The Domain of Steven Pinnacle of Paperless Perfection


Sweet Dreams

I didn't get any work done when I was sick this past weekend. I had told myself that I'd rather be healthy and unproductive than ill and unproductive, but tonight is a night of healthiness and unproductivity, and I found myself wishing that I was sick so that people wouldn't blame me for being unproductive. That maybe if I had some terminal illness, people wouldn't expect anything of me. I don't want to do any of this. Sometimes I feel like watching TV, or playing games, but honestly I don't know what I want to do. At times like these I want to do nothing. Just play whatever game I'm hooked on, try new ones, make feigned attempts at exercising, sit around and wallow in my memories, sleep.

Resigning myself to a fate would be so much easier than taking control of it. It's especially hard when I don't much care where that fate leads me. College will let me go anywhere, but I don't want to go anywhere. I want to get a mindless job somewhere and live in a small apartment and spend my free time being lazy and doing useless things. Last summer's routine was wake up, work, load up World of Warcraft, raid, PvP, sleep, and it was great. I want a boring life like that because it isn't at all boring. It's filled with small pleasures. It's contentment. It's happiness. It's having nothing expected of you, nothing asked of you, no goals to meet and no achievements to fulfill.

I have no ambition. My soul was placed in the wrong body. My wonderful family and girlfriend were meant for someone who wanted to go places, to make a name for himself. He was supposed to make his family proud of him. I should have been born into the family that lived in the middle of nowhere and had no prospects, so that nothing would be wasted.

If I had that life, would I ever want more? I don't know. I certainly didn't know I would ever want to be dying and in pain. But as I'm lying here in a pile of failures that would take true ambition to climb out of, I'm wondering if I would even have the ambition to do everything differently if I started over. This semester was supposed to be the one where those habits stopped. I always start out so strong, so resolved! But there are more sentences I could use the word "always" in, and none of them speak highly of me.

I need stronger guidance. I need someone's ambition to ride along, to direct my focus and make use of it. I need someone to recognize what I can do and use me. After that...all I can hope is that they bring me to the top with them.


Mystic Snake – 1GUU

For the past twelve hours I have been thinking entirely in terms of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!: I keep envisioning myself blue sparking. Blue sparking around the enemies in the game I'm playing. Blue sparking around the hall. Blue sparking around my kitchen table.

I loved the game the first time I played it. It was easy to jump into, and it gave you a sense of speed not through being faster than other racers, but by the sheer chaos of what was going on around you. Whether you were facing an incoming shell, a pair of racers bobbing and weaving through your path, or a trio of giant pirahna plants ahead attacking riders who came too close, there was always some impending doom that you had to avoid. Because you received more powerful weapons the farther away from the lead you were, there was always a hope for redemption, and always a paranoia about the people behind you. You know, the ones that wielded weapons even more powerful than yours?

I was obsessed with the game when I learned how to blue spark. All the on-screen chaos became perfectly controllable: a matter of judging the right angle at which to slide down the course and around the corner, of how hard to yank my vehicle to dodge an obstacle, whether I was coming in hard enough to snag the item box or not.

The kicker was that I could do it. Heck, I could do it wonderfully. I no longer just held down the acceleration button down a straightaway, I drifted down it like a snake, relying on the continual speed boosts to propel me faster than I could have gone just driving straight. I was constantly in the zone, each successful powerslide a work of art that I brought about with my own hands.

I believe that my mind is using the memories as an antidepressant, an upper. By constantly reliving my successes, I'm kept in a state of euphoria. It instills confidence into me about my skills and my judgement, my ability to predict what needs to be done and then take decisive action. My mind is cheering me up. My mind is a good friend.

For the past twelve hours I have been thinking entirely in terms of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!: I keep envisioning myself blue sparking. Blue sparking around the enemies in the game I'm playing. Blue sparking around the hall. Blue sparking around my kitchen table. Blue sparking around my worries. Blue sparking around my concerns.

When I blue spark, I feel like I can go anywhere and do anything. The problem is when I can't, and when blue sparking becomes an obsession instead of a tool. I become so overwhelmed with the need to blue spark that I don't pay attention to what is in front of me, and tumble face first into the problems blue sparking was supposed to avoid.

My mind means well but sometimes does more harm than good. Like my dependence on constant blue sparking, I have become so reliant on my mind's tricks that I'm not sure how well I could function without them. I just have to keep practicing and hope that one day I can finally obtain the control it makes me believe I have.


Caution, Fragile, Handle With Care

Am I no different than the rest of the crappy gifts, just with softer wrapping paper?

Filed under: Musings, Sad 6 Comments

Oh, the Guilt

I wish that in the stupor after waking up, and during the onset of painful homework, I would finally learn and move on.


Ai? Hai.

I had cried that night.

I was sure that if I kept my mind off of it, I could have not cried, but I wanted to. In breaking up with Cristen, out of spite and frustration and bitterness, I chose to give up. Whether it was because she couldn't see my point, or because I was trying to remove the tetraskelion, I was exhausted, and just wanted to let it all go. To speed up the recovery time by releasing all my emotions in a successive bursts, leaving me shaken but not stirred. To curl up, only to want to stand up and stretch afterwards.

I had had the romantic notion of crying in the shower, the closest thing I could come to rain, removing the need to open my eyes or wipe away tears or even be seen or heard. I hadn't intended to tell my mother about it when I went into the bedroom to get fresh clothes, but after a long pause and a concerned look from her, it just came out.

Saying it to her was even harder than saying it to Cristen, because it was no longer an attack, but a loss that I hadn't fully thought through. But before I speak, I think. And so I thought, and I cried and I ran. I wish that there was someone there in that moment that I could have run into and grasped for dear life, like Cristen once did for me. A person, even uncaring or unattached, would have provided so much more comfort than the tile wall. The warmth helped.

To her credit, my mother let me talk it out with her afterwards, but I didn't have any more steam to vent. I was just...gone. I had cut my ties, paid my dues, and was willing to try to move on.

But random luck and unintentional conversations succeeded for the second time at bringing us together. I've forgotten how the talk ebbed and flowed, but I do know that the small flicker of hope that I couldn't quell was fed and had begun to flourish. It wasn't tempered with regret, but instead the ecstasy of comprehension, the contentment of appreciation.

I'm glad that you realized that you wanted to be with me, Cristen, because I want to be with you too.


Madness took its toll

My hatred toward what he has done to us finally solidified when she told me that she wasn't sure. I had come close to breaking up before, but this time I snapped. A week from now I might feel sorry for injecting so much malice and spite into my words, but right now, I don't. For a few seconds I can feel calm, but I quickly remember what I lost and why I lost it. I remember who started its destruction and who finally gave her peace. As many times as I may try to say to myself that it was inevitable, and someone would have filled his role anyway, I still abhor him.

In a way, I hate what she did to me too, but I'll get over her. I won't ever get over him.

As we walked on rocky ground, it flashed in my mind for a second that I should stay with her so that the bastard never got what he wanted. I shunted it from my mind because that's no way to run a relationship.

I wish her the best and I wish him the worst. Her ostracism is so I never hear the details about those two desires conflicting, and so that I have no regrets, because I can't ever see myself stop giving less than three.

Goodbye, Cristen.

Filed under: Life, Sad, Sentimental 4 Comments

+cha to attack, +level to dam

There is an ass that needs to be kicked. In fact, I still do feel that his ass deserves a severe pounding, a passionate pounding, even. I restrain myself not out of fear of the local law enforcement, but because it is unbecoming to go into a fit of rage in front of one's girlfriend.

But fool me twice and you're a dead man.

As for me? I'm going to continue giving this relationship my all despite the pain.

Filed under: Musings, Sad 7 Comments

I hope Salieri can absolve me

Everything I hear about MIT brims with coolness. Uberness, even. Running around in the middle of the night trying to avoid campus police, climbing on top of the dome, putting a car on top of the dome, creating ingenius works of technical brilliance, dressing up the school in homage to the video games of's almost like the school is too crazy to be real. MIT seems like this mystical place where the best of the best go, and do things that are talked about forever.

Perhaps it's (counterintuitively) because I've heard such great things about it that I could never bring myself to even apply there. It's like I'm not sure if I'd be the person I envision MIT students to be. I don't know if I'm smart enough, resourceful enough, creative enough, motivated enough - heck, I don't even know if I'm weird enough! Stories tell of MIT students creating programs in their spare time that I've relied for years, yet even when prompted I couldn't create a program I'd use once a month. It may be that I can't do it, but I think it's more that I don't want to do it. I don't want to create something amazing, or to explore the intricacies of something we take for granted. That's not my bag of fun. Mine usually comes in annoyingly Starforce-protected form.

I suppose it's best summarized by my vocal explanation to my mother as to why I might be hesitant to apply to an extremely techy school like RPI, "I'm like 'Hey, compsci is pretty cool,' while people at RPI are like 'OMG COMPSCI RULEZZZZ!'" I don't think I could ever make the change that characterizes those students, and I'd be alienated. I'd be the kid that didn't do anything crazy; he just passed his classes, hung out with friends, and played lots of games.

Yet when I read it, I don't feel that there's anything wrong with that life. In fact it sounds great. I love friends, I love games, and I even love classes on occasion. I could live that life for four years in any other college and I wouldn't mind. I could live a 9 to 5 life for the rest of my life, with random socializing and games to mix it up, and I wouldn't mind. It's only when I see people doing so much more with their lives that I start to get envious. I'd love to be them, but I don't want to be them enough to do anything about it. Is it possible to be content yet left wanting? Can I really be content when I feel inferior?

This jealousy is going to drive me crazy one of these days.