Honestly, I'm confused about my personality. I'm confused about being human. And I'm confused as to why I am still confused about this all. Presumably, all I've ever been is human and myself. So why would I be confused about the only thing I've ever known? And why am I still confused about that at the age of 33 1/2?
Some days, everything snaps into place, like all of eternity has been waiting for this moment. Like when I come home, to this house, I feel like I've lived here my whole life, forever. Or when I lived in Mexico, those first few days wondering around and thinking how everything seemed so familiar and obvious. Like I'd done it all before.
I was reading this week about time and about how it doesn't really exist. Part of Einstein's continuing, massive, mind-crazy-making with humanity. That man upends my entire brain every time he speaks. Speaks, I say, because why not? If there's no such thing as time, then past tense is absurd.
My first question was: How long have people known about this?
Maybe that's what deja vu is: the experience of reality, the one where there is no such thing as time. And maybe that's why I feel familiar with strange things. But it certainly doesn't explain my constant bewilderment with who I am and what my gig is.
I'm definitely having some doubts about not working, about staying home, about exploring what tasks feel right to me. Spending nine days on vacation with the uber-successful (as in: was interviewed on NPR and is presenting to the EU, in Brussels this week) can certainly cast a shadow over staying home with one's kids and milking cows. I mean, the global irrelevance of my life and work is staggering.
I think this is part of where unhappiness comes from: the bar for success is so high in such a crowded world that it's impossible for 99.99% of us to feel successful. Once upon a time, success was living to 30 and procreating a few times. But if time doesn't exist, then I suppose I can consider myself a raging success as well... if I try hard enough. If I put our culture out of my mind and go super-zen and live in my own little pointless world without time. Those neanderthals have no idea how good they have it!
On the bright side, I suppose no one's going to hang me if I waste what never existed to begin with.
I'm tired today because I awoke in the middle of the night and worried about the most pointless thing ever. I worried that our house might have a ghost. I wouldn't like that, not that they exist or anything. Some one I'm related to by blood says her house in Oakland has ghosts and the appropriately paranormal people have been called in to cope with them. I wouldn't like that at all, but it seems probable, despite their not existing, that our 1901 house would have at least a few. I wouldn't mind some dead relatives I actually knew coming by to check things out and say hello. But a stranger? That I didn't invite? In my house? I won't take kindly to ghosts I don't know. And here I'll be, all alone, in this big old house for a few hours a day (once the kinks get worked out in Coyote's schedule) with some strange ghost. I'm sick of being surrounded by strangers, and I just don't want to deal with ghost strangers too. And then I wondered: if time does not exist, maybe I am the ghost I'm worried about. Or perhaps the experience of ghosts is just people still living there, during overlapping non-times. I could be someone else's ghost and I could suddenly become upset about a remodel project 75 years in the future. I'd be all hot and bothered and not know why. But 75 years later someone's calling in the ghost whisperer to figure out why I'm in a rage today.
Damn Einstein. I think I'll have more peace of mind if he just never exists. Maybe I can come up with an equation that proves his non-existence. That would be a fine use of the time I don't have. Better than failing five times to post pictures.