certain form of story to juries how is that different from a writer telling a story? Is there some neural basis for the structure of stories. Other than semantics of language, does our neural network somehow determine the structure of stories.
Is there some neural basis to archetypes in stories.
I'm really shocked that no one has studied this yet. I may just not have found anything yet, and I'm going to keep searching, but that it's been this hard so far shows that there is so much stuff we don't know. It's also such and interesting intersection of various things neuroscience studies. It requires an understanding of the neural basis' of memory, language, social interaction. So much of what seems to separate us from other creatures is storytelling.
Some animal studies could be really interesting as well. It would be interesting to see if a Parliment of rooks is indeed being told a story by the rook in the centre. Where does the ability to tell a story begin.

This is great because it is also the intersection of two of my loves, Storytelling and Neuroscience.

anywho, I'm very excited about this and have been mulling it for a while. I still want to study mental illness as well, but the storytelling is interesting enough to be another focus of study.

As if I weren't already frustrated enough.

It's awfully hard once you've gotten into a rut to get out of it. It takes more effort than succeeding under any other terms. It's not so much time effort as emotional effort and the effort of going through middleman after middleman. I fell into one of those ruts. It's a pretty well known fact. I'd like to think that I'm all better now, and for the most part I am (no OCD anyways). Being mostly better doesn't help though. I can't show the university bloodtest results for OCD. I can't make administrative processes work any faster.
What is the worst is when there are things I can do. When I find that I am able to change something (usually after the fact) and for some reason or another I don't. Those are the times that really piss me off. It's an anger that can't very well be assuaged because I've no one to blame but myself. It's usually forgetfulness, or minor neglect in the face of stress. Nonetheless I can't stand it. One such thing just happened to me. It's rather horrid and I'm mad at myself about it.
When I was Disqualified from UCD for poor grades (gotten because of insanity) I was advised on the situation. The advisor had me sign a contract for readmission, and told me to call her whence I met the requirements for readmission so that I could sign up for classes and all of that. I was understandably distraught, so the reading of the contract was cursory. I hadn't looked at it again until about a week ago. I called the advisor because I met my requirements. What the contract said. What I didn't read. What I really should have fucking known was that readmission forms for fall are due in on the last business day of July. I found this out today.
It's one of those things where I don't know where to lay blame. I blame myself primarily because it's my fault. I'm not sure how much good just feeling bad about it will do though. Other shit was going on, and a lot of it. On my down time I did jack shit, so If I'd known I wouldn't have had a lack of time for filling out the form.
I just didn't see the form. I took what the advisor said (or what I remembered her saying.) at face value; call her when I got my grades in and get things sorted out. This is one instance in which my avoidance of obsession (to an almost frightening degree really) bit me in the ass.
I was consumed by obsession for so long that I don't ever want that again. Now I suppose I'm being apathetic because if I care too much I obsess. That's just a cursory analysis though. It may just be the fucking drugs. I don't even know. That's the whole problem. I don't know how much of me is well. I don't know what is right or wrong. I don't know anything right now. The only things I understand are stories, the English language, Neuoscience, and psychology. None of those things are doing me any good right now. What use is it to understand how the brain works if I can't even fucking use mine with any degree of accuracy.
I've got things figured out so the fuck ups I've been making aren't exceedingly detrimental, but I have had enough setbacks as it is. I don't need any fucking more.

I could rant for a while more about it, and will later, but now I think I'm going down to the store to get something to drink that isn't soy milk or water.

melancholy.

alone I sit
this heat surrounds me
bit by bit
my grasp it leaves me.
Now I see
where my time's going
To nothing much
just sit and waiting
in stagnation
I can do nothing
so I've tried
to fill these hours
with songs
and poems of little worth
but songs
and poems they go so far, not
far enough.
Worse than being in a rut
because
you made a poor decision
being stuck
for nothing in particular.

four AM

it's only about four am. That's somewhat late, but I'm saying only because I want to make myself feel better. If it's only four, then I still have an hour or so until I absolutely need to fall asleep. at five my next day could start, but at four, It can still be night time. I'm yawning and I feel kind of tired, but I'm also pretty sure that sleep isn't coming anytime soon. I almost want to encourage it away and just sleep a whole bunch after work tomorrow. I don't even know anymore.
This whole weird sleeping thing sucks. It's been a month or two since I last slept on a normal schedule for more than a few days. oh well. It's not as if there's a lot I can do about it.
I feel like it'd be alright if Julie were here, because either she'd be awake as well so I'd have someone to talk to (or just to hang out with for that mater) or she'd be asleep and I wouldn't mind so much lying in the dark waiting for sleep to come. I always sleep better when she's around too. I'm pretty sure it's the same for her.

anywho. There's really naught I can do about either of those things, so I'm going to go and either further procrastinate (odd using that word to refer to sleep) or lay down to try and expedite the process.

Broken car further hinders releif from the world

I can't really help but be unhappy about my car situation. It's been weeks since I last saw Julie. I could go up on a train. It wouldn't be too much trouble to undertake. Her mom's coming up though, and it's the weekend before senior high so it's somewhat intense. I just want to be there. I honestly would be fine with just being there. If it makes it harder for her then I don't want to come. She said I didn't have to go to the trouble, but I feel like she was really saying she didn't want me up there this weekend. I mean, we've got time after camp is over to hang out, so It's not like it makes a huge difference in the long run, but I'd gotten used to seeing her every weekend, and the relief I got from doing so was so large that the absence of that possibility hangs heavily over my head.
I was peeved when I started this message, thinking that Julie just didn't want me up there. I felt alone and I've been tired of this for a while, so I had a shorter fuse than usual. I'm realising that it's not actually that bad, and of course it's understandable that she'd be busy. Without a car our activities are heavily limited as well, and with her Mom there, me being a third wheel wouldn't be completely welcome. My initial annoyance is gone. I still feel a bit forlorn, and despondent, but that will subside.
I have a weekend of leisure ahead of me, and that's not a bad thing. I'll take it for what it is, and read, play videogames, play guitar, and sleep.

The journeys of a wanderer weary (part one)

At it's edge the forest calls
far it goes, seeks to enthrall
deeper still the forest goes
shadows turning, on trees thrown
through the shadows you traverse
thoughts assail you, most perverse
now your head it fills the blanks
making twiglings into shanks
building monsters, they're oh so cunning
your frightened mind then calls for running
you resist its frightened call
telling it to quell the squall
standing still your heart beats quicker
wishing now you had some liqour
to calm your nerves, and settle you down
to un bolt your feet from the loamy ground
this abject fear, it soon subsides
for in this forest no monsters reside
or none you know of, none you pray
tippy toeing on your way
hiding fear and stopping fright
keeping alert, prepared for a fight
then from fog a house appears
on its door are reddish smears
out your axe and flashlight come
to see where all this blood came from
trudging down a bloody path
you begin to do the maths
fearful ground you do not know
no telling how numerous your foes
you turn back silently lurking
sighting an owl through the murky
sitting on a brached perch
causing you to quickly lurch
back your food on dead man falls
over him sick insects crawl
buzzing sounds as flys abound
deadly stench floats all around
trying now to stop a yelp
you prepare to go for help
then you frightfully recall
the nearest town's across the falls
these hurried times this trip bars
with axe out you trot around
'till you hear an awful sound
from behind a crunching bone
now you know you're not alone
in your midst this sad man stands
entreating you with bloody hands
sympathy he wants to start
but soon the fiend begins to dart
at your throat his fingers fly
while he makes an inhuman cry
axe ready down it swings
catching shoulder, metallic ring
armour your weaponry confounds
with the light you shine his eyes
blinding him, making you free to strive
with rope that hangs on back pack coiled
quickly his movement is foiled
hands are bound and feet bound too
only scratches injured you
now you drag the bad man on
singing out victorious song
out the forest now you dance
cheering at your skill, your chance
free at last of fear you are
you want to travel, travel far.

lament of a condemed building

I've been messing with different metres lately. Here are some of the fruits of my labour.

When all the lights have burnt full out
and sounds of living gone away
when all the people leave my halls
my families move on, move on
when my doors, shut for the last
latches rusted, holding all in
still will be the pain and joy
residing in my walls
Paint will peel and chip away
thrown about will furniture be
yet all the filth and slow decay
will fail to confound, or turn away
the sounds of people in my walls
the smells of cabbage, sausage, cooking
the ancient cry of tenement halls
the faint residue of rooms
where lives were spent from start
to the last exhalation
Moistening my walls slightly
still I'll sit in degradation
waiting for destruction
while I wait to be detached
limb by limb they'll take me
I wait here with the memories
of people who forsake me.