Conspiracy to Suicide

I'm pretty sure my email address is going to kill me.

Not because it's based on a name I gave myself in high school when I used to make things out of duct tape with Devin and Jensen, which may or may not have included a full super hero costume with a logo I emblazoned upon the chest in sharpie.

It's not that.

(perhaps I should forget about "may or may not." There's summer camp video footage floating around somewhere...)

The reason that my email address is going to kill me is because it, along with my Facebook profile, Youtube account, Hulu (before it was blocked in S. Korea), Blogger account (who said that?) and the complete series of Arrested Development that I now own, exists as part of a unified battalion with only two perogatives:

1. Soak up 24 hours.
2. Convince me that I will need them again tomorrow.

Now, I am completely convinced that some form of my subconscious is in league with them to destroy me. You can call me crazy, but that doesn't mean that I'm not right. They are going to wreak havoc on my body, pillage my home, and I'm the one who left the front door unlocked.

Distractions are far more deadly than we give them credit for. I realize that now. I have wasted hours that have become days, that have become weeks, that have become months, that have become years. My entire life is the only thing they have left to take.

I allowed this to happen.

Perhps it's new years that made me aware of what I do with my time. For the last two years, I have made a tradition of evaluating myself and asking where I want to be by the time this year is up. I try to keep my goals reasonable, but it's such an empowering thing to have goals, and I'm usually not near my computer when I do this, so I forget that I am subconsciously conspiring with my massive array of distracting shit to keep me from being effective at anything. This year's goals were lofty, and twice as long as last year's goals because they included all the stuff I never got done from last year. I don't want to list them, because I think that will make me feel accomplished, when in fact, I am not.

The really sad thing is, I really think it is possible to accomplish all of the things I want to accomplish this year, if I can stay focused. In fact, I think it is possible to do even more than what I have in mind. The problem is, it's all a shallow dream if I'm not willing to put in the work that needs to be done.

...and I think I'm not.

I have no idea how many times I check my email in one day. I have a routine. It goes like this.

(1.) Email. look at stuff, respond to a few things, "remember" to go back and finish with the rest.
(2.) Facebook. See if there are any new reminders/postings/comments for me. If not, see what everyone else is doing. Notice that (name of cute girl or old friend) is online. Consider chatting with them. Chicken out.
(3.) Youtube. start with the recommendations. Move on to links in the sidebars of said recommendations. Look up music videos to old songs that I don't really even like enough to own, but just remember from High school.
(4.) Back to Facebook. Post links from said music videos to friend's profiles. Eagerly wait for return comments.
(5.) Email again. Suddenly remember all the emails I have to respond to but forgot. Get new messages. Briefly consider doing something important, like getting some exercize (I put on 2 kg over vacation) or working on that book (I'm supposed to be a brilliant novelist by now) or spending some time reflecting on the Scriptures. Chicken out. Back to number (1).

I have spent days doing this, over and over. That line about reflecting on the scriptures really hit me hard. Is it strange that I call myself Christian while doing nothing to study and understand the life of Christ? I seem to think I know a lot about him, but it's been a while since we've talked.

All the while, I've spent hours that become days, checking and going back, and checking and going back. Evenings reach puberty and become weeks, and gradute into months, and settle down into years, and I'm just praying that I will accomplish an honest days work before retirement.

These things look small and harmless, but they are death, as I understand death to be nothing more than the taking of a life.

And I have conspired to kill myself with them. To fill the room with emptyness, only to be strangled by the hands of nothing. The only thing remaining would be a lifetime of lists: all the things I wanted to be.

The judge will rule not guilty.

Surely it was consentual.