On intimacy and the like

I think I might have finally figured out what I have been missing. It's taken a fair amount of time - I've been poking around in all the wrong places, turning over all sorts of stones and immersing myself in all manner of ill-advised endeavours. For the longest time I thought all I needed was simple companionship and the distraction of friendly faces. Not quite. Having been blessed with what my mother calls "The Gift of Gab", it's never really been a problem getting along with folks. I've spent the better part of my adult life surrounding myself with innumerable acquaintances - I suppose you could call a good number of them 'friends' without stretching too much. Funnily enough, I spent the majority of my childhood buried in books and avoiding other semi-social activities - I'm almost shamed to admit that I went through the whole roleplaying game geek phase... even moreso to confess that I preferred sitting in my room and making characters rather than playing the game itself. I guess it's safe to say that I'm a bit of an odd bird.

From semi-social chrysalis to chutzpah-covered carouser in less than 20 years. That ain't too bad. However, something was (and still is) lacking. Having already immersed myself in language (I'd been reading since the age of 2), I took the next logical step: I became interested in science. Cue 7 or 8 years of rote memorization, chemical compound confusion, latin misnomenclature and inscrutable equations. I still read Scientific American religiously - in my case this does not mean 'every single issue', it's more along the lines of 'whenever it tickles my fancy'. Much the same way I treat religion and spirituality, that is. Then I realized that science is less of a love and more of a mistress for me. Back to the drawing board - which meant back to literature.

I'm still there today. My love for the written word has expanded to encompass the realm of calligraphy, wherein the aesthetics are as (if not more) important than the words themselves. I've even reached the point where I don't even need to understand the language the word is written in - I can spot a well-formed stroke or dextrous twist of the nib a mile off.

However, I appear to have moved off course somewhat. I believe I was trying to relate what it is that I am lacking, not what it is that I already have. To resolve this conundrum honestly is not quite as simple as one might think. I could go on all day about the things that I do not have. I should take a moment to define: what I lack and what I do not have are not the same to my mind. I don't have a nice car, I don't have a girlfriend, I don't have 'success' (but this is a whole other kettle of fish)... all the things I don't have, I'm pretty sure I can live without. That which I lack I suffer from the absence of.
What I lack is intimacy. Simple as that. Some might say that all I need to do is meet a nice girl and that'll be the end of it. Not so. Intimacy is more than mere physical contact. It is something that I'm not entirely sure I can put into words - yes, it is those moments where one absent-mindedly strokes another's hair, it is pillowtalk just before dawn, it is a smile mirrored across a room, it is sharing moments and memories that you would otherwise keep to yourself - but these are not exactly it. These are all things that I have had and will have again. I realized earlier this evening exactly what my understanding of intimacy is, and recognized that I've never known it. Intimacy to me - the purest, crystalline form - is hearing someone speak the words that echo and resonate in your very soul. Words that you yourself are likely unable to express. What I seek is that one golden moment where I hear another voice speaking my innermost thoughts. This is what intimacy should be.

Is it possible to achieve such a thing? I should think so - given that most thought processes are the result of stimulus and response, I feel it possible (but not probable) that two separate entities should arrive at the same conclusion through two wholly distinct processes. I mean, where do you think all this talk of "soulmates" comes from? It has long been the ideal that countless romantics have striven to attain, all sorts of regular folk have blindly stumbled upon, and a concept that popular culture has made into a 21st century Grail. As an (unfortunate) aside, I reckon this is also the phenomenon that is responsible for the advent of the romantic comedy.

And since we're on the topic of reckoning, allow me to belabour the point: what with the population explosion of the last century and the increasing globalization and homogenization of culture, I have a feeling this phenomenon is going to become more common. As an increasing number of people are subjected to similar education and experience, is it not likely that two people picked at random are going to have a whole lot in common? It's something to think about.

Memes. Complete thought groups that are transmitted virus-like from person to person through all manner of media. These are produced through the amalgamation and interpretation of external stimuli - as a population increases, is it not increasingly probable that two individuals will spontaneously (not to mention extemporaneously) reach identical points in logical thought? How many inventions came about in multiple locations globally within months of each other? How many times has somebody written something or come up with a great idea; only to see it on TV a week or two later? It's happened to me more times than I care to remember. And I know I'm not the only one. This happening has got to mean something - are we all slowly losing our individuality?

I'm not sure how I got from discussing the lack of intimacy in my life to the slow and inevitable homogenization of the human race, but that's what happens when you sit down with a pen in one hand and a pint of stout in the other.

HIV...

Positive? Negative? I still don't know; but I have a pretty good idea.

I so disapprove of my local medical clinic - they really have no idea what they're doing. I just called to see if they had my test results ready (they said to call in about a week); the receptionist seemed very confused, and then said: "You have to be more patient. They have to send the sample to the provincial laboratory, so it will take about a week. You were here on the twenty-second, so you have to wait. Ok?"
...
No, not ok. What the heck does she mean I was there on the twenty-second? I was nowhere even near the clinic yesterday - I was out at the airport being interviewed for a job with Air Canada. Who knows? Maybe my doppelgänger has moved into my neighbourhood. Should make for some interesting conversations at the video store as well, no doubt.

I plead the fifth..

... or whatever it is you plead when you can't remember nothin' - because that's what I remember as far as that last post is concerned. Not even a glimmer of recognition. I guess that sake I was drinking did the job; or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof, anyway. Odd though, that I cannot recall anything: usually a bottle of sake to myself is quite manageable. I mean, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the drink: three years of living in rural Japan certainly helped me with that. Maybe I hit the pipe... that would explain a certain amount of synaptic malfunction.

Otherwise am hale and healthy; happiness is still up for debate, but I can't really complain about anything. No, wait. 'Hale' and 'healthy' are also questionable. I neglected to mention that on Valentine's day I had to go to the local medical laboratory (how 21st century is that? The local med lab - sweet) for an HIV test. Not that I have been partaking in 'hazardous' activities - despite my desire for the contrary - I just stopped by the doctor's office about a rash on my shoulder and the MD insisted I get tested. Whatever. I feel fine; albeit a tad on the itchy side.

Il etait une fois...

... that I was actually concerned about what happened to me on Valentine's Day. Then I realized that it is nothing but a "Hallmark" holiday, concerned solely with the sales of flowers and gifts; having naught to do with any of the three actual Saint Valentines. Yes, you read that correctly: there are three patron saints for this day, all with the same name. Interesting, n'est pas?
I won't bother with all the details, suffice to say that a Google search is all you need. If you can't figure out Google, then I need you to get the biggest, most powerful magnet you can find and attach it to the side of your machine.
However, returning this blog to its original purpose (i.e.: talking about me) your humble narrator is at home, drinking sake and... well, updating several websites this evening. I don't have a date, nor did I attempt to get one. I spurn these absurd holidays. I date 364 days of the year. February 14 and 29 are non-days, as far as I am concerned. You night be of the opinion that I suck: fair enough, you're entitled to your opinions. Honestly, I don't care.

Found a bike on a roof - what I was doing on said roof is classified. 

Lackadaisical logins

Lawsy me.

It has been quite some time. Honestly, I thought I was going to have to leave this by the wayside, as I could no longer gain access to the website. Some strange cookie thing, I don't know. I do know, however, that if you send an email to the Blogger support staff (or help desk crew, whatever), they try very hard to make you feel very, very dumb. I'm sure there are a great many individuals out there who have trouble turning on their computers in the morning. I am not one of these. I'm positive there are countless souls out there who have no concept of customizing security clearances. I am no such creature. I am certain that the good folks at Blogger recieve emails innumerous from blokes too simple to follow the clearly-labled links to troubleshooting techniques and tips. I resent the insinuation that I am a simpleton of a similar stature.
Yeah, this interface is WYSIWYG - and? Merely opting for a simpler and more convenient alternative does not an idiot make. I wrote my first piece of software over 15 years ago, thank you very much. I think I can handle a few settings in the 'Internet Options' menu.

However, let it not be said that I am a bitter and vindictive individual. I just don't like being thought of as dumb, is all. Understandable, n'est pas? Besides, I'm here now, and have (ostensibly) some catching up to do.