Answers and a Svithe

Well, since you asked for it... and as I tend to like to please my readership. (Thank you all four of you.) The answers to the questions/requests posed.

Laulau: What do you mean about the grass? As for more clues, the bad guy in Movie M also played a part in 2 M. Night Shyamalan movies. Both characters, incidentally, were hard for me to enjoy on screen in those movies because of his performance in Movie M.


Morgan: I worry about me too sometimes. Luckily... so does my Father--in his hands is my path. For the guessing... see Laulau's comment.

Theric: The code (my code?) was actually conceptualized as a way for me to do what Elder Maxwell always recommended: "try to place each step, where he would have tred." As for the movie, see my response to Laulau.

The Svithe!

It is interesting how when you actually try and do what you should, doors open. I know that I'm not ready to go back to school... this is something that I can accept these days. Because I cannot go to school, I cannot work at the place where I previously had. So... I've been forced to find a new position, tonight as I was entertaining Rockflower's request to eat with her and Cpt. Jax's family... I was offered a informally offered a position with Cpt. Jax at his place of business. It is an idea I would love to take up. Cpt. Jax is an old friend of mine who I sadly haven't spent much time with since the two of them were married almost a year ago. (I'm still very sorry that I missed the wedding... I don't deal well with things like commitment... even other people's.)

Anyway, I guess... what I'm saying is this: Sometimes, the resonance comes when you least expect it.

As I re-read that post... I'm struck by how similar the issues presenting me then are with the ones presenting me today. I would despair that I might never recover except something a wise neighbor told me the other day... Which will be the REAL svithe I think.

We are all sent here to learn something from life. And we can't expect ourselves to learn that life lesson easily, or quickly. If it were easy... it wouldn't be the reason we were sent here.

My lesson? To discover how to love, others, deity, and most of all... myself.

-(The man behind the facade)

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Giving your Life for Something...

Tonight, I sinned.

I watched a rated-R movie unedited. I'm not ashamed of it, in fact... something that it proposed has become/will become the subject of this post. And so, without further ado, the post:

In the very last lines of Movie X(No, lets not call it movie X, x gets too much face time as a random variable, lets call it... *Movie M.) In the very last lines of Movie M, *Semi-love says, "Is *Idea worth one good man's life? He believed it to be so." Now, tragically in Movie M, *Hero did in fact give his life for Idea. But, I got to thinking (now, now, don't get mad at me for thinking, it's what I'm best at) Hero didn't in fact give his life for Idea, he died for Idea, there is a difference. (Which is of course, simply commenting on the actual reference in Movie M, not to the fact that he also lived for Idea prior to this event.)

What is the difference you ask? Well, to give your life means you must... live. To give your death means to make yourself a martyr for a cause. Now here come some rhetorical questions: Which is greater? Can you do the latter without first doing the former? Why is it of such great worth to do either?

Now for some answers (Yes, sometimes rhetorical questions have answers... I just don't want YOU to answer them--yet.) Neither is greater, but are of equal value. Yes(but not really). Because the only thing we have to give in all of existence to God. Is our agency, what we do with that freedom of choice... that is completely and utterly up to us.

This concept terrifies me. My life has not been a life worthy of a movie, nor has it been lived for an idea. My life has been lived for myself. It is a selfish life a life which, like so many times before, I will endeavor to change. So... I have been thinking what exactly out there is there for me to give my life to? Politics--I don't have the temperament or history. Knowledge/wisdom--knowledge/wisdom without application is useless. Action--again, action without knowledge/wisdom... useless. No, there must be an overarching concept, an idea comparable to Hero's Idea, to which I may devote my life and gain such pleasure and glory as to be carried by my fellow men upon their shields at my $death.

What is this concept? The easy answer: God. So many men have lived and died to God however, some good... and we won't(isn't won't a funny word? It's a contraction of will not...that's weird.) speak of the others. How do you live up to that? No, I have a much simpler... and perhaps more complex idea at hand. I propose to live my life in devotion to an idea. That man kind is in need of Brother's Keepers. From hence forth let me think no more of myself, but that in doing so I may better others. Starting now, the many shall be my focus, the individual my concern, the betterment of Earth my priority. Beginning today I will forget myself and get to work.

*As a game, I'm going to give everyone(as in... the three people who actually read this) an opportunity to guess at the actual names/theories behind the faux names given. Reply via private channels so as not to ruin the game for everyone else.

Movie M = ?
Semi-Love = ?
Idea = ?
Hero = ?

$ The act of carrying a man on shields is common in several cultures, the Nordic being the one that comes to mind. But, in essence it was given to warriors who died in battle, and had done one of the the following A. died in such a way as to bring great honor to them, or B. lived in such a way as to bring great honor to them.

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Rock Bottom

The time has come for a good talking to…

Yesterday, my neighbors decided to have an intervention for me. You see, about a month ago I quit a game called World of Warcraft because I felt as though it was consuming too much of my time. Little did I know, that the frequency with which I played had more in relation to an inner turmoil than any actual addiction. Everything came unraveled the week before my parents moved.

I can’t say that I’ve ever been very close to my family in any sense but the basest, proximity. But… lately I’ve been feeling a need which I have been unable to meet. In my distress I have turned to a new source, my family, and found some strength there. But it seems fate conspires against me in this. Two weeks ago my parents moved to Georgia.

Now, I said that everything came unraveled and I really do mean everything. I stopped even pretending I was in school, stopped going to work, ceased contact with friends, and severed connections with the heavens, I even grew a beard. I’ve taken some small steps towards recovery, but the road is distant. I’ve hit the rock at the bottom, and I think it finally knocked some sense into me.

I’m not really sure how to explain all of this, my sleep cycles are all messed up, I have trouble staying asleep, getting to sleep, and waking up. The inner core of me has run empty. I am left with a husk, But I’m going to try and breath life into it. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pray.

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Check Mate

The game is over. It has been for a while... but I've decided to stop playing.

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Pride and Prejudice

Having finished the book, I will now attempt to reveal my thoughts after my 7 hour perusal.

My manner of reading:

A short disclaimer, for the book was engaging...I read the first half of it from a website on my computer and the influence of my eyes caused it to be a slightly painful instance, which was my improved by the borrowing of said book from Lyndsay Hampton, of which I am most appreciative. Thus the first half of the book was read yesterday while the latter half was digested this morn, ending at approximately ten past three this Monday afternoon.

The Style

M(r)s Austin's writing style is engaging, relying to a great extent upon the reader's imagination to form physical description of the characters and places. The bulk of the book is related in dialog between characters or as monologues and written missives. As such very little action is needed and the whole reads most remarkably like a script from which the imagination is to provide the missing aspects of imagery and action.

It is a style that I find pleasing and while she is wordy, she does not leave the dreadful distaste for the canvas that sometimes comes after 6 pages of describing a couch that comes with some other authors of the age--coughHemingwaycough--

and is a delightful respite. Not only that but in that most of the message is communicated via the means of conversation it reads easily and does not require any reviewing of material to feel that the message is 'got.'

The Characters

The true treasure of the book lies in it's wonderfully robust characters. In that the book is divided principally into couples, I find the characters easy to describe in the same manner.

Mr/Mrs Bennett: Far and away some of the more entertaining characters in the book, each brings a savor and freshness that is quite incalculable in regards to the success of the book. From the absurdness of the mother to the...humor of the father. They quickly became some of my favorite characters and stayed there for the duration of it's pages.

Mr/Mrs Bingley: One of the more boring couples, which annoyingly had prominence in the plot. Each are more or less devoid of actual character and are instead portrayed as completed products from the beginning. Of particular interest to me is that while displaying Mrs Bingley as beautiful, no actual description was ever given, allowing for the reader to create for themselves the ideal of beauty.

Mr/Mrs Collins: Perhaps one of the few messages not central to Lizzy appears here as Charlotte putting aside her own personal aspirations accepts the...incalculably awkward Mr Collins to wed. Allowing for a growth in Lizzy as she comes to the realization that there is importance in marrying one of influence. An idea not commonly accepted as pure in our day and age of "love matching" but which finds merit in M(r)s Austin's works. I ponder upon the application that would happen if our society were to return a little more closely to status affecting our choices in life...And think that little of value would be lost if we were to return to the state of familial piety and honor that is enjoyed during that time in that place.

Mr/Mrs Wickham: An opposite for the next couple in all respects, and to me, they seem to have been thrown in simply to advertise the healthiness of the Darcy marriage. And nothing can so recommend them more than Mr Bennett's opinnion stated late in the volume: "I shall like all of my new sons-in-law, but Mr. Wickham the most."

Mr/Mrs Darcy: The main attraction of the book. Mr Darcy is far and away one of the best characters I've read of in literature. His general worthiness in all aspects of his life are such as to make him, aside from Jean val Jean, a man most worth of emulation. In all that he does he attempts to do the honorable, and just. Making every choice seemingly correctly. He does not experience much actual growth, except what would appear to be a general warming of his heart towards the end of the book, as seems appropriate for a man who has finally found joy and love in another. Elizabeth on the other hand...I have to admit I was unimpressed with our heroine, and for the most part found her unworthy in most respects for the admiration of Mr Darcy. Her virtues so less pointed out that in the end, she asks Mr Darcy why he began to love her, to which she herself responds that it was only because she had the gall to challenge him. Which is well enough I suppose as she had a lively mind and goodly wit, and was by no means physically repulsive. Which is apparently all one needs find in a woman--however much more is expected in a man. At least that is what it appears to me, now, by no means am I implying that I dislike the couple, merely that it seems to me Elizabeth grew more in the process of reading and still has much more left to grow. Which might be occasioned by her very youth.

Lady de Brough, Lydia, Miss Darcy, Miss Bingley, etc: Most of the other characters are there for the plot's convenience. And require no exceptional mention, but to say that they fulfill their roles remarkably well.

I do believe that my review should soon be concluded, but I shall now give my overall impression, that the book was worthy of the praise it has gotten, if, for the sake of Mr. Darcy alone regardless of it's many other charms.

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Jane Austin

Those of you who know me...know that I HATE Jane Austin. Well...I got to thinking about it today while watching Emma and...well, the thought came to mind that I might just hate Jane Austin because I read her when I was very young and--embarrassingly--didn'

t get her. So...I've decided to give her another go. Why am I writing this? I want some suggestions as to which I should read.

So...please, tell me what you think, and why?

Sense and Sensibility
Pride and Prejudice
Emma
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey

That's the list, I want to read one of her books, not a short...so...

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Jealous

It comes quickly, from out of no where. It strikes without remorse into the most protected and precious parts of you. Worming through your body insidiously until it has eaten everything good and precious.

This thing called Jealousy, a horse that refuses to be tamed. It comes around women, in the work place, around good friends. It comes when we should be happy for others, when they accomplish something of importance.

You know, I don't really want to talk about abstracts right now, so instead I'll explain why I am feeling jealous. Please note, that this is not a solitary experience, this is a law of nature that applies to me and my relations with the opposite sex. There is a girl, that I met and thought, "Hey, I'd like to get to know her better." Said girl met me, but also some of my friends. Later, from a source we discover that she likes one of the people in that group of men she met. It has NEVER been me.

I'm really trying to discover my character flaw here, what is it about me is so lacking that others seem to have in such...abundance? I don't think I'm outrageously ugly, I have at least some sense of hygiene, I know the difference between there, they're and their and can use these words correctly. So what is it? Why am I always second or higher/lower(depending on how you look at it) on the scale?

If it happened once...or twice, that I could understand. But as I said before this seems to be a recurring theme. Last night, we watched Singing in the Rain. I felt like I was Donald O'conner. There, funny, extremely talented...but I don't get any of the girls, and really...I'm just there for comic relief and plot advancement. I really don't know why this bothers me so... and you know...at this point in my life I have a girl I'd like to date...and things are progressing...so it isn't even really so much an issue since I'm not REALLY interested in these girls anyway...and neither are my friends usually. I guess...I just don't feel special--and that's a hard thing to deal with.

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Sacrifices

How do you measure the value of a choice?

If I choose to shave, regardless of my ability to do so...does that make the action inherently more valuable? Does the fact that it will cost me more mean anything to anyone else? I've been told on several occasions that when I compliment someone it means more than if other people compliment...mostly because I so rarely compliment, and thus...the rarity of the act causes it to gain value.

There are things in my life that I know that I need to do, I don't want to do them however because they push me outside of my comfort zone, they require that I stretch and become something other than what I currently am. I am currently making steps in that direction...but progress is slow and unwieldy.

This...entry is all over the place and for that I apologize, it's strange how a choice someone else makes can affect your life in such a profound way. Hitler decides to take over Poland, and the lives of billions are changed forever. They had no say in this choice, they were sucked, irrevocably into the whirlwind of chaos that was the inevitable outcome. As such, my parents have similarly made a choice of magnitude for me. I have blocked feelings for so long that I'm not really sure what this feeling is...it becomes hard to recognize what they mean anymore. Is this fear? This churning of the stomach, the burning pith of a comment just out of reach to my tongue--is this how 'normal' people feel about the everyday foibles?

There is a core to all things, there is a core to this, these feelings of inadequacy and doubt. It's strange to think I actually believe myself inferior, I've maintained my ivory tower elitism for so long. But I don't think I can make it alone anymore, and the fear that the only people who ever really cared will now be hundreds of miles away...it scares me. Where can I turn for peace? Am I willing to accept that offering? God have mercy on my soul, give me strength I pray.

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Musings

I'm in a melancholic mood, so forgive me if this isn't up to snuff, this is written for you, but it isn't written to you. Yeah, I know, I'm strange.

For those of you who don't know, I am afflicted with an illness which makes me feel as though I should not have any kind of intimate relations. I use the word intimate is a very loose sense to mean any sort of romantic relationship. I feel that to do so would be making a commitment that my body is not prepared to keep. lately, I've been seeing a specialist for some of the more...interesting side effects of my illness.

The most difficult part about this whole thing...is that if you get into the habit of telling yourself that you can't have a relationship yet, that you need to wait, to see if things clear up, to see if you're at a point when you can make that commitment. Well, after a while you get so used to shunting emotions to the side that you stop realizing that you're doing it.

I'm afraid that there are very few indeed who are in on the inner workings of my mind enough to understand the esoteric nature of this post...and my apologies for those of you who are new here. Lately, I haven't written much, but I often times write so that I can express those...emotions that I so rarely put to the light of day. There is something cathartic about writing a missive that no one else reads...except that I have every intention of letting everyone read this. I'm not a very private person in a lot of ways, it's a defense mechanism. I let you see so much, in the hopes that the gardens will be so expansive that you will never guess or wonder at what the house contains. And so I walk the house alone, waiting for someone to care enough to walk past the gardens. And at the same time fighting tooth and nail to keep you there.

It's a strange dichotomy, I don't know how to share those parts of me anymore, the parts of me that are most precious. Know that in there, deep inside, the thorns of the garden are gone and I love you. I love you whole heartedly, for all the good that I see in you, for the pains that you hide, for the joys I sense surging through you. I wish I could help you...but I'm too afraid to leave the house.

-Cam

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A few posts

The below are a few posts that I've written elsewhere and decided to import here... See, I'm not a slacker...

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The reason for the Season (Part 1)

I've been meaning to write this post for some time now. I'm not really sure what this is supposed to say...so bear with me.

Thanksgiving, I feel that this should be one of the least anticipated holidays of the year. Because I feel as though it should be a spirit that we cultivate throughout the year. However, I feel as though I don't cultivate that spirit enough, and so I've taken these last few weeks to contemplate all of the many things of which I am grateful. My mom, sisters and others have told me that I am...Scrooge-like in that I have refused to give out a Christmas list, or have complained when others have put up Christmas decorations. My reasons have been simple, I wanted to focus on my thankfulness before I felt ready to focus on my Saviour.

Essentially this is going to be one of those: I'm grateful for... messages, so don't feel obligated to read further...this one's for me.

I'm thankful for:

My mother, who is becoming more and more the dream I've always wanted. My Father, for his example, his testimony and his hard work. My siblings, for all the things we share. To my friends collectively, for the support, examples and love they give me. For Jason, the person I turn to when life seems too hard to handle. To Chris, for some comic relief, and a constant reminder of yet another set of things I should be doing. For Ryan's goodness in everyway, and the dedication he gives to his goals. To Morgan, for the insight, and the fun. To Kit, for being the strongest man I know. To Sam, for his pure heart and gentle ways. To John, for the level headed support and guidance. To Tom, for being a rock amidst the hurricane. To Spencer, for his faith in me and in Deity. To Jed, for the compassion and charity he so freely gives. To Jeff, for his passion. To Josh, for his smile, and his care for many. To the other Jason, for the example of perseverance and love. To Jeremy, for the hope, and the conversation. To Jacob for his BFG ways. To all of the men just listed: For helping me see beyond the moment.

To others: Em, for reminding me of paths untaken. To BAWB, for his calmness. To all of my poke friends, for helping me feel wanted. To All of my IM buddies, for keeping me occupied through the day. To Pam B. for hope, and for a reason to wake up.

And most of all, to my father and his first born Son. For hope, for love, for understanding, for an example, for all the time they've taken, for faith and for reassurance. I love you all, but them most.

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A million things to do

A million things to do today,
they clatter and clutter and
carve up the minutes and hours.
Bills to pay, and places to be,
Work to be done, races to run.

All is done, the sunlight gone,
By the bed I kneel and utter:
Father, I hurt today,
I did this and that, but am empty still
I needed you most,
and you weren't there for me.

Then to my mind a picture came,
Another and another.
My neighbor who with joints aflame
Waved through the pain.
The lady who worked and slaved away
Wanting only to be home and play.
My mother who called and asked how I was
A curt response that was please don't delay.

And with a small voice he gently replies:
These needed me too--
Through you I had hoped to be with them
So perfect to a task to fill up your hole.
Forget not the weary, the hungry, the cold.
In them I will answer, in them I will be.

And with a silent cry I rose from my bed,
"Better tomorrow, I'll do what you will."
A million things to do in a day,
They don't clatter or clutter
and carve up the hours and minutes.

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Fire in the Bosom/Veins

Chant with me, just a moment,
"I am me, I am, I will stay."
Plunging through the river,
Holding on to life.

They say, the burning is God,
Telling us it's okay.
But rushing through the fire...
I doubt his hand in this.

I've felt that fire, long ago,
When a white shirt and tie were mine.
Fighting sun, and rain and fire,
Just to raise someone a little higher.

A fire like that--purifying,
His intervention clear, the witness
And not so different than the fire,
Of another agent's plan.

Two fires, so different,
So similiar.
Bitter to feed the fire.
Sweet to balance the act.

A pilgrims wandering once tred,
Becomes the markings of trails
Crossing chasms of fire,
Leading to his hearth.

What's in a point?
What makes it sharp?
Solid to touch, pushing fire:
Into the veins, the hair, the sinew.

Burning from the blood,
Burning in the blood.
Fire raging inside the mind
"I am me, I am, I will stay."

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Going Again

At the urging of my bishop, I have begun visiting with a professional pyshcatrist. I've tried to think what exactly that means for me.

One of the things that I think was particularly interest was that she said they only typically do around 16 sessions. Sixteen doesn't seem like a very large number considering that you are attempting to get someone sorted out and functional within society again. But perhaps that really is all that you need.

I'm just so tired of being alone, I'm so tired of having no one in this life to turn to. There is only so much that the savior can do for me. Yes, I know that he loves me, and yes I know that his is a perfect, undying love. But I also know that except under very special circumstances, that love is a love without physicality. I want more than anything someone who I can hold as I watch the stars. I want to feel her shiver and snuggle in closer as the wind blows. I want to sit there and whisper the inane, silly things about life and have her giggle back. I want to wake up excited in the morning to hear what she has to say. I want to feel that tingle down my spine as my hand brushes against hers. I want to feel fire from my fingertips to my toes when I realize that something I have done caused her pain, I want to have the desire to, above all else, remedy that failure of mine. But most of all, I want someone whom I can share my life with. I want someone who understands me and whom I don't have to feel like I need to dress up in order to keep them around. Unconditional love from a mortal.

Is that even possible? Are their marriages out there that end up like this? Or is that just a thing that happens while you date? I don't want to settle, can people find that oneness in God? I want to feel pain again, because I want to love again. Why is it so hard to open your heart to someone?

-Asmond

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Commiseration(The PBU)

I have discovered that, contrary to all rational thought, one can only emphasis with people who you share a common experience with. And thus it is with great excitement that I garner unto myself this most recent of accomplishments.

I was found worthy of one choice and particularly debilitating experience. The pre-emptive breakup. Now normally the word pre-emptive is used only with things like nucular missiles or Canadian domination over the world. As for break-up...well the word conjures images of broken hearts, angry phone calls, bitter words and various other forms of angst.

But the preemptive breakup is a wonderful thing, it's a girl (or guy) telling you, "Yeah, don't even think about it." You aren't even good enough to give it a try and SEE if it works out, you're straight up rejected! I'm going to admit, sometimes the PBU is needed...it's just really hard to tell when that's the case. To use the PBU when it isn't needed... Well, you can imagine the apolitical repercussions that particular chain of events might have.

Anyway, my particular PBU wasn't too bad, she came over, she dropped off food, then proceeded to have the PBU. The problem is that the PBU was so blatant, all the signs of a full blown DTR were there. "Hey, I need to drop this off, when are you going to be home." "Is anyone else there." "Hey we need to talk." Nervous walk, failure to make eye contact. It was almost enough to make me laugh, had I not be expecting it and fortifying my tender heart against it. After all, the only thing worse than a PBU that isn't needed is when the recipient of the PBU laughs when you deliver it.

But regardless, the PBU came, then she tried to skip out like a rabbit caught in the farmer's carrot patch. Which is understandable, but was hardly needed.

All in all, my first PBU went just dandy. It was still prior to making any emotional ties and I still have a good friend. And now, if you will excuse me, it's time for some rebound action.

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As I read.

I've been putting it of for long enough, it's time to open them again:

3 Ne. 23-24: "And it came to pass that it did last for the space of three days that there was no light seen; and there was great mourning and howling and weeping among all the people continually; yea, great were the groanings of the people, because of the darkness and the great destruction which had come upon them.
"And in one place they were heard to cry, saying: O that we had repented before this great and terrible day, and then would our brethren have been spared, and they would not have been burned in that great city Zarahemla."

I talks of people in darkness, and the pain--nay the anguish--that this darkness is causing them. Am I feeling that pain? It it the darkness that causes this? Is there a darkness upon the soul? These were those who were righteous and yet...they were given this darkness. And it caused them pain. Who am I to contend with such? Is it past the time of my repentance? No, I am still alive, I am still able to ask. Am I willing to do so?

3 Ne. 9:13 "O all ye that are spared because ye were more righteous than they, will ye not now return unto me, and repent of your sins, and be converted, that I may heal you?"

Can you hear the pain in that voice? The longing? I have not yet been destroyed, he still wants me. Can I? Can I do it? Do I have that kind of courage? What does it take to be converted?

3 Ne. 9:20 "And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and the knew it not."

The conditions, the reward. Baptism, cleansing, fire, purifying. Faith, faith in what? In his ability to keep his promises, in his love, in his grace. Could he ever want me back?

3 Ne. 10:4-6 (sorta) "how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not." x4

Is he saying that he does? He is. I suppose it's time to open up again, to him. I'm afraid of prayer, it makes me vulnerable. But I can't go on with the nothing.

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Dishes

I really do think that it's impossible to be happy while doing the dishes--alone. Not because dishes are such a horrible task, but rather because it is a moment when your hands and body are busy but your mind is free to wander. It's a moment of reflection. It's a moment of depression. As you sit and scrub those dishes, you are able to think back upon the many failures of life, the foibles of youth, and the catastrophes of early adulthood. I am sure that later I will think of other things as well, but currently that's all that I have to think about...so that's what I think about when I do dishes.

I hate dishes, I hate the way it makes me feel--not doing the dishes...but rather just the fact that I think when I'm doing them. I realize that most of my blogs are rather depressing, but that's mostly because I only blog when I am depressed...otherwise I'm out doing things that are really exciting to me. So, take that into account as you read. The two month gap between my posts a while back is a good sign on my part. Now life sucks again. It's moments like this that I hate being alone. Doing dishes with someone is a great experience. I love doing it with someone, because you have a chance to sit and talk, while doing constructive things. It's probably one of the greatest things in life.

What am I saying? I hate being alone.

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100 Posts

In slightly over a year and a half, I've finally managed to hit 100 posts.

It started in February, and this September...well, quite a few things have happened in between. I've changed, I wish I could say I've grown. Truth is, I'm in pretty much the same state I was in when I started this whole business. My major has changed, I have more friends, and more enemies, but when it all comes down to it, who I am...the core, is still the same. And I still don't like it very much.

Where have I gone wrong? What part of growing up am I missing? Am I supposed to stay stagnant for so long? Has it really been a year and a half of lost faith? Am I where I should be? Am I where I could be? What could I have done better?

Against the nature of rhetorical questions, I'll answer myself.

I stopped reading my scriptures. I've given too much time to different worlds and have forgotten the real one, it's responsibility that I'm missing. No, I should be much better. Yes it has, but there have been moments, beautiful moments, where you had your faith again...oh that it were a moment to last eternity. No, you failed to do your duty, you should be further, you need to stop **** and ****, and start **** again--Not to mention ****. See last answer.

Today Morgan said that my posts always made her want to be better. I don't know about that, I'm just trying to figure all this stuff out, but I know where I want to be, and this is where I share my thoughts on where that is, and how to get there. I want to be happy, and I think I'll never be able to so long as I keep looking inside mater for that joy. Happiness is not a quantity that can be measured, so why should it be found in things that can be? The same is true of all things that we find valuable, Loyalty, Love, courage. You don't see people walking around saying, "I have 325723 love today guys!" It's funny, the only way to measure happiness is to discover unhappiness. The same is true with love, and companionship. How I wish the world weren't so cold and alone. How I wish I could remember him.

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A facade

I just finished watching "Howl's Moving Castle" and I must admit that I quite enjoyed it. My head and heart are full right now. I'm not really sure what is going to come out so...please forgive me.

Lately, I have been attempting to overcome a rather disturbing illness that seems to have gripped me and refuses to let go. I have told no one, and I don't think that I'm going to tell you now. But suffice it to say that it is something that causes me no small amount of consternation. In addition to this illness which besets me I am afraid that I have fallen away from the one thing that truly makes me happy. My God. I have found many substitutes for this pleasure. But, none fill me up, none manage to...how do I say this, they do not complete me. Perhaps that is the secret in life, you are only complete when you are not alone. And the only person that can be with you always is God.

I have left him alone, and now I must seek him out.

A little more about my sickness: I am diagnosed with a chronic illness which I have no doubt will someday lead to my eventual demise. An addiction of sorts, not of the body but of the mind, it requires that I have infusions of chemicals in order to meet that addiction. It is this exact malady which causes me to run from relationships, which causes me to form so little attachment to the things of this world. You see, my foot has been one step outside the doorway leading to the next for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be here...fully here.

I don't expect anyone to understand this, and if you think that you do...well, you probably don't. The only way you would understand it is if I explained it to you, and there are few, if any, that I would feel comfortable doing so.

*wry smile* Just another layer of isolatism that I heap upon myself to prevent anyone from seeing me...I have a friend who has often said, "I think I know you better than most--if not all--and I still think that I see only 30% of what's really there." He is correct, he knows so little about me. No one knows me, and I fear no one ever will.

-Cam

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Missing time

Sorry that it's been so long since I posted last. It seems like forever, and that's fine. I've lost my laptop and have been 'borrowing' computer time while I have it late at night. Tonight I met a girl, we'll call her Hana (if you know me in real life, this is a pseudonyms, not a real one) she's great--one problem--she has a boyfriend. A fairly serious one. I don't really want to date her, mostly because of the boy, and I have no desire to break up a relationship that could possibly end in eternal bliss. But I have noticed how much I miss having a girl. It's little things. Like the scent she leaves on a pillow or article of clothing.

Like watching a movie and having something to lean on. Like not feeling so incomplete all the time--missing half of my mind. I miss the goose bumps when you see her again, the instant happy of her smile. I miss the consideration and expectations given to each other.

It's a thousand little things, these are things that I love about being in love. The sad thing is...I don't think Hana is getting those things with her boyfriend. And it scares me that she will simply 'go with the flow' and never get goose bumps, never have a stupid grin creep across her face as she thinks about him. I'm afraid she'll never be in love.

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