Haven't really slept well all weekend. Today was just a write-off, didn't sleep well last night and couldn't stay up for more than an hour at a time all day. Still kinda knackered. Only work I did all day was confirming that the wrapper code for the ctypes rewrite of OpenGL can handle the common pointer versions of functions like glColor3fv. Didn't even get around to modifying the generator to produce wrappers for them. Wouldn't even be up now, but a friend called needing help with her computer. Couldn't help her recover the document, unfortunately. We did get her computer set to make backups so it shouldn't happen again. I'm sorely tempted to just crawl back into bed and try to sleep. Or maybe write some bad poetry. Speaking of which, just finished The Rubayyat... I'm sure it's wonderful, but honestly my ability to connect was limited; central theme is love (and living in the moment), central metaphor is wine. Love isn't really something I want to think about any more. Wine isn't something I've experienced. Regarding Love I seem to have moved to that point in life where the entire concept of love just seems pointless. We had a long discussion on Saturday night about whether to put on the trappings of wealth (cars, clothes, that kind of thing) in order to attract shallow women. Basically there were two camps, those of us on the "filtering" side, and those who didn't want to lose anyone from the pool. The filtering argument, for those unfamiliar with the idea, goes like this: if you want to find a woman who is detached from the things of this world, let the other men dangle their baubles and then look for the women not chasing them for it. The problem being, of course, that the animal side in all of us is attracted to the baubles, so there are darn few women who escape the net... and even they, it seems, will demand some baubles eventually. Maybe I'm becoming too cynical for love? Could be. I keep thinking of "I'm a Believer" by Smashmouth, hoping that some day I'll discover I really do believe again, but for now, "I think love is only True in fairy tales, meant for someone else, but not for me" (pardon the paraphrase). I made the mistake of watching a "romantic comedy" when I couldn't sleep Friday night. Depressing. I should just ban that schlock from my life on principle. Otherwise it's just too easy to start thinking "screw it if that's all there is" about everything "normal", whether it be love or family or career. Just accept that anything having to do with love is going to have that effect and pre-empt (sp?) the situation. Regarding Wine You know, I've just never had any particular urge to drink, other than a vague sort of anxiety about "missing out" on the off chance it's somehow path to a transcendental state of oneness with the universe. Most times I've been with people who were drinking heavily I've been disgusted at the results. I can't say I've ever been that impressed with the smell. The addiction problem and the idea of drinking the urine of microscopic creatures don't really add much to the attraction. I'm sure it must be satisfying in some way, but I don't really have much interest in exploring it. And so, The Rubayyat left me cold. Pleasant enough to read, but I didn't get fired up about it (as I'd hoped to, having known only that it's considered a classic when I started). Didn't feel any need to write poetry afterward. Still, may as well write it now, in reaction to not writing it earlier.
With which bad poetry I think I'll end the night's rambling.
Jilting, jeering pillow Which once I loved No more has my head Dreaming of it In tightly nested form For sleep refuses Hope from off its breast
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