Remaindered Information

Found some old posts I never published, so we're going to knock them out of the way.

***

I used to be obsessed with office supplies. Still have a storage cube in the corner of my apartment filled with pens, binder clips, key rings, batteries, folders, legal pads, heaven knows what else. I touch it maybe once every three to four months, usually for a pen. Note that I have pens everywhere. Sometimes I just feel the urge to get up and walk over to it. I could probably trash, mulch, or place into storage most of it, seeing as how it's become yet another piece of dead weight in my life. Still, there's something about the order in it, having office supplies, that is reassuring.

This contrasts with my natural packrat tendencies, and my general lack of ordering in my apartment. If you look at my desk, either in the office or at home, you'd be surprised at how much crap I keep on a desk, and how little of it I actually use. The toy factor is pretty high, as is the Boy Scout motto always whispering in the back of my minds: "Be Prepared." Life is random, chaos rules, etc. We cannot predict what may come. All we can do is make preparations and await the unknown. Is it to level of obsession? Probably not, but I feel very deeply the need to save everything, on the off chance that it comes in handy.

It represents a different type of order to me, not the kind that actually has everything in its own place, but that everything has a solution. Yes, I know intimately that insoluble problems taunt humanity on the large scale, and me on the small scale. Still, with enough resources, I can combat the disorder of a problem, I can fix it. Through the wild and crazy mess shall emerge a neat and ordered solution. It is much the reason Tetris appeals to me. You cannot beat Tetris, you can only hold back the disorder for a time, until it overwhelms you. But, oh, how beautiful the empty screen when you complete line after line.

One of my new idle obsessions is organizing and running a double-elimination tournament bracket. Likely, we would have to organize it for Street Fighter IV, as the fighting game "scene" is established and widespread and there have been many prior efforts to run tournaments, many of which ended successfully. It would be fun to watch players of different skills and perspectives come together to beat each other. However, even more fundamentally, from a pool of players, we create a mechanism through which they expose themselves, until we are left with one, the best today.

The other, strange as it sounds, is to study databases, maybe get some certification in database administration. Not that I ever thought about it much before, but the concept of a database appeals to me on some primal level. Everything in its place, a place for everything, a proper database keeps information organized. Further, you can delve into it and retrieve said information. A brilliant concept, and really, one that, had you told me about it earlier on in my life, I would've tried to pursue it as a living.

You would think that it's only information that I like ordered, but think again. I tell a story, it jumps all over the place. It follows no pattern up close, as the details and descriptions jump from place to place. If anything, sometimes it reads like a crack addict was observing the world. There is a broad order, but sometimes, you just need stuff out of place, because you're telling a story. Narrative perfection and chronological order don't necessarily track with each other. If I did write with perfect order, it would probably read a little robotic, a little artificial.

***

I received a call from a private/blocked number, which freaks me out because you need to have taken steps to purposely block your incoming number. Even if I see a number that I don't recognize, it's fine, because I can still answer with at least some idea that there's a person on the other side. Here, I got a little worried.

Turned out it was the fraud department for my credit card company, asking me about several suspicious purchases made in the United Kingdom and California. The nice lady answered my bewildered questions, keeping a calm voice and answer my questions no matter how redundant or ridiculous they were. At least I am not being charged, but I do need to cancel the card, and will be without a functioning card for a few days. This should make my flight check-in interesting next week.

What got me was that several charges were placed with non-profit organizations and charitable organizations. I do not remember what they were called, only that they were part of the list of charges made. In addition, small amounts, less than ten dollars, were charged to each, but the charges were made.

In effect, I got ripped off by a modern day Robin Hood and his band of merry hackers.

What most took the sting out of this was that I am not going to be charged for the roughly two thousand dollars. However, I take some miniscule solace from the fact that they tried to donate to charity. Granted, due to the small amounts, it seems that they were merely testing the waters, seeing what they could get away with as a small test before moving on to bigger and better. Does this make them better people? Probably not, but it's a start. Maybe if they hadn't spent more than a thousand dollars with travel companies and the like, I would be more sympathetic.

***

I told R.Y. in a sleep-deprivation-induced haze that "My life is all about running. I am constantly running away from something, running towards something, or just literally running." I suppose to some extent, this applies to all of us, though his response was "Why don't you just wait for once?"

Inaction too often feels like the sin of omission to me. I cannot entirely content myself with just waiting, even though patience constitutes a virtue which I cannot live my life without. More often, I feel the need to flip a pen, sway to and fro, do something, anything, to get past the moment.

Even right now, I am staying awake because I cannot stand the thought of going to bed, only to wake up a scant few hours later. If I burn myself out for long enough, I will have no choice but to sleep longer in order to get through a few sleep cycles. At the same time, I could just stop this generalized worry, and let myself sleep.

That I am running implies that I am not content with the given situation. However, that I am running also raises the question whether or not I will stop running once I find contentment. Then that raises the question of whether or not I will know what contentment is once I find it, and even more, have I already found contentment, and passed it up?

Running and waiting exist in a perpetual tension. One is concerned with striking forward as you can, pushing through it all to get to point B. One is concerned with being where you are. (Is it obvious that I'm having trouble staying up and being coherent? I have no idea what the hell I'm trying to write about now, or what I'm trying to say.)