20080619

Attack, 30 Seconds to Mars. Grab a copy here.

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I won't suffer, be broken / Get tired or wasted Surrender to nothing / Or give up what I started And stop this / From end to beginning A new day is coming And I am finally free

Run away, run away I'll attack Run away, run away Go change yourself Run away, run away I'll attack, I'll attack, I'll attack

I would've kept you forever / But we had to sever It ended for both of us / Faster than a . . . Kill off this thinking / It's starting to sink in I'm losing control now Without you I can finally see.

Your promises / They look like lies Your honesty / Like a back that hides a knife I promise you (I promise you) I am finally free

Run away, run away I'll attack Run away, run away Go change yourself Run away, run away I'll attack, I'll attack I'll attack

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New pattern.

There's an area in the basement of this building that appears to have gone unnoticed during the remodeling. Used to be a kitchen, I think. A sink is still attached to one wall, developing little colonies of lordknowswhat. Should take a camera down there at some point.

I walked down there the other day, got up from my desk and made my way to the basement. Proceeded to punch the walls. Concrete, painted over.

My mind sort of splits in half when I do something like that. One half is responsible for the actual actions, throwing my fist against the wall. It's of the opinion that I am afraid of pain, and that needs to change. It gets fairly disgusted when the other half tries to pull my hand back.

The whole process is remarkably rational. Walk down two floors, hit a wall to the point where it doesn't make a bloody mess and doesn't break anything, walk back up, enter and lock the bathroom. Examine hands.

I place enormous value on my hands. I'm a pianist. And a programmer. Even so.

The other half of my head takes over at this point, and is appalled that I did this. Because yeah, that half is afraid of pain and actually wants to make sure that my hands remain in working order.

So. Meh. Right-hand knuckles are sore and a little swollen. Not a whole lot of skin damage, minimal bleeding, which irritates Half #1. I can't go too far, or it'll either attract or require attention.

That's the excuse. But I'm pretty sure that I am actually afraid of pain, and I'm pretty sure that that does need to change. It does disgust me that my hand stops a centimeter away from the wall, three times out of five. I lack complete control. Which does need to change.