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11.30.2005

if all your hopes survive, your destiny will arrive 

last week, as i was scouring the intarwebs to increase my playlist of eighties music substantially in order to fulfill my desire of securing over forty-eight hours of reagan-era tunes, i became enamored with a particular track called “magic,” by the infamously physical olivia newton-john.

so much is my addiction to this song that for a few days, i began figuring that the only reasonable way to redeem myself from the shame of such a dishonorable position would be to commit ritual seppuku, until i discovered to my delight that that piece was actually co-written and produced by elo. now i feel much better. guess i’ll hafta put the ceremonial dagger away until the next time my musical tastes stray so dangerously close to the edge.

(how bad is this? rhapsody is currently offline, and in my desperation to hear this song for the thousandth time, i actually went and *paid* for it on itunes. that is fubared, my friends.)

lois lane of homefires mentioned something in the comments for my last post that i wanted to touch upon. in her words (and i am quoting here for complete accuracy): “treat girls like you treat boys, friends first.”

(i know you didn’t intend it lois, but just wanted to clear up something: generally when i make friends with other guys, i don’t particularly foster the intent to weasel my way into their pants at some point.)

you would think that “friends first” is a proper approach when it comes to the opposite sex, but there have been a number of girls who ended up becoming missed opportunities simply because out of respect i didn’t try and push any kind of sexual agenda until they and i had gotten to know each other a bit. after all, even a desperate loser such as myself is fully cognizant that coming on too strongly too soon to a woman is generally a surefire way to spend saturday night alone with the internet and a box of tissues. since i didn’t take any prompt action regarding these possible situations, almost always they ended up with my finding out (with a touch of perfect irony in that these revelations *always* surfaced *after* these girls had hooked up with some other guy) that they had in fact been romantically interested in me, yet they assumed that i did not share their sentiment when i failed to pursue a deeper, more meaningful relationship with them.

most lame. in fact, just simply recalling all of those incidents is most frustratingly painful. this is all part of what i said in the last post about how my timing sucks royal eggs (naturally with timing so bad, it’s only fitting that i am a drummer). i’m not merely bullshitting people or searching for a laugh when i allege to them just how unlucky i have been with women. it’s nothing but pathetic fact.

sometimes, it makes me really fucking angry that i could suck so bad at scoring tail when jocks and other dumbass males whose brain cells dwindle in the negative numbers could be such skillful players. why the fuck can’t i do that? it is most bothersome that i have yet to have a relationship that lasted anytime longer than two months. shit. i know guys who are still with the gals they hooked up with in high school for christsakes, and that was nearly ten years ago. how come that kind of sweet deal wasn’t in the cards for me?

one of the realizations that is not lost on me is the fact that had i been born several thousands of years ago, natural selection would have all but kicked my ass at this point. since i’m about as far from an alpha male as you can possibly get, it’s pretty much a given that my particular genes would have ended right there on the spot when some saber toothed cat dragged me off to his dinner table before i ever got a chance to pop some cavewoman’s cherry.

i really hate to keep harping on this one topic all the time, but as i’ve stated abundantly before on multiple occasions, i really do have a one track mind. for example, the other afternoon while topping off my gas tank at the filling station, this one exceptionally pretty young woman in a green top inspired me to utter under my breath "sup, girl.. i’ll stick my nozzle in your tank." see? one track. i’m also an asshole, in case i failed to mention that lately as well.

while discussing manic depression with a friend who recently imparted that he is afflicted with a similar condition as myself, i learned quite a bit about some of the medications employed to treat such symptoms and promote a generally healthier lifestyle. one of the main downsides that he pointed out to products like zoloft is that they completely rob you of any sexual desire whatsoever. well, great. mentally, i’d be tip-top to go out and find tons of hot fuckable women, sway them with my adorably undying charm, bring them back to my place and then ask if they wanted to watch tv instead of knocking our junk around due to my lacking any form of a libido whatsoever. hoo-boy! can’t wait for *that* kind of fun action. it’s kind of like that episode of the next generation when a slightly-androgynous alien fell in love with riker, only to be whisked away and psychologically re-programmed to become a sexless drone once her asexual society ascertained that she was looking to funnel number one’s hog.

if i even somehow managed to get a girlfriend under those circumstances, she and i might as well just skip the whole wedding thing and jump right into being the couple who never touches each other, and hates every iota of their lives with a firey bitter passion that’s expressed by endless marital bickering until she gets fed up with my stubbornly bullshit ways and goes off to find a better purveyor of man-shaft.

it might help to better understand where i’m coming from. i know tons of adults who are single and absolutely hate it, but they are at the point in their lives where getting into a relationship is so alien that you might as well be tasking them with converting a delorean into a vessel suitable enough for time travel. witnessing first-hand how miserable these poor souls are, i am utterly paralyzed with fear that i too will easily end up as such. really, i’d rather prefer to avoid that situation if at all possible. and i don’t know why. if i were to learn that it’s in god’s will that i never marry or have a significant other, i’m very much eager to put a stop altogether to the cruel experiment that is my life and let the almighty guinea-pig that shit on somebody else.

onwards to other topics. i refuse to continue with this particular thread since currently i am desiring to put my hand angrily through the wall with enough force to shatter every last segment of bone up to my wrist.

even though there was an ample amount of free wifi access in the jury assembly room in our local court house on monday (which i did usurp to full advantage), i failed to put down any of my mental drool while stuck there for nearly four hours until being summoned with fifty other people up towards a courtroom to wait through the arduously painful and drawn out process of jury selection. which sucks because i ended up processing a lot of random thoughts in my mind, and was actually able to come up with significantly better material than my typically nasal whining about the dry spell that is me.

when i first found out that they provided an internet connection to those whose names wound up getting picked to wake up at too fucking early o’clock to go and sit around for damn near forever and a day, i thought it would be really kick-ass to make a blog post or at least scribble some of my useless thoughts into word while the boredom slowly eroded what is left of my mind. however, as usually is the case, i ended up occupying my time with idly chatting up some friends on instant messenger, mindlessly dragging cards around my screen in pursuit of the zen known as solitaire, and looking up obscure topics on wikipedia. at the very least, i should have taken the opportunity to begin re-penning my screenplay “phonies,” but nope. instead, the dumbass in me prevailed and dutifully mis-managed the free time i was graciously blessed with.

the only colorful incident to occur during the waiting was when a guy a few seats over convinced me that he must eat garbage every day since I can’t imagine what the fuck he could have consumed that would have produced such vulgar flatulence. it didn’t help matters any that the room lacked sufficient means of circulation, and thus the noxious cloud he gave birth to just sort of hovered over the room for what seemed like a way longer period of time than it actually might have been. when we finally did get into the courtroom, you’d think out of respect for the sanctity of the judicial system, farty mcstinky ass would have made some attempt at keeping his anal commentary to himself; however for most of the session, it sounded like there was a damn trumpet over in the corner of the room. one after the other, this bastard just kept firing them away, as if he was utterly oblivious to his role as an unwitting biological weapon.

the important thing to walk away with is that i didn’t make it onto the main jury panel, and even though my name was the first one picked for being a back-up juror, somehow i managed to avoid being stuck on a trial for two weeks. hurrah for small miracles, i suppose. walking away from the courthouse, i felt a tinge of regret that i didn’t get selected for the case, but then i smacked myself in the face a few times until i came to my proper senses.

then i went home, listened to olivia newton-john another twenty times, and fell asleep to dream of the xanadu that is nailing sandy olsson (either when she was a sweet nubile blonde, or a hard core grease-monkey bitch).



  • 11.26.2005

    i've heard the accusation before, and i ain't gonna take anymore 

    ever wonder what became of the kids in school who never learned to color inside of the lines on assignments and coloring books? there were so damn many of them in my class; it really annoyed me that nobody bothered to have standards anymore when it came to applying crayons to paper.

    i’m willing to bet they all ended up as the assholes who don’t possess any clue as to how to properly park their oversized vehicles.

    for a moment, consider america’s favorite past time. or "supposed" favorite past time, since lately it doesn’t seem like anybody gives nearly as much of a shit about it as they did before. in baseball, there is a thing known as a "perfect game." this is when a pitcher manages to strike out every single opponent without ever letting the enemy team get to base. it happens quite rarely, but when the beginnings of a perfect game coalesce, superstition (which is abundant in the sport) dictates that you do your best not to make any mention whatsoever of it. you don’t look at the pitcher, you don’t talk about the game, you don’t even mention the words "perfect" or "game" at all.

    to do so invites bad luck and threatens to ruin the opportunity.

    the same i believe to be true about dating and relationships with women.

    if a woman shows interest in a man, any verbal mention he makes of it challenges the possibility of anything significant happening. this may sound ridiculously stupid, but hear me out.

    it’s like in something about mary. while the film was beyond par for most comedies, aside from the magic of harland williams’ tomfoolery involving ab muscle work-out pyramid schemes, it did happen to point out something very pertinent when it comes to handling social situations with women – if you go out hoping to score, you’re gonna fail.

    well, at least some of us. confusingly, there are tons of guys who talk up a heaping pile of game about how they’re gonna romance some nubile young lady out of her pants and into the backseat of his ride, and they almost invariably always do. such is not true for losers like me. or jason mewes, at least before he came out of his shell. or so we are told.

    i’d love to place the blame on something like the cards being stacked against me (which they often are anyways, but that’s beside the point), but it has more to do with the fact that i can’t help but wear my intentions on my skin. again, this seems to work amazingly well for some "players," but for an inexperienced newbie such as myself, i haven’t quite figured out the proper formula to make it all happen. or rather, i’m still far too skeptical of my abilities to read people (especially in light of how far away from the ballpark i was when it came to figuring out monica recently) to rely on my proper judgment of distinguishing between the girls that are all about getting down and dirty right away, and the women who would rather carry on for umpteen hundred hours about their massive shoe collections and how the last twenty guys they dated never "got" them.

    this whole "learning" "process" royally sucks. especially if you’re an impatient fuck like me. a pathetically whiny fuck, to boot. rather, it feels more like this is all some sort of twisted joke. a part of me keeps expecting to look up into the sky one day to find some ginormous research laboratory scientist peering down intently at me, and scratching his head in bewilderment at how i keep deliberately running into all of the walls of the maze instead of sniffing out the succulent block of cheese barely five feet away from me.

    since i already spoiled things and jinxed myself by simply talking about the most recent development in my life with nick, craig and spring, i’ll go ahead and hook you up with some four one one. i don’t see what further harm can be done that hasn’t already. over the past couple weeks, there has been this gal who regularly comes in an hour or two before we close, orders a drink with her friend, and then sits until closing at the counter across from our register stands. every night that she has been in, she peers over at me, and invariably i catch both her and her friend checking me out. having realized that this probably means she is interested in me, i made it a point to remember her name and drink order, to which she was astounded one day when i greeted her by name and asked if she was having her usual. i’m guessing she didn’t think she was worthy of me remembering her. or that it was a not so subtle statement of her opinion of my memory (which admittedly has been irritatingly spotty, lately).

    when i finally came to my senses that i should probably ask her out soon, it turned out that i wouldn’t be on the night crew schedule for quite a few days. nevertheless still determined, i managed to drop by the store each of the nights that i wasn’t working, not only to order my now customary green tea latte, but to also investigate and see if this gal was hanging out (it would seem that they only stick around if i happen to be on shift – lending credence to my assumptions).

    long story short, i have only seen her once more since i set my mind to proposing a dinner date with her. that one time that she did finally come into our store, i was stuck behind the bar making an assload of drinks and as such was predisposed from going over and talking her up. since she uncharacteristically ended up getting something other than her usual espresso drink, she had no real need to walk over towards my station and thus the best i was able to manage in the ways of communicating with her was to say hi to her as she was walking away from the register to go wait outside our store for her friend to show up. this all took place not even ten minutes before my shift was over. anxiously i finished up my tasks as fast as i could, and bolted outside after clocking out only to find that she had disappeared from our curb into the night.

    the whole agonizing drive home, i frustratedly cursed myself quite loudly for demonstrating far less than a satisfactory mojo. she hasn’t been back in the store since then (almost a week ago), and i’m wondering if she finally decided that she was tired of waiting for me to come around to her, and has moved on to someone else. such as my other dating experiences have been, i wouldn’t at all be taken by surprise at this outcome.

    i’ve never had the proper timing for anything when it comes to women. the first gal i dated, i was a bit nervous about becoming intimate with her – not so much because i didn’t have confidence in myself, but because i wasn’t sure if she was interested in taking things so quickly. after all, one person’s definition of "making a move" can easily be interpreted by another person as "sexual assault." generally, i like to stay on the greener side of the law (my having been born with a foot composed of lead aside).

    thus, i held back and did what i thought was proper – waited until i thought the time was right. or rather, i *would* have followed through with that had she not realized that i wasn’t going to get with her right away, and went in search of something a bit quicker. this was confirmed later on when she admitted to me that she was more than willing to go pretty far with me from the get-go. all the way, in fact.

    guess what mistake i made with the next lady? if you selected "moved way too fast for her tastes," you win the prize.

    (admittedly, the prize isn’t all that glamorous; basically you just get to keep reading the rest of this already long-winded post)

    this imbalance of "working it" carried on until i encountered monica. she was the first woman where i just had a feeling that i knew what was going on, and that proved to be correct – at least in the beginning. maybe it was the fact that she didn’t buy into playing any bullshit games. or perhaps the smooth pimp in me finally took charge and laid it all down like a fly mother fucker. either way, my instincts ended up steering me proper, and it paid off. again, at least initially they did. somewhere along the line my instincts got all haywire and fuckered, probably because i went deeply into shock that i was actually finally getting some.

    (although, a part of me still foolishly maintains that my instincts probably are still correct regarding her despite all that has happened – evidence of the stubborn german in me, i suppose)

    as foolish as it may sound, i’ve always held at least partially to the belief that since patience seems to be the biggest lesson that life is trying to force me to learn, attempting to make things happen on my own terms usually leads directly to failure. this includes self gratification. while it is entirely permissible to write off as mere coincidence, the proportion of negative situations and circumstances surrounding my daily life eerily increase anytime i clobber jimmy the one-eyed walrus. consider it the latent catholic in me (my mom was raised catholic).

    since the majority of popular religions and philosophies speak of things turning against you when you follow pursuits of a selfish nature, it may not be so farfetched to suggested that my "habits" invariably stack the karmic balance outside of my favor. again, i know that it sounds horribly idiotic, but i’ve eventually arrived at the belief that when a potential opportunity crops up for me, if i indulge in a little heavy handed personal time before the fruits of fortune come to bear, chances are i’ll probably end up screwing whatever possibility had shown me some sliver of promise.

    i dunno. maybe i’m just talking out of my ass again. as you all are well aware (at least my regular readers – assuming any of you are still out there, seeing as how i have been negligent in posting lately), i have an annoying tendency to do that quite frequently.

    at any rate, i’m tired as all fuck out. i got off work at one am last night (friday/saturday/however it works out – i can’t think or reason anymore) and my next shift starts in t-minus nine hours and counting. then i work for another eight hours, and assuming i’m not completely dead from exhaustion (i got four hours of sleep the previous night), will be swinging by the birthday party of a co-worker.

    as always, i’ll have more for you all to digest, and a helluva lot sooner than the enormous wasteland of neglect between the last post and this one.



  • 11.14.2005

    still standing in the wind, but i never wave bye-bye 

    when customers at work ask me how i am doing, usually i just respond with some bullshit like "great!" or "doing well." i say that this is bullshit because as you all know, i am not "great" or "doing well."

    i am in fact miserable.

    i can’t process anymore. i can’t reason.

    in the ongoing saga of my mind battling with all the insecurities/pain/confusion/anger at my first real meaningful relationship folding faster than a chinese laundromat attendant, i feel the need to make something abundantly clear. as much as i bitch about monica and i no longer being together and how this all has affected me so, i don’t really want her back. i don’t think i could handle it.

    while i certainly am pissed that i *finally* had what i really wanted and then it instantly vanished like some floozy in a cheap penn and teller stage trick, the truth of the matter is that if so much of what has happened has sent my state of being into a boiling rage, do i even want to invite that kind of catalyst *back* into my life? i’m doing the best i can (and failing miserably) at removing the instigations for my pain out of my life, so why would i willingly conceded to a reconvening of such factors?

    don’t get me wrong. i still feel deeply for that woman, and probably always will. but i realized over the last several months that the point of no return was long ago passed by. so then what? if not monica, who *do* i want? and more importantly, who the fuck wants me?

    as you may have inferred from my other posts just in general, i am the kind of person who is big on looking for signs or interpreting messages that aren’t really there. like for instance how i’m coming to believe that the reason i am only meeting women who are otherwise unavailable to me is a hidden message by god or whatever governs existence that there in fact are no women out there meant for me, and i really should invest my desires in something else least i face massive disappointment when a suitable romantic partner fails to materialize over the course of my life.

    i’m sure that everybody who experiences the end of their first major relationship probably feels the exact same way. if there’s ever been one thing i’ve been keen on, it was being just like everybody else and making the same stupid mistakes.

    sarcasm just doesn’t show up as well in print as it does in spoken word. :-/

    i’m deeply conflicted and it bothers me plenty. there’s a part of me that wants for monica to have nothing but happiness, joy, and success in her life. hell, if i am consigned to feeling miserable, why should she? after all, she already detached herself emotionally from the situation long ago. from the very beginning, i had always wished that her life would be good even if i weren’t a part of it in the way i would like to be, and most of the cheesy-ass 80’s romance flicks dictate that that in fact is love. i still ain’t buying.

    the other part of me wants her to suffer gravely until the day she dies. i’m generally not a ruthlessly evil person brimming with malice, but having elicited a rather primitive "eye for an eye" mentality, i want to as much pain inflicted upon her as was brought unto me (the irony being that that likely has already happened). that any other relationship she enters into afterward fails miserably. it disturbs me to some degree that i would feel this way, but nonetheless an aspect of who i am desperately wishes for her life to suck beyond words.

    and it’s not even so that after anybody else she gets with rejects her that she’d come back my way. fuck that. while i certainly have nothing to be proud about, i feel at least enough ego to discard the option of being somebody’s "last resort." maybe monica in some way felt that i viewed *her* as a last resort? perhaps. it’s not often that a woman actually takes any kind of serious interest in me, so maybe i was in fact wanting to be with her to avoid missing my last chance. not only am i socially defunct when it comes to actually persuading women to go out with me, on the rare occasion that it actually does happen, i feel this intense pressure that this may be my one and only shot.

    that probably doesn’t turn on nearly as many people as i pretend it might.

    (and no; for the record, i never once actually thought that she was a last resort – regardless of how contradictory some of what is said here may seem.)

    it really bugs me just how blasé monica was about all of this. there are several particular instances where if she was really serious about not wanting to get so close, than why did she allow things to happen the way they did? if she knew it was a bad idea from the start to make certain choices on her behalf, than why did she bother making them in the first place? and then, after having done all the damage that she could, why did she just take a happy nonchalant attitude and pretend like nothing had even happened? her approach to all of this is so infuriatingly confusing, it makes me want to rip every follicle of hair out of my skull and set them on fire.

    ultimately however, it keeps coming back to me. i am the only one responsible for this suffering. way back on that first night when she and i kissed and sealed this fate, i should have realized just what the fuck i was doing. no. i was a dumbass. and now it is costing me plenty. i think it is safe to say that a fair degree of buyer’s remorse has surfaced.

    again, all this musing does is leave me back at square one. nothing has changed, or will change – no matter how desperately hard i have worked the last couple months to make it change. i’ve tried forcing change to happen on my own, and that failed. i tried allowing change to just happen without pressuring it, and see what might develop. that failed too. so, um... huh? what do i do now? cuz i’m completely tapped of ideas, and meanwhile something’s gotta give soon or i’m just going to lose it and self destruct.

    lately when customers ask me at work how i am doing, i no longer give them a bullshit response. i have one of two answers.

    "i don’t know."

    "numb."



  • 11.10.2005

    you just smile politely and i grow weaker 

    at this point, i’m gonna go ahead and say that it’s safe to assume that my body hates espresso. it’s true that i absolutely do love the occasional caramel mocha, but anytime i ingest even a half shot of espresso, shortly thereafter i become a urine fountain and experience mild intestinal unrest.

    while it may *seem* that i have been busy due to the severe lackage of postilingus, i assure you that i have not. life has been it’s sweet old merry self, only it seems to be going by at an even faster rate of speed than it was the last time i bitched about time going by too fast.

    i suppose in some twisted way, this is one of my wishes being granted, albeit in not quite the fashion i would like it. for the past several months now, i have wanted my life to end and be over with, and since time is accelerating, it would seem that in a way, that end is drawing closer. am i scared at the prospect of losing precious valuable time with which to live my life?

    not really. i’ve had enough of being toyed with, being strung along and played like a fiddle, of being the butt of nearly every joke and of the non-stop chatter that my mind engages in. even when i am knee deep in the busy of work, i can’t escape my own thoughts. i really am dead serious when i say that i am beginning to believe that the only way to shut my brain up is with a .22 shell.

    or medication, but this solution still petrifies my drawers. the lists of negative side effects for any of the drugs that would be prescribed to ease me in my torment read like judicial state punishments. sexual side effects? urinary tract infections? blurred vision?

    yeah. quite the miracle fixes, all right.

    besides, ultimately those pills wouldn’t resolve any of the major issues that loom in front of me and constantly make me feel like a worthless shit.

    why can’t i get over monica already? why must everything possible under the sun remind me of her, and why can’t i just pretend that our relationship (again, if you can even call it that) was nothing more than a bitter-sweet dream?

    i think that by having seldom dated in high school, i ended up putting myself at a severe disadvantage towards romantic relationships and how to deal with them later in life. most people have already gone through all this shit years before i have. of course, most people had already been laid a decade earlier in their lives than i had.

    it’s just that i seem to lack the capacity to deal with this. i just can not do it. i don’t know even where to begin. i’ve tried redirecting my energies into my hobbies, and those had no effect. working harder and harder at my job only flushes the anger to the surface, and i am then left with a fragile shell of calm sitting atop a battery of rage, at which the slightest disruption will shatter my resolve.

    reading poetry and self discovery bullshit doesn’t seem to help either. these activities serve only to add more conflicting thoughts and images into my being, making me madder still. hell, even trying to hang out with the few friends that i have left in town, or making new friends has fallen through as an effective means. there just doesn’t seem to be any way for me to reasonably figure my way through this mess. for God’s sake, stop thinking to yourself that i have given up. i do my damndest every single fucking day, and no measure of my efforts works in the slightest!

    in the end, my turmoil is extremely unfair to all of you that read my blog (or the few that are still left). it takes forever for me to develop the motivation to even write anything, and when i finally do slap something online for the interweb to digest, it comes off as being a retread of the same old shit i cobbled together for any previous post. the overall desire to blog is still there. there just doesn’t happen to be any stimulus for fresh material. i feel trapped beneath all the shit i let get to me. do you really want to read post after post about how regardless of what i attempt, i fail? for the moment, that’s basically all my life is at this point.

    add on top of all of this nonsense that i have been experiencing a crisis of faith. i still believe that there is a God and that he listens to people, but i get the feeling that he’s tuned me out. there are far more people in incredibly more dire situations than i find myself in, so why should he bother wasting valuable time listening to my stupid bitching? after all, i have a roof over my head and food to eat. millions of disenfranchised souls have even less than that.

    hopefully the next time i post, i won’t come off sounding like a melodramatic attention whore.



  • 11.01.2005

    bows its head and prays to the mother of all machines 

    i could indulge in sharing with you guys how i nearly lost all sense of control last night after work in a fit of frustrated rage, but that’s boring and i’ve done far too much bitching about my problems lately.

    instead i’m gonna tell you that i have a jury summons.

    the last time i was called upon to serve my community, i ended up getting picked as a juror. the trial lasted two weeks, and we returned with a guilty verdict on all but one of the counts that the defendant was charged with. in fact, during the selection process for that trial, a number of the prospective jurors broke down emotionally and wept uncontrollably when the fifteen charges against this elderly man were being read.

    he was a child molester.

    the solitary count that we weren’t able to find him guilty on was the charge of kidnapping. only one member of our jury wasn’t satisfactorily convinced that the legal definitions of kidnapping had been appropriately met by this individual.

    it didn’t matter. the guilty verdict for the other fourteen charges against him were enough to ensure that his sorry ass was sent to folsom state prison to serve his time. one hundred and twenty years worth of time, that is.

    while the experience of observing how our legal system worked and being a part of upholding justice was interesting, the circumstances of such a situation were less than desirable. several times during the proceedings, recesses had to be called since a few of my fellow jurors were overwhelmed with emotion, especially during the statements taken from the victims of these crimes – none of them older than ten at the time of the hearings, and none of them older than six when they had been violated by this perverted adult.

    in a way, i wasn’t as affected by the testimonies as i thought i would be. it sounds callous and fucked up to say, but after having seen very similar courtroom scenes on countless television programs, a sort of desensitization had taken place. it seemed more like a dream, or like an episode of special victims unit. it just did not seem real.

    perhaps that was an example of self defense. it may have been that the things we were hearing were so profoundly offensive that i took to distancing myself emotionally from everything. it also made me think about how complex human society is.

    one of the thought processes that continue to pass through my mind throughout my life are the differences between homo sapiens and other animals. since i am more than willing to entertain the possibility that both evolution and creationism can peacefully support and co-exist with each other, i have to wonder just what the advantages of evolution might be.

    so far, the only examples that people can give me involve mostly technological developments. we have automobiles, computers, and television, and ways to share and discover information. telecommunications and satellite uplinks to provide forums with distant acquaintances. medical techniques to help aid in promoting longer and healthier life spans.

    but as a species, have we really advanced all that much? it seems to me that with every major advance in technology, it has served little for our own mental well being. it doesn’t take a genius to observe that the stress levels of human beings are continually on a rise.

    it also does not take a lot of effort to notice the results of these stresses. parents who exhibit careless disregard as they ferry their children around in large suv’s at dangerously wreckless velocities – and then express great confusion and anger when the consequences catch up to their actions. people who charge tens of thousands of dollars until their lives are buried under mountains of debt. nations that have such deep hatred for each other that the risk of violent confrontations balance on fragile eggshells.

    with all the advancement and development, are we happier as a species? have these "improvements" really made our lives better?

    have we really evolved?

    or is that something we just tell ourselves to make more sense out of all the things we don’t know or understand? to make us feel… better?

    somehow, i doubt that the average dog or cat ever asks any of these questions.

    perhaps they are better off that way.


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