One of my hard drives is bad, and scandisk is running now. That's why I'm writing on this pad. I'm walking, too. Breathing, even. Perhaps I ought to be chewing gum - what a feat that would be. Ah, sloppy writing. I wonder how many will be able to read this. I wonder if *I* will be able to read it. Probably. I ought to at least get enough words to be able to remember the rest.
I was just thinking about the pain of this day, and of the events, painful and otherwise, of the last several weeks. I still believe that all the chained occurrences are divinely caused - in a way, all are - but I have much to ponder considering the purpose. It is still possible that Zelda and I are to end up together, but I don't consider that likely anymore, particularly given that it doesn't look like that will come of it. Assuming we don't get together before the summer is out, I think I will e-mail her to see if something gets started that way, but I kind of doubt it - it's only the optimistic one who is really in favor of this. Well, he and the frustrated I-won't-give-up one.
I was venting a bit on Mom earlier today about my [relatively] sudden need for social contact. She said that perhaps I was entering a new phase in my life. A development thing, I suppose. I was pondering that - well, that and being pained and feeling sorry for myself - and I realized that this could very well be the Hand of God, or, to make a better, more appropriately whimsical metaphor, the Hammer of Pain beating me against the Anvil of Zelda (and Other Socially Related Things). And I realized that I do trust the Wielder of that hammer. Whatever He's making is bound to be better than the old version. Part of me takes an almost masochistic pleasure in it. Whatever pain this causes me, it will also transform me. And I am confident of positive results.
You know, I'd thought I was done with this writing, but more has occurred to me. It's not very closely related, so I'm not really sure how to make the segue. Ah, well. Here we go.
I'm fairly confident in myself. No, not like that. I mean, when I'm sure I'm right about something, I'm pretty vehement about it. And I can only think of two times when I was wrong [when I had said surety], and I remember both of them pretty clearly.
The first time I was wrong as a result of putting too much faith in the competency of one of my teachers.
Pardon the interruption. I stopped to pet a cat. More thoughts, of course. I will tell them later. Really. At least, I'll try.
The teacher referred to earlier had "taught" me to convert Fahrenheit to Celsius by simply subtracting 32 degrees. My [step]father said otherwise, but I clung to my teacher's instruction.
The other time was on the geography of Washington, D.C. I was showing some pictures I'd taken on a trip to my parents and describing where the buildings - they're all I took; I don't generally like pictures of people, though of late I've been thinking a bit differently - were located, as I revisited the area in memory. It was either a misidentification of the picture on my part or an actual distorted memory, but I insisted that some building - I don't remember precisely which anymore - was adjacent to some other. I was wrong. I detest being wrong.
The cat. I love petting cats. It is a singularly pleasurable experience. I suppose this is because the cat enjoys it, and that it is good to know I'm bringing it that pleasure. Unfortunately, since petting is fairly close - aw, who am I kidding; it's exactly the same, except for subject and context - as the activity known as "petting" amongst humans. I want to do that. Give physical - though not necessarily sexual - pleasure to a girl. Of course, it isn't difficult to guess who came to mind fairly quickly. I quickly banished her, however: I have no need of that kind of agony. It was bad enough imagining Beauty and the Beast, or the zoo, and watching hope crumble - though in this instance the thoughts were more wistful than hopeful. Besides this there is also the excellent argument that such behavior, whether sexual or not, can rapidly become so. And, again, I don't want thoughts of her creeping into any lustful thoughts. Not for some time - or ever, considering the way our relationship (if it can be called that) is progressing thus far.
Hm. Nearly two [paper] pages. Front and back. I think that's some sort of record for this. Sigh. I miss my keyboard.
On a related note, though, on this walk I saw a car leave the Zelasneys'. It was the one that I have been led to understand is Zelda's. Also the visitors' vehicle is in their driveway. They are relatives, I think. I do not remember clearly; when I learned of their visit the only data I was concerned with (at the time) was that Zelda would be unavailable this evening. Sigh. The zoo. I must learn not to get my hopes up. Then I can not be disappointed. But pessimism - no. That is nearly as bad; though it allows for extremely pleasant surprises, it tends to do the self-fulfilling prophecy bit rather often.
Yes, sir. Carpe Diem, and all that rot.
Bah. God, help me.