No sport is less organized than Calvinball!

“But for our acquaintance with the contents of our own minds, we should be unable to imagine the minds of others, and therefore we could never arrive at the knowledge that they have minds.” — Bertrand Russell

Sometimes I feel like others are just robots, merely performing pre-programmed responses to a range of inputs. I have enough trouble sorting out my own mind, it’s hard to imagine billions of others similarly encumbered. This might sound silly, but I think about things frequently. Really the bulk of my activity involves thought. I guess this makes sense, being a homo sapiens, but sometimes I wonder if I think too much.

I’ve always had the suspicion that I will someday do something important. Reality makes this less and less likely as time goes on. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Though I am of decent intelligence, I might get through life without providing society with anything of importance. I am too self-impressed, self-contrived and self-sufficient to offer anything to the world. I think I’m interesting and clever — even when no one else does. I don’t have a real, organic personality; my public face is a carefully-designed artifice so useful that my actual personality atrophied. And I don’t need anyone, and being needed is a prerequisite for love. So that’s why I will probably never find love.

I’m not really depressed, but neither am I ever that happy. My feelings are so vague and weak.

You get nostalgaic for the last ten years before the last ten years have passed.

Sometimes I believe my own lies. I’m not aging well. I think I’m just lonely. I wish I were a different person.

Oh yeah, and the Wild Ferret is back. I’m gonna post some new stuff soon and I hope some other people do too.