Nothing in particular in 2014

I have nothing of interest to say and an endless number of words to say it in. The number of possible combinations of letters when you stare at an empty screen ought to boggle the mind. Yet it doesn't. We write. We live. We make our marks, and we hope against hope that somehow, in some way, they'll endure. That's something that I've been thinking a lot about lately.

I'm bothered a lot by how little I'm bothered when people die. This is odd because I actively dread the deaths of my parents and grandparents. Yet, Debbie's passing last year, while saddening me, didn't have the impact I thought it would have had. Part of what was not having seen her for more than a few minutes in three years. Then Mr. Wang died, and it just doesn't seem real. Somehow it just seems like life dies, but people go away.

I guess I don't have a clear concept of death. A person is gone. Something that was there isn't. Maybe it's because I didn't get a funeral for either of them. That's life, though. Maybe that's why we need funerals? Maybe we need the chance to say goodbye? Maybe some ceremony, some role, some ritual is needed so that we can comprehend the finality of what's happened. I think that I see Mr. Wang everywhere. I keep forgetting that we can't have Debbie in shows anymore. It just seems like they're around a corner.

I suppose it's unreasonable to focus so much on death and loss, but I always have, and it's hitting me harder and harder. I'm almost thirty and I'm more alone than I was ten years ago in a great many ways. I'm so terribly aware of what I've missed and the things that have slipped me by. If not for a lingering terror of Hell, suicide would be a lovely option. The sheer weight of needing to live is just overwhelming sometimes. The notion that I've messed up just grows stronger every year. I feel the weight of my failures harder and harder with each passing moment of each day. I want to go to Victorian Fest in May. I won't be able to have appropriate clothing because I've gained too much weight. I don't want to buy new clothes because they won't fit me for long. But I won't be at next year's festival. I missed what may be my last chance. I've blown so many last chances. I'm getting older. It's harder to get chances. It's harder to get a fresh start.

I can't imagine dating anybody my age. I'm 28. I'm an adult. I'm supposed to be thinking about adult stuff. I'm supposed to be doing adult stuff. Where am I going to find a woman who plays my games around technicalities? Where am I going to find somebody who's okay with me taking a year off of work? I'd damned well better accomplish something this year or else there's a good chance I won't see next April.

I'm supposed to hang out with Happy tomorrow. I don't want to. It may be a date. I don't want it to be a date, because I don't have the confidence to do anything with a woman. At the same time, I want it to be a date, because I feel that maybe I need knowing that somebody wants me. But, to be honest, I just want the thing to be gone. I don't want to go out with her and face those two options. I suppose the natural suggestion would be to go as friends and expect nothing. When there's little meaning in your life, you start reading meaning into everything.

Amber's mad at me again and I don't know why. Looking over our Skype log, I see that I called her on the 24th. I remember that upset her. I wanted to have her check out a funny comic and just chat for a bit. I bothered her when she was trying to write. The conversation ended badly. I tried to jokingly/awkwardly exit a conversation that was obviously unpleasant and going nowhere which she mistook as a guilt trip. I talked over with Tris what happened and he doesn't get it. One time, I showed an e-mail I'd written Amber and her reply to Tris and Courtney to try to figure out what the hell she was freaking out about. I told Amber I'd done that and she got mad. I can see how it's possibly a breach of confidence, but, at the same time, I don't know what else to do when a person's reactions are so incomprehensible to me.

I guess that, when I really think about it, the logical thing to do is to just stop contacting Amber. No official break as I did with Rachael. Just no reaching out. Polite refusals if she ever suggests anything when I'm back. The problem is, when you want out of a person's life, and they figure it out, they'll try to suck you back in. The problem is, I don't think my issues with Amber are fixable. Everything I do is interpreted in the worst possible way. It's the result of years of bad experiences, and I can't really fault her for that. At the same time, it seems like I ought to just cut my losses and get out of that mess. One thing she's mad about is taboo subjects. She says they're limiting. I've never told her anything was off limits (to the best of my knowledge) and while I don't like hearing a lot of details about her boyfriend and the stuff they do (few exes relish that information) I've never knowingly indicated that other than one time I unexpectedly got a LOT more information than I'd bargained for. And, frankly, stunned silence and awkward attempts to change the subject while periodically going back to it out of surprise and confusion isn't the worst reaction I've ever had to something. Well, anyway, she feels that she can't talk about her boyfriend even when she does. I suppose I can/must accept that. Her other specific example was that she doesn't like how I respond to her writing.

I'm not that picky when it comes to reading material. I read what's in front of me to a large degree. However, if something is incomprehensible, I don't tend to bother with it. I made a valiant effort at The Waves for Courtney's sake (and I'll try again) but, to the best of my knowledge, that general style is just something I'm not interested in. The insanely personal barely comprehensible unreliable narrator/multiple perspective whatever else it is that these authors seem to like doesn't do anything for me. I think it's an acquired taste, and I've tried to point that out to Amber, but that upsets her. She says that when I comment on her stories, I'm clinical and just talk about sentence structures and grammar. Well, I have no idea what the hell else to talk about. I'm suddenly thrust in the middle of a mundane, yet somehow bizarre and significant, situation with characters I don't know who then have a conversation or do something. Each sentence has dozens of modifying clauses, and while every thought and motion of the characters is indicated clearly, I get lost under the weight of the text. It's the kind of thing that you really REALLY need to put an effort into reading. Probably by becoming familiar with the genre. I told her that I can't really give her any advice because I lack any frame of reference. She said the fact that I need one is off putting. I don't think that's fair. She's writing in a way very influenced by a particular style and time period, neither of which particularly interests me. It's the same reason why Nakao told me to write in Japanese instead of in English. Americans (for the most part) don't have a frame of reference to understand what it is that I'm doing when I write most of the time. I think that everybody needs a frame of reference when they read, and, if they don't, then you've written a cross cultural masterpiece that deserves all the prizes you can throw at somebody.

To be honest, I think that I like Amber's writing as much as she likes mine. Which is to say not particularly. She's written things I like, and I've written things that she likes, but, by and large, we're people of very different literary tastes. Her's are certainly broader than mine, and they've gone deeper. That's certainly reasonable. She's an English Literature major. One would hope she knows more about English Literature than I do. While I do have a Literature degree (Japanese) that was accidental. I certainly like Japanese literature more than she does, and I know more about it, but my knowledge of Japanese Lit can't hold a candle to what she probably knows of French, German, or Russian. That having been said, I think that my appreciation of Japanese literature runs a lot deeper than most, and I'd like to believe that when I read it, I'm reading a very different story than she is. Superficially, it looks very similar to the stuff that she reads. But I've got a frame of reference for Japanese Lit. I know what I'm looking for and what's important. I know what to appreciate and what to analyze. The stuff she reads and writes, even when it's American, is entirely foreign to me.

Again, I think the best thing to do is to write her off, but it's still difficult. I've determined to do so more times than I can count or remember. The problems are manifold. For one thing, there are still residual feelings, and we all know how well I do at giving those up. (I think, much like a funeral, I need some ending on a relationship that allows for a more significant closure). For another thing, when she's not mad at me, she's really great to talk to. Finally, I do believe that, no matter her shortcomings, she's still a truly good and decent person. Ariel I could write off easily. And did. Niki certainly made it easy on me. Rachael also had a moment where I could look back and say, "Whatever you were, you aren't now, and I now know who you really are. And she's not the girl for me. Even as a friend." I've never had that with Amber. We just bicker. Constantly. But I can't give up hope on her because she's still, fundamentally, a good person. Her dislike for me and her suspicion regarding me is pretty well founded.

I think other problems are the fact that we don't really tell each other anything. Even when we know. She knows, I mean, she has to, that I've got residual feelings for her. The problem is, she's seen me have them all the time, and any affection I have for her (especially now) will just breed contempt (because I didn't have enough then). Adding to this, she'll suspect that the feelings somehow aren't real enough, or are wrong, or are somehow invalid. Somehow. But we can't discuss it. Because to discuss would mean to face things. But a lot of our renewed friendship was based on not facing things. So we're trapped. Similarly, with her writing, there are things I like about it, but the problem is she doesn't write the kind of stuff that I'm interested in. I can't offer her anything constructive. It'd be like a Chinese guy asking me about his Stinky Tofu recipe. The smell of it gives me a headache, but a lot of people adore the stuff. It must be pretty good, but it's not for me. Just like how when I gave stinky cheese to a Chinese student of mine he couldn't stand it, but I adore the stuff. I simply can't give her what she's looking for in discussing her work, and I think she's bothered because when I milk her for opinions on my writing, she's obliging and does a lot.

I think, though, maybe that's part of the issue?

I don't think she ever gets, or has gotten, what I've written. I mean, to an extent I'm sure that she does, but I don't think that it's ever resonated with her the way it has with, say, Courtney, because Amber doesn't have that frame of reference. Still, she's willing to go out there and talk and talk and talk and ignore a lot of what I'm doing and why because that's just what she's going to go with. I appreciate it a lot of the time, but I've got to do verbal gymnastics to get much useful out of our discussions. She's trying to be helpful, and often she is, but I don't think she really gets the importance of having a frame of reference for a work. The problem is, I don't know how to bring this up or discuss this with her. She'd take it as personal criticism. Is it? I mean, I suppose that from a point of view it certainly is. I'm telling her that I know something that she doesn't (points of reference are useful) and she's always resented hearing that. Especially from me. She's so deferential to many people. Still, see somebody with their trousers off they're never quite as grand.

I envy Courtney. She lost her religious beliefs, but she's gained some nice secular ones, and she's got a husband to distract her (at least some of the time) though I know that she angsts as much as I do (just about different things). Again, I feel like I've lost my frame of reference with the whole world. I'm reading The Bible more than I ever have, desperately hoping to find something, anything, to cling on to. I need something. I need some idea, some belief, to orient myself by. There's nothing I've got that's really able to guide me at this point. I've lost so many dreams and hopes and ideals and beliefs that it's very difficult to make any kind of decision. About anything. What is good? What is beneficial? What should I am for? What should I want?

Amber is offended by the notion that without God nothing has any meaning. Courtney probably disagrees. In my thinking, things have a meaning because there are assigned a meaning. Something is significant because they are significant, and insignificant things only become significant by their relationship with something significant. An infinite God is infinitely significant, and we are in some way significant because of that connection. The events in our lives, our choices, our faults, everything we do only has significance because of its relationship to the only thing that is significant (because it is infinitely significant). Without that, you're left with a series of subjective experiences. Philosophies can be useful and helpful, their net result can be something, but how can we say it's good? We change our point or view, and the same thing is good or bad. Nuclear weapons gone tomorrow? Hooray! But wait, if we blow each other up, no humans, and that's probably better for the planet. Or, alternatively, humans keep wrecking the oceans. Bad, right? It's great news if you're a jellyfish. Without God, what's the difference between a man and a jellyfish? Not a great deal. We're more generically similar than different.

This entry's now working its way onto its 4th page of Word, and it's crossing the hour and a half mark. I still want to write, but I feel that I ought to sleep. I have to be up at 8 tomorrow. But I don't want to sleep. I mean, of course I do, but, on the other hand, what's the damn point? It won't be enough, and I'll wake up a dozen times before eight.

Maybe that's today's theme.

What's the damn point?