Betwixt and Between.

You see, for all my quasi-serious rambling about life, perception, intimations of mortality, and Harry Potter, I’m still left with the suspicion that the secret of making progress lies with understanding time, dimensionality and the limitations of physical laws. And at the moment two things are bothering me:

1. I don’t seem to have sufficient intelligence to do that.

2. At this time of night I shouldn’t be thinking of such things anyway, I should be lapsing into the kind of wholesome silliness which comes closest to giving me a sense of purpose.

This is frustrating. If I’m not bright enough to understand time, dimensionality and the limitations of physical laws, and if I’m also unable to access a state of wholesome silliness, how am I supposed to get through the rest of the night until I’m tired enough to go to bed?

‘Ah,’ you might say, ‘you need a guru.’

No I don’t. Gurus are no use to people like me because we have a built-in resistance to teachers. We have to get there in our own way and our own time. I’ve always been like that. The fact has even been remarked upon, most recently last Thursday. So now I’m confused. Maybe getting drunk might help, but I still don’t fancy the consequences.

I might buy a wrist watch tomorrow. I’ve noticed that normal people mostly have one.