An Internal Monologue

By Myron Dyal.

Time has been swinging back on itself, and the ever-relieving reading break looks like to be eaten up by sleep and pondering, rather than very much actual work. Once again, I'm not worried; ambivalence is my protector from panic. Any conceivably `serious` problems really only boil down to a little of two things: time and money. If necessary, I can deal with those.

Charon is here. I have no doubt about that. Each year I put myself up to this, and each year I am more surprised than the last. Triptolemos is me. Apollo is me as a god. Charon is... something different. A primal truth, wrapped in layers of mythical history. And unlike the previous two, I never had to try to `get` it. There was no struggle, there is no negotiation, and there will be no transitionary period. Just a pillar, solid, uncompromising, and hiding nothing. Anchoring me to reality. Part of me expects the conversations to be marvellous, but I think that I will already know all of the answers.

My personality, or how I express it, is changing a bit. Gone are many of the polite and fluffy barriers between the world and the shifting sands of my own intolerance and contempt. To be fair, I don't keep intolerances and contempt that I don't think are justified, so this shouldn't signal me turning into some sort of devoutly irrascible mouthpiece. Neither do I think that I have any right to hypocrisy. I'm just getting sick of pandering to the myriad stupid, ineffective, wrong, misguided, and inefficient things that people do in the metaphorical `space` around me. Sometimes that means the world-at-large, and sometimes just the room I'm in. So I'm going to make a declaration to all: For the time being, I will be dispensing with the bullshit. This doesn't mean I hate you or think you're all idiots (if I did, I would tell you), but rather that I'm going to be more acutely honest and not hold back just to keep myself extra quaint and personable. I doubt this will mean I turn into Silenzio and Kurrs' hideous love-child, but only time will tell. If I do, please notify the proper authorities before I offer Greater Vancouver as a burnt offering to the altar of Warren Ellis.

I wonder if I'll actually get the work done that I want to tomorrow. Part of me hopes not. It would feel more right. But that's just the laziness and illness talking. Sleep will sow the seeds of my productivity, and with luck a few of them will live through the next 48 hours.