satan has a legitimate claim on my soul

Here's the deal. I was raised by my father as a - sort of - superstitious agnostic. From an early age it was important to me to discover the answers to the great intangible questions of life. Chief among them: is there a god, and to a lesser extent: is there a devil?

In my early teens, using all of my pop culture info on the christian devil, I came up with a way to prove his non-existence. Standing in my parent's garage I offered, aloud, to sell my soul the the devil. My price, that he/she/it merely manifest itself.

The devil did not appear.

Five years later I had a bizarre dream. It seemed normal - full of snippets from my life. At some point an acquaintances of mine, at the time, turned to me and said something like: "Well. I'm here. You did not specify when I had to appear, nor where to appear."

It was perfect as far as my pop culture, teenage, understanding of the christian devil went. The devil is a con man, a trickster, who fools you into selling your most valuable "possession."

I had no proof of the existence or non-existence of the devil. I had sold my soul for a bad dream.

So, if he ever comes to collect, satan may have a legitimate claim on my soul.

joy

I just performed a creative act and am filled w/ peace. So little of my job is creative anymore that when I get to design something it is incredibly satisfying.

I feel that I am in the right place and it will all work out.

Maybe it's just the coffee.

out of time

I'm out of time and it's freaking me out. I'm nearly 40 and I feel like I have no way left to "win." I can't see a way to insure Saula's educational, or financial well being. If we buy a house now we won't own it until we're 70! We will never be able to retire. I'm going to be paying off my student loans until I'm 50! I don't earn enough money. I'm panicking.

Mid-life crisis. Mid-life. How strange. I'm in the period in which the halfway point of my life will occur.

This started yesterday on Facebook. A guy who I thought I had left behind in high school asked to be my friend. This guy had a superhero body in 6th grade. Athletic, attractive, popular, friendly, fun, married his high school sweetheart, stayed in the burbs... pretty much the antithesis of me.

I always consoled myself with the idea that people like him "peaked" in high school. Well they didn't. While I was screwing up in college and experimenting with drugs and mental illness, this guy went to school, got married, started a family, got a job, and worked himself into a senior position. He probably has savings for his kids' college, money for retirement, and owns his house (or will soon).

All of the things I thought were important, weren't. All of the things I thought weren't important, were.

the phantom of the paradise

Jen and I watched the Phantom of the Paradise Friday night. If you haven't seen it and like kitschy early seventies rock operas with music by Paul Williams I highly recommend it. It is a pop-rock mishmash of Faust, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and The Phantom of the Opera.

I saw it in 1974 at the drive-in. I was four. It was totally inapproriate, but in my parents defense, they may have expected me to sleep through it.

As I watched it this last time, I identified some bad ideas that got lodged in my head and ended up skewing my life negatively. Whether this movie was the primary source of these constructs, or just a manifestation of the psychological environment my father fostered, I can't say. Regardless, they stood out clearly in all of their cartoonish sincerity.

Here's a list of the bad ideas:

1. The true artist is unappreciated
2. The system corrupts and destroys the artist
3. The artist can only love from afar
4. The object of the artist's affection will destroy him
5. Martyrdom is the ultimate expression of love

I absorbed all of these things.

happy new year

We had a good time at John and Catherine's New Year's party Wed/Thurs. I drank too much as planned. Surprisingly I was, with a couple of exceptions, able to keep from hurting anyone's feelings, raising embarrassing topics, or offering too much information. Prior to the party I put together a loose list of things I should not talk about and in most cases was able to keep to it.

The hardest topic to sit on was my narcissism and this blog. I told Nathan and Pat about the blog and invited them to read it. I also told Pat and John about the narcissistic personality disorder diagnosis. Predictably John's response was negative. Not malicious, but negative. He pointed out that Narcissistic Personality Disorder is currently in vogue.

I also talked about the Talisker Scotch that I brought until I started to feel like I was begging for approval. The memory of that realization has lodged itself into the hopper and is currently running on an endless shame loop.

I did some reminiscing with Jim that might have been in poor taste. I don't think it upset him though.

Otherwise I think it went very well, and I had a lot of fun. It helped that Jen and I had a fight before the party, so there was no tension between us. At least I didn't feel any tension. To call it a fight isn't really fair to Jen though. It was more like: I acted like a jerk, she got defensive, I got defensive, she got upset, I felt bad and apologized, she explained how I hurt her feelings, I understood where she was coming from, and we made up. Maybe that is a fight. I don't know.

New Years day and today I'm dealing with the basic brain chemistry equilibrium issues that occur after a bender. Everything is skewed a little bit sad and I feel like I'm working without a net. It is getting better though.

why this blog will fail

This blog will fail. It may have already. At some point the entries will drop off. The period between them growing, until finally it will just sit gathering eDust^®.

The reason? My complex system of expectations. They are a trap from which no endeavor can escape.

If historical trends hold, I will, consumed with manic energy, throw myself into this blog. I will develop absurd expectations that can't possibly be achieved.

As I begin to fall short of these results, self-loathing and fear will begin to nudge me. My self-directed disdain for not living up to my expectations, and my fear of being judged and found wanting will form a fog that will descend on my brain, obscuring reality.

So, the tool I am trying to use to help repair my mind will be acted upon and destroyed.

Hammer into anvil.

inferiority for lunch

All morning I had been feeling mildly repelled by the idea of a heavy lunch. Had I gone with this I might have had a light, healthy, lunch. Instead I talked myself into going to Subway and having a 12" meatball sub, 2 bags of chips, and a coke.

I started to feel awkward as I pulled into the parking lot, and the feeling kept building as I stood in line. I felt a little embarrassed as I ordered, but my inferiority really kicked in when I saw what the man in front of me had ordered. He had a veggie patty on a 6" pita, covered with sauces and fresh veggies. To drink he got a cup of water.

This was the lunch that I should have ordered. This was an example of the way I should be living. Modest in portions, but enormous in satisfaction. My food was flat and heavy; punishing me with its artificial flavoring and density. His was complex and uplifting.

When the man behind the counter mentioned that both he and the man with the envied lunch were Brahmans (the highest caste in Hinduism) I started to feel like a lowly mongrel.

After lunch I started to compulsively find fault with everyone I saw. "This guy didn't pull into his parking space right." "Look at that guy's coat. You can tell he's weak just by looking at it." "That guy on the radio is an idiot."

I find myself in the middle of this pointless exercise. Something shakes my fragile sense of superiority and I react by wallowing in (self) hatred. I am especially susceptible to this when I know I am not in the right.