I wrote this blog a few days ago, but didn't post it, and I felt much happier that very evening. I guess it's a tribute to the therapeutic power of journaling. I'm waiting for a meeting to start, so I figured I'd drop this real quick. In addition, I'm back in my audiobooks today, listening to Herodotus's histories.

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Right now I feel like a saturated sponge.

I'm reading my books much slower (or not at all) these days. It's like I can't take much more information. Usually I want more information, and so I'll be listening to audiobooks in my spare time and while I work.

I was kinda starting to feel like I had room to absorb a little more, and then I got sent to robot training (#brag).

Maybe it's not that I wanted more information, but I just didn't want to think about the information I had at the time, and so I wanted other information, and so right now I simply don't want to think about any "other information". At this point, I'm hardly thinking about anything except what's right in front of me. I feel ok, but maybe this is a defense mechanism prompted by my earlier burnt-out-ness. I'm very much functional right now, and that's all.

For example: yesterday, Chowon asked me how I felt; I asked her to clarify, "about what?". She said, "You know, just in general. What's your emotional status". And I sat quietly for a minute, anxious to give an answer before she got the impression I'd ignored her, and I had no idea how I felt. Even right now, I can't for the life of me conjure up a leaning. Do I feel good or bad? I don't know. I guess I could go either way, depending on what other unrelated thing I think about. I feel kinda like a scab that's been picked off a few times and is growing back in a weird way -- neither bad nor good, really.

Right now I'm listening to this:

I didn't want to write this blog today, but I'm a thin film of bubble gum being filled up with either good or bad breath, and there's some unsuspecting nostril sitting across from me on the rail, and this blog is an pinhole relieving pressure, an involuntary precursor to a bigger explosion. Who will I be when that happens? Maybe I'll preach the gospel like someone with something to prove; maybe I'll get angry; maybe nothing will happen, and I'll just deflate like a cake with too much leavening, but maybe the cake won't taste so bad, it's just the presentation that's a little off.

Maybe I'm just waiting for something (but I don't know what) in my environment to change, so I can be what I think I should be, or so I can clarify what that is exactly. Or maybe I'm holding off until I get my opportunity to meet with that counselor I signed up for. That's next month, because scheduling is wack with the holidays and stuff.

"You're a fool."

I'm feeling better lately, but I think this recovery is coming at a sort of cost. Before, I wasn't getting things done because I was burnt out. Now, I'm not getting things done because I'm trying to recover. I've been distracting myself with theology; ironing out my argument, and studying to construct a more complete political theory around Christian Nationalism. I've recently taken some comfort in my old collection of poetry, too. And, for some inexplicable reason, for several days now I've been trapped in the mood for chiptune music *shame*.

I also sent the current revision of the argument to my old interlocutor, Logan, who my nonexistent readers might remember effectively caused me to reject the typical delivery of the presuppositional argument several years ago. I learned from that discussion that a positive argument for God is better than the "impossibility of the contrary", because we're trying to prove a large system, rather than just proving one single point of data. With such a large system, the set of false frameworks to be disproved might as well be infinitely large, but there is only one truth. I think that a system can be shown true or false by comparing it with the qualities which we know truth must have.

I've also reached out to get counseling. All this recent craziness has made me realize that there are a lot of things in my life I've never opened up about, and it would be nice to get it all out; to tell someone in a confidential setting. Maybe I'm just trying to offload any burdens I can find, to make room for the immediate pressure I continue to experience. 

"I have my books and my poetry to protect me."