A system cannot measure itself

In measuring itself, it is itself changed, and so can hope at best to approach asymptotically a definite conclusion. Of course, life is too chaotic to allow any living person to find their equilibrium, and so I am left to wonder: Is it me, or is it the pill? The answer, of course, is that the question itself is null. It is what it is, to paraphrase a friend, and that must be enough.

In the face of a stony silence from Adair the cause of which I am too emotionally unintelligent to know with certainty I felt an unusual tranquility. I told myself that this was deliberate, an attempt to not be the third of three people simmering in their own irritation, to alter the situation by exerting calmness onto it by letting the atmosphere run off of me like water. Like water, I thought, where before life would sling mud at me, and coated in ever more mud I wallowed and wailed my way through life, slogging with a massive effort through a swamp carried on my back, leaving a trail of misery and stinking of despair. Water gets you wet, yes, but then you dry. I have learned something of what it means to live in the present and look to the future. To a depressed person it does not matter when good things happen, because it is only a matter of time before good turns to bad. Now it does not matter when bad things happen, because it is only a matter of time before the present becomes the past, and the future is always there to greet me with a chance to try again.

I am too fearful to hope that this will stay. To my future self: Let life run off of you like water. Let the wind and sun dry you. Don't wallow in the dust, or the earth will bear you down.