2003-06-20 - 4:48 p.m.

My grandfather's sick and I don't talk to him about it. I wonder why that is? :o(

But I think he's happy that I don't mention it to him. I know he's sick and I'm sorry for him, but he doesn't want me to come around and try to console him, he wants me to come out and do energetic things with him to get going again. So I go with him :o)

I don't know, it's weird, but it's what people are like in Quebec. When I act like that back home, I feel out of place. I've figured this out by coming back to my roots, coming back to the way I was treated and expected to act when I was just a little kid. It's so much easier to handle social situations in this kind of parentage-related environment that I just end up having happier days and totally emerging from my depression. I just don't know how much of it I need to my perma-frost mood to change. You know, that mood that is frozen under the surface, omnipresent for days, constantly brooding and mystefying like an alien black box that is giving you a headache with high-pitched vibrations mixed with low subterranean moaning, and you could stop it if only you could figure out which patterns to press on the tiny, mystefying little buttons. You don't know how to untangle your thoughts enough to get relief.

I would love to have recorded how I wrote this little diary. I mean, actually recorded the activities of the keyboard for the length of time I'm "typing my diary". You know, that space alloted for certain activities, that you categorize in your brain.

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Whoah. Sudden thought. Goes with what I wrote above. [It sidetracks me to have to keep track of details by doing the time-editing myself, ie adding blank lines and funky symbols to delineate sections of character recordings.] K, lost that one, moving back...

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I would just need to keep a tidy little database of indexed moments that I could call up in sequence or at major starting intersections. Just store them in dimensions in which they share a trait, belong to a certain group, or exhibit a certain kind of personality. Those kinds of subjects lead to a complex web of subjects that aren't in the same 3dimensional space, yet are each encapsulated in little spaces that have certain rules.

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This isn't really the time for it but what the heck. I really believe quantum mechanics is wrong. I think the whole concept of using stochastic equations to decribe an analog world is just bound and determined to fail. Real life is not statistics. A flowing stream does not fall into classes or categories of existing equations, it just has too many variables for 21st century mathematics to do anything but record it. We cannot accurately predict how a stream will flow because it displays chaotic behaviour.

Oh. That's another thing. "Chaos" also has a mathematical meaning. When you talk about something being mathematically chaotic, it means that it displays infinetely complex behaviour, not that it is random. A lot of people that I've met or observed in my daily life have used the word "chaos" to talk about something that is totally random. This is wrong. Just cause you don't understand it doesn't mean that you can claim you are right when speaking about it as a subject. I think when you're talking about probabilities, you are using math-speak, so use the right meaning please.

You know, sometimes I think about who I'm writing to. It's not my immediate audience for sure, but I think about those people too as I'm writing :o) Always in a good way hehe that's a plus. You guys are a big part of my circle of friends, that influence how I act. I'm glad I have good guides :o)

But I also think about the larger audience, meaning anyone who can read any of this in the future.

[Sorry, grandfather just slammed the door. Don't know if it was in anger or not. It was a revelation though on my character. As I sat there stunned at the sudden noise, I realized I had stopped typing. I wish it showed in the 'recording', but sorry, it's too crappy. It seems to me I could innovate in that area ;o) Anyway, I was suddenly afraid that he was mad at me and started playing back all the actions that had taken place between us in the last few minutes, working backwards and combing my memories to see if there was anything relevant I could find, some nugget of conversation or remembered facial expression flagging red and being directly linked by time closeness to some bad behaviour that it must be the reason he was mad. As I thought of all that, I realized my mind had branched and done something completely different, gone on a totally different track that was itchying to be delved into. It's some scary how my mind just flips channels on me like that.

Anyway, time to go and play some Counter-Strike with bots. I can record that. In real time :oP

Anyway, I gotta go downstairs

ps. As I performed the monkey actions required to upload this text to my diary pages, I decided to see if I could type the whole 'members dot diaryland you know, com / edit slash choose entry template phtml. I like the phtml bit and wonder what the p stands for bitches.com Ha. That'll fool most of the automatic sifters that people will use to look through this content. ... Hmm or not. I bet they might also search by content describing the fact that the author wrote about how good he was at beating people muahahaha. But I didn't use any names :oP

Right. The ps.

...and as I was typing the long URL, I figured I'd see if I could beat the Microsoft Internet Explorer Auto-URL Assistant; finish typing and hit enter before the little list appeared. It popped up just as I finished the last 4 or 5 characters. I thought of how Michelle would have laughed at me and said I wasted my time. It made me smile, so what the heck, I figured I'd add it in. Even if it was only a wry grin :oP

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