OK I am obviously very deranged due to lack of sleep. I’m not sure I can handle this 7 a.m. action for more than a few days, which is unfortunate, considering the line of work I’m going into. In any case, this is my justification for my demented subject line. Bizarre associations seem to be just bubbling up from my language processing centers. (And my clinical neuroscience class is starting to make me believe that everyone is crazy….)
But the limbic system thing… (the cortex can lie, but the limbic system has a really hard time… see, the snake from the Garden of Eden wasn’t lying. Everything he said was true….) Wow. I just exhibited a couple symptoms of Formal Thought Disorder—word approximation and derailment…. Anyway, what I meant by the limbic system is usually what people (particularly Romanticists—that’s right, with a capital “R”) think of as “the heart.” So it was supposed to be “Schroedinger’s Heart” but that would’ve been too obvious, and I’ve never been one to take the simple way out when there’s a perfectly convoluted alternative.
But yeah, the wave function has finally collapsed, and at times like this I kind of marvel at the intricate predictability of the world. I mean, if I pay attention long enough, I really can predict the future, I really can figure people out, and I really can pick out the best line of action no matter how complex the situation. I mean, ideally, it would be best if I could slow down time and all, but I guess you can’t have everything….
Random quote that flittered through my mind at this moment: “That is most of it, being a wizard—seeing and listening. The rest is technique.” — Schmendrick the Magician from The Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle.
So I suppose medicine is the closest I will get to actually practicing magic. Sure, it’s based on scientific principles and all, but ultimately, I can’t help but think of it as an art. But this is neither here or there.
I am trying to put everything in perspective right now, and that doesn’t work too well without enough sleep.
So there are promises I have made to various people, and more importantly, there are promises I have made to myself, and I hope to derive satisfaction from the keeping of these promises.
Sometimes I feel like I have just climbed out of the blast crater of a meteorite strike and have just come to grips with the idea that the world isn’t just a deep hole cloaked in eternal darkness.
Cryptic. I had to let it out, to let it lay out in the sun, photolyze all the things that grow in dark, hot, damp places. Still, I am dubious as to what good this rant will have in the future. But my part is not to judge. I am an instrument.
OK, this is the last time I try to write an entry without having slept properly. I hesitate to even post this up, but, oh well, too late. <g>