Change is equal parts creation and destruction...

Phase Shift is capriciously random in her timing; both insidiously glacial, and diabolically blink-and-you-missed it immediate. Dux of her Graduate Diploma of "Come on, keep up, I thought you were smart" class, from the University of "Some genius you are, dickhead". 

The failure, as always, is mine. 

I was a [size undefined] Fish in a pond comprised of One (in that sample set, the size of said Fish is immaterial). The competition doesn't even warrant description; consider the competitive superiority of an obligate carnivore in the company of bottom-feeders. The tide came in, and in turn swept me out of the temperate pool into the deep blue where currents run cold, the depths unfathomed, and unknown terrors dwell. I, having vanquished and forsaken fear in my past life, bared my teeth, and surged rampant, battle-scarred lips screaming a war-song of: 

They named me Agent of Chaos. 

They named me The Perfect Storm. 

They named me Agent of Change. 

And so, having been given agency, I laid waste so I could then create. 

And in the same way the observer affects that which he observes, the change I wrought did change me as well. 

Note to self:

I am not immune to Newton's Third Law. 
I am not immune to Newton's Third Law. 

I am not immune to Newton's Third Law. 

In the meantime it must be remembered that I am a being who is incapable of doing only one thing at a time; there is no problem worth my attention so simple that it can be solved through a single vector, so whenever such a thing presents itself I will automatically find ways to make it suitably complex.
The problem my self presents is no different. 
So of course I've been playing my self against myself, and threw another variable into the mix. 

Only I would imagine I could maintain a zero entropy state whilst introducing a Perfect Detonator into the equation. 

Repeat after me: 

I am not immune to Newton's Third Law.

I am not immune to Newton's Third Law. 

I am not immune to Newton's Third Law. 

I brought destruction, and so I was destroyed myself. 

I wrought change, and so my self was changed. 

I was the Perfect Storm I could not withstand. 

But that Perfect Detonator who blew my shit to pieces will remain Nameless. 
Because she is staring back from the other side of a darkened mirror. 
And if the reduction of that equation results in zero, then we are Nothing. 

Struggling

The malaise I was suffering from when last I wrote has faded a little, but still lingers. There are a number of things I suspect are contributory, but the main one remains the diabetes meds. It's certainly helping me lose weight (I found I can fit in my kilt again today for the first time since the bike accident, which is nice), but it's doing a number on my appetite, energy, ability to handle stress... 

Actually that last one is probably burnout, I'll admit it. 

To you, anyway. If I think anyone else is listening I'll deny it ("Fuck you, lightweights, I'm an island. Another 4 years straight, here I come!") but... I'm losing it, and I'm increasingly convinced my continued use of present tense is wishful thinking. The worst thing is I don't know what to do about it (which isn't a question; please don't do that). I don't know how to take a holiday. I haven't had a self-determined holiday since I finished my Divermaster Cert, which was a decade ago in January. Every time since then it's been dive trips with Matthias, Melbourne trips and Iceland with Jenna, work trips work trips work trips... 

All the things I enjoy are... locked; dependent on other people, or on better health, or... or I've been there, done that, and there's no excitement any more. I need more little baby-step breaks like in September, but in the meantime in lieu of a Holiday, there's Change. 

So I got the place on Northbourne - cash is lined up, contracts should get exchanged Wednesday, and on or before Friday 13th of January (yeah, I'm going there) I should be the proud owner of a 6th floor room with a view out over Black Mountain. 

I'm estimating "early/mid-autumn" as when I'll shift my marker. Whilst I'm ostensibly in no rush, since the decision was made (July 30th. Yes, I've been planning for, working towards this since then. Remind me some time, the story of why the date is memorable is kinda funny, and relates to this photo

and the balls are finally in motion I just want to get it done, because 2 years in a holding pattern is enough. 

And I legit don't care. 

Worst case, it'll put me where I need to be for what comes next. 

If I'm lucky, on the other hand, it'll be the first step in a fiendishly elaborate and flamboyant suicide. 

I figure I can be a lonely, miserable workaholic anywhere. 

In the middle there somewhere is a view of a different sunset and a new backdrop for the photos of my Friday Night Drinks. 

I hope you'll forgive me that the thought of your enjoying that view with me every once in a while makes the idea just a little more perfect. 

Regards, 

Peter. 

------------------

To: Becky

December 7, 2022 01:31AM

Another in-line response, I think. Sometimes it seems the only way to maintain coherence, and not fall victim to my penchant for self-indulgent rambling where I don't so much lose the plot, as much forget that gravity exists and get confused when it's not hanging in the air where I left it: 

Hi Pete

 

In case you missed it I have come straight from the last email, and I didn’t even re-read it before I sent it, so I’m not only trusting you I’m trusting myself. It feels nice, but a bit like a new pair of shoes, I’ll need to wear them in a bit and risk a few blisters. 

The "did I say what I wanted to just right so that they'll get it? Did I explain myself just right? Will they misunderstand? OMFG, I used the wrong word for pasta and now they're going to hate me!!" thing? I'm so heartily sick of that sort of appeasement, now I just... say it. If they miss the point then it's their loss. But it's easier for me; i'm not required to care. Giving up is a luxury belonging for those who can get by without popular approval. I recall something you mentioned about the horrible Bitch Boss and your having to tread on eggshells. Not everyone gets to walk in with their middle fingers waving in the air and "Do I look like I give a fuck what you think?" attitude. It's something I'll not pretend I haven't earned, but I'll be the first to admit that it's much *easier* to earn when you have male genitalia. It's easy to get conditioned into a mindset where popularity = survival. 

Oddly, I'm reminded of a moment, not long after I'd moved back, when Emma was driving us somewhere and missed a turn: 
"Oh drat, that was the turn I was supposed to take."
<shrug> "Eh. This area's a grid, next one should loop back."

"..." she said, growing visibly tense. 

"Um... you ok?"

"..." <shudder> "I'm sorry, I just realised I was getting ready for the screaming to start. If I'd done that with [whatever her ex's name was] he'd have gone off about being late or wasting petrol or... you know."

"Really?" I said, confused, "What would be the point of that? They'll wait."

 

So in a seemingly perverse sense, the symptoms of your apparent burnout, have connected to mine and it awakens something in me that mimics enthusiasm, the same-same of validation, the creeping out of a hiding place only to that which is deeply familiar and completely non-threatening. Being surrounded by billions of people and still alone then see your reflection and realise it’s someone else. That’s you I can see now.

See, on the surface that sounds almost perverse, but we're supposed to suck it up and keep going. There's a pervasive trend in our culture that we dare not admit anything that might sounds like "Shit's hard, and I'm not coping," and because everyone else seems to have the perfect job, perfect house, perfect relationship, perfect holidays, perfect body, it seems like we're obviously the ones who are deficient. There's liberation in speaking the truth of our burdens, because in doing so we finally get to put them down. There's joy in having someone else unburden themselves in front of you, because then you get to upend your sack of care and say "Yeah, me too."

I don’t know how to do much in my own best interests. It’s too heavy and I haven’t the strength to drag it around. But it only gets heavier. It seems so petulant to sit in front of the answer and believe that there is a forcefield preventing me from simply reaching out and even acknowledging it is there. I’d seemingly rather sit in the shadow and stare at the key that opens the door, and grieve for the loss of motivation to grab it. What madness. I acknowledge this feeling you are having, of knowing just what you should do and feeling powerless to actually do it. To endure the continuing pain, and for what? The fleeting glory of inhuman success? The complexity of unjustified fear. Is it the deepness of feeling that if discarded leaves a void of any meaningful (painful) biofeedback?

 

This is... a lot to unpack. When you're depressed, you don't matter. How can you justify expending precious energy servicing your own needs when they're irrelevant? If I have no inherent value then anything I might do for my own benefit is, by definition, wasted. My work-around was thus: 

If I have no value, then the people around me are therefore more important (not EVERYONE - people are shit-flavoured scumbags, but the people we LIKE are at least nice to us, so we'll call them "friends"). 

But I can CREATE value by serving and enriching them, which in a profit-sharing model infers that my actions ARE valuable. 

Furthermore, by reinvesting that value-capital in self-improvement the outcomes of my actions become scalable. 

BUT, value is subject to entropy so requires continued effort to prevent it from degrading. 

Secondly, for all that my friends are exponentially more valuable than me, they're kinda dumb, and have a penchant for walking blindly into traffic if I'm not here to stop them, ergo to maintain the cycle of value-enrichment I must therefore ensure my own survival or we're ALL going to hell. The valuable would then become valueless, which would result in a negative-ROI failure-state. 

Thus, to have any value whatsoever, no matter what hell I'm going through, I must keep going, no matter the weight of the burden, or the hideous strength of the forces arrayed against me. 

Of course, the metaphor fails when they don't need me. When the only person who benefits from a course of action is me... fuck it, what's the point? 

My friend/client (on the rare occasion I bother billing her) Amy has worked out that if she invites me out for a pint there's even odds I won't make it, but if she books me to come sort out something "broken" on a Friday afternoon... She's good people, is Amy. 

And secretly, there ARE things I want, that I will pursue, so long as I can twist the circumstances to conform with my internal logic. 

I know where my dopamine triggers are, and how to activate them. 

Because I will demolish heaven and reshape earth for interesting problems to solve, for people I like. 

I take pride in fixing things no one else can, but it's an artificial facade masking the knowledge that if anyone else could do it then what's the point of me? 

There does come a point tho, where even with the most cunning of artifice the uneviable goes past unsustainable, through unviable, into unsurvivable. 
But there's a pure, inviolable joy in being able the tear yourself open and lay bare the Faustian hellscape of your Kafkaesque existence and say: 

"This is the price I pay, each day, to survive, and it's hard, and it's broken me, and I don't know how I'm going to do it tomorrow, but I will, and I don't want you to weep for me.
But I beg you, please weep with me."

 

What you do have is hope (the pain balance), you have plans, you are looking forward to something, in this case a change, a new place to nest, even visions of sharing this with others (and thank you for bestowing me with the pride of being a part of one of those).

See, I don't know what to do with hope... at least hope in isolation. I live in a word of certainty; constantly calculating risk and probability. Hope is a prayer, and if God can shift the balance then, I figure, so can I. 

But that's not what you're referring to here, is it? 

Because you're right; I can see laid out before me the path which my actions have connected me to. I can see the light on the hill in the distance, and I can see how I might get there. It's a (heavily, extensively calculated) leap into the unknown; I might not be able to see the bottom of the rabbit hole I'm throwing myself into, but I know with absolute certainty in which direction the fun is, and it's 'Down". 

I had a funny curveball moment in our weekly catchup a few weeks ago, where Bosslady asked me: 
"I just want to check - this uplift and move over to Canberra isn't just for [this job], is it? Because there's no guarantee that [the project pipeline] will go on more than another year or so..."

I chuckled, reminding her that I have roots in Canberra, not to mention the many employment opportunities that I'll only be able to leverage if I'm local. 

"Anyway, I've moved across the country for a pretty girl too many times to go doing it again," I lied, but not in any way that was relevant to her or her concern, "even if she DOES have 40,000 users." 

 

Bec.

Peter.