El Blogo

And out of the chaos came order. Or, in this case, more chaos. Chaos is good though, it makes me oddly happy and allows me to feel purposeful. I just finished weeks and weeks of awful, busy, also incredibly fun and rewarding hell in the form of Reefer Madness the Musical. We had a great run and I made a lot of friends. I'm also dealing with significant point losses in all of my classes as a result. My second thought experiment was hammered out fairly roughly in between runs of the show last week. I got a D+ on my last German test. I get A's and B's on German tests. I almost fell asleep during an ESCI 101 test last week. I got a 35 out of 55 on it. I've lost days of sleep and I'm more fatigued then I've even been before. This is without question the busiest nine weeks of my life. And I have also had a great time. In the last couple of days since ending our run, namely Monday through today, I've had a lot of free time. Well, of course it could be and has been spent on homework, but I mean relatively, I have a whole asston of free time. I bought Assassin's Creed 2 for the PC and have been clocking serious hours into that. Am I happier? No, not really. Now this isn't like some rant about life and happiness, or at least I don't intend for it to be, but rather about interruptions, the spice of life.

Welsh's Filth imagines a scenario where the tapeworm is more of a hero than the actual main character. I've been in a scenario where work is often more fulfilling than play. Work is the parasite of free time, or is free time a parasite of work? Is work actually our default position and free time the interruption? Who is doing all the god-damned interrupting around here? Either way, I've been interrupted a lot lately. Work and free time must therefore be as crucial and symbiotic with one another as any other parasitic relationship. I don't believe there are levels of parasitic benefit and loss. Every parasitic relationship must inherently be exactly the same, if we are to use the umbrella term 'parasitic'. Work and play cannot exist without the other, and if we translate that to the wondrous workings of the human body, 'we' certainly wouldn't exist without a whole lot of others who are hitching rides and digesting our food and telling us to like cats. The lack of a sliding scale means every host and parasite pairing is just as gravely serious and comically trivial. We're all eating at the same table, whatever the food might happen to be. Blood, skin, candy, time... mmm. Candy time. Anyway, work makes me happy and also crazy and keeps me from other work which I'd work on if I had more free time. Hmmm. I think this is the part where the fickle walls of philosophical thought begin to crumble because I guess I've arrived at the old "there is no such thing as free time, everything is just a different kind of work, continuously interrupting itself until we die" kind of thing. That's simply grand. So once again, how do we bring that back to our friendly neighborhood tapeworms, toxoplasma gondii and blood flukes? Well, that means the notion of self is a lie perpetuated by the brain to make sense of the random mishmash of organisms and parasites that make up the human body. It's Hote-Hote in here: there are no such things as parasites because there are no such things as hosts. Life is pretty balanced, and to give certain constructs an absolute hierarchy or implied roles is a defiance of the great "impalpable greyness" of it all.

Wow, this is not where I planned to end up at all.

Um, stay classy? And, uh, everything is wrong?

I need to get some sleep. Time to go to work.