Archive for tag Manyworldinterpretationofquantummechanics
December 10, 2007 at 05:21 PM
I think it might’ve been Sirius, the dog star, in the southern sky that lit my way tonight, like a beacon, brighter than the ambient glow of the urban sprawl before me, but I only have a faint grasp of celestialography, so I could be wrong.
Ten days until the sun finally halts its retreat and finally stands its ground. Twenty days until the year’s end, leaving me wondering about the future, and whether it’s even worth wondering at all.
The problem with driving down to San Diego with only my iPod as my companion is that I can get lost in the random music that it plays, dragging me through my memories, many of them dark and bitter. The following is not necessarily exact, but it serves as a rough guide.
- Vienna Tang “Harbor”
hauntingly echoing my deepest desire, although perhaps something that will never come to pass in this lifetime.
- Semisonic “Singing in My Sleep”
on the connector ramp from the Glendale Fwy southbound to the Golden State Fwy southbound, bringing back faint memories of nine years ago after leaving the Bay Area in defeat, and resigning myself to at least a year in limbo in L.A.
- Hooverphonic “Cinderella”
past the junction of the Golden State Fwy with the Pasadena Fwy, on the way to the East L.A. Interchange. The rhythm of the song at first makes me think of “Bettie Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes. Maybe this could be inspiration for a mashup.
- Amina “Hilli”
speeding through Irvine, past the El Toro Y, making me think of something that might have been composed by Nobuo Uematsu for the theme of some imaginary town in some as-of-yet undrafted installment of Final Fantasy
- Aaliyah “Journey to the Past”
as I wound my way through Laguna Niguel, remembering faint memories of ten Decembers past, and my heart not didn’t so much break, as it did just dry out. And still I dream of home.
- Hooverphonic “Battersea”
through San Clemente. The lyrics are faint, leaving haunting traces in my mind.
- Nelly Furtado “All Good Things (Come to an End)”
through Camp Pendelton. This song has captured my mind ever since I heard it for the first time this summer, and the answer is quite simple, and quite bitter.
- Frou Frou “Hear Me Out”
probably either Oceanside or Carlsbad by this time.
- Feist “Secret Heart”
probably Encinitas or Solana Beach. Reminding me of how so many words have died stillborn in my heart, freeze dried by despair, evaporated by helplessness.
- Sunny Day Real Estate “Song About an Angel”
going past the merge, heading south on the 805
- S Club 7 “Never Had A Dream Come True”
southbound on the 805 past La Jolla, through Clairemont Mesa, to the connector ramp to the southbound 163. This song always kills me, dragging me through the last ten years, and sticking a dagger right in my half-rotting, half-dessicated heart.
- Anggun “On the Breath of an Angel”
exiting the 163 to Friar’s Road, remembering that even with the mess I could’ve turned everything into, she still saves me with her friendship.
It was pretty much ten years ago when I realized that my life would definitely not have a “happily ever after” ending. It’s not that I would necessarily live a tragic life, though. I mean, everyone has their regrets and failures that haunt them for the rest of their lives, right? At least that’s what I tell myself whenever I start feeling sorry for myself.
The more that time passes, the more it becomes apparent that the way things went down was inevitable. The moment came, I was tested, and I was found sorely wanting. I wasn’t meant to be the one, and that’s the way the cookie crumbles.
And yet, somehow, everything that has happened since seems to be an echo, a reverberation from that time long gone, and even this far out, I can’t seem to completely break free of my self-destructive patterns. It’s as if from that moment on, I was doomed. I was damned.
For a while, I’ve held out hope that things would change for me, that I would grow, that I would eventually have my chance for happiness someday. Even though I’ve wanted to give up, I’ve kept going, still keeping this ember of hope burning, still somehow hoping for some miracle.
I thought, “Oh God, my chance has come at last!”
but then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn’t ask
—The Smiths “There is a Light That Never Goes Out”
I wonder how many years must go by before I must accept that my hope has run out. How many years must go by before I can just thrown in the towel, call it quits. Some things were never meant to happen.
Some are like water, some are like the heat
Some are a melody and some are the beat
—Alphaville “Forever Young”
I think, sometimes, of the curse of The Flying Dutchman, doomed to wander the seas until the end of time, never able to reach the shore. Or of Coleridge’s doomed Ancient Mariner, or perhaps the Wandering Jew. Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day.”
But I’m still hedging my bets. I also think of Schmendrick the Magician, cursed to never age until he learns the secrets of magic, and reaches his full potential. Maybe, still, maybe, I’ll meet a unicorn, and maybe even someone like Molly Grue, and while the story won’t necessarily end happily ever after, maybe I can at least find my way home again, and at least have some sort of peaceful end.
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November 23, 2007 at 12:57 PM
Is this just pure sleep deprivation? Is this dehydration? Am I just hungry? Or maybe this is the characteristic post-post-call torpor? Paranoid thoughts about the H5N1 virus flit briefly through my brain, but the probabilities are pretty slim.
I didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving from 1999 to 2002. The first Thanksgiving I spent away from home was probably the most pathetic. I think all I did was watch “The Goonies” on TV and all I ate was a can of Campbell’s soup and spaghetti with marinara sauce for lunch and dinner, respectively.
I always figured that those sucky Thanksgivings would be preparation for having to miss Christmas and New Year’s, too, once I started residency.
But Fate (and the chief residents who have put together my schedules for the past three years) has been exceedingly kind. Somehow, I’ve always been able to make it to Thanksgiving dinner (although this has probably a lot to do with the fact that home is only a 1½-to-2 hour drive.) While it’s nearly impossible to get both New Year’s and Christmas off, I’m more of a fan of Christmas anyway, and I’ve managed to get Christmas off every year so far. And for the past two years I’ve had both holidays off. (This year, though, I only get New Year’s off.)
So yesterday, despite being post-call, I planned to take the train up to L.A. Now, granted, I was able to sleep for almost four hours on call, and we only had taken 6 admits and a unit transfer (out of the possible 10 admits and 2 unit transfers), so I didn’t really think I would be that tired. But even though the call rooms are much nicer than when I was an intern (I can’t believe I’m using the line “when I was an intern…”), it’s still a call room. With supreme effort, I wrenched myself away from my apartment and drove myself to the train station, finding a sweet parking spot, and hopping on the train.
This was the first time I decided to pony up the extra $14 and try business class, mostly because I knew that coach was almost guaranteed to be a clusterfuck, and I didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep on my neighbor’s shoulder, smelling of post-call goodness and funk. For the first 30 minutes of the ride, I found myself the only passenger in the business class cabin, which was quite peaceful if not a little lonely, but oh well, I always have my iPod.
A funny moment was when a young couple came aboard. They apparently eventually made their way to the cabin’s restroom and proceeded to have sex. I only suspect this because some time during the ride, I really had to pee. Not realizing that while the door was unlocked, the restroom was actually occupied, I was treated to the blinding sight of white man ass, jiggling as he scrambled to slam the door shut while continuing to boink his girlfriend. After the astonishment faded, I walked away laughing to myself (although by then I really, really had to pee.)
I made it to Union Station sometime after nightfall. My brother and my dad came to pick me up, and they had the radio on, and they were playing Christmas carols non-stop. I grew nauseated with the thought of having to listen to non-stop Christmas carols for the next thirty-two days. Is this some kind of Clear Channel scheme to assuage its Bill O’reilly-watching, neuropenic listeners that they weren’t going to give in to the anti-Christmas jihadists?
By the time I made it home, everyone there was already tapped out. There was still a good amount of turkey left, as well as mashed potatoes and gravy, and lots of desert. I stuffed myself silly and somehow managed not to pass out. One of the biggest reasons why I wanted to make it to Thanksgiving this year was because my cousin from Hawaii was spending her Thanksgiving at my parents’ house. The last time I had seen her was in 2003 when my sister graduated from undergrad. She’s now going to college on the mainland, although still a 2½ hour flight from L.A. She is also the youngest person in our extended family thus far (although I guess, technically, I do have a niece, but that’s another story) and she’s the only cousin who grew up in the U.S. who shares my last name.
Afterwards, we played with the dogs. One of the dogs (the older one) at my parents’ house apparently has eczema (just diagnosed at the vet’s office today.) My brother had been getting worried because the dog has been biting himself raw on his rump. A huge area of fur was matted, and you could see that the skin underneath was red and angry-looking.
We also watched DVDs that contained copies of some 8mm film that my uncle took when me, my brother, and my sister were little kids. What’s weird is that when I was a baby, my parents were my age. I find that kind of trippy. My dad grew wistful, wishing that there was some way to turn back the clock. For some reason, this idea was in my mind, too.
For some strange reason, I decided to glance at a computer magazine from the late 1980’s and early 1990’s that was mouldering on the bookshelves in my brother’s room (despite both being in their late 20’s, both my brother and my sister are back living with the ‘rents, trying to figure out their destinies.) It’s odd how the vaunted retrospectoscope can change contexts. It definitely gave me this illusion of time travel.
On the northbound train ride, I found myself ruminating over the past 10(!) years or so, and how, despite all the great defeats, all the unrequited loves, all the unfulfilled wishes, all the buried aspirations, I’ve managed to achieve at least one of my goals in life. And while, even in the best of times, I’ve never been an optimistic man, I find that knowledge of this fact of achievement actually heartens me, and makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, at least one or two of the other things I hope to do with my life may actually come to fruition. And even still, I would never have made it even 1/10th this far without the hardwork and sacrifice and support of my family, and for that, despite all the rough spots and shouting matches and blows exchanged, I am extremely thankful. As I’ve said all along, family has always been important to me.
My brother, my sister, my cousin, and my cousin’s friend dropped me off at the train station around 10 pm. In all, I had spent four hours at home, which is kind of insane, but I’ve got this warm feeling inside, so it was worth it. My brother, my sister, my cousin, and my cousin’s friend then sped off to an outlet mall (either the Citadel in the City of Industry, Camarillo, or maybe even Cabazon out in the desert. Hmm, how alliterative) to do some midnight shopping for Black Friday. (I have decided to celebrate Buy Nothing Day from here on out. I have absolutely no desire to contend with the seething masses in this orgiastic bacchanalian of outright materialism and excess. Mostly because I can’t deal with driving around looking for parking, and I can’t deal with all the cranky babies and the irate adults. It brings out the worst in humanity, it does. Plus Christmas shopping always reminds of me of the time I got the chickenpox, and how I felt like I was going to die because I felt so sick, and it also reminds me of one of the most significant non-relationships in my life, but I digress.)
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September 22, 2006 at 02:47 PM
I was happy for about 15 minutes when for some reason the dark clouds of despair overcame me, leaving me a little pissed off, and very bitter.
The main problem is that, these days, I really don’t know what I want. No, that’s not strictly true. The problem is that I know exactly what I want, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get it.
We will, of course, leave specifics out of this.
In many ways, I feel like I’m emerging from a fog. I have been buried in work for the past month, literally up to my arms and knees in it, and I haven’t had any chance at all to live even a quasi-normal life. The last time I had a coherent non-work-related thought, it was still summer, and now all of the sudden, here we are at the break of autumn. I am beginning to hate how quickly time goes.
At the same time, I realize that my anti-social tendencies will get me nowhere fast.
I don’t know. Ultimately, the problem seems to be that I can’t find the path to least resistance. I feel (and I know this is odd) like a river that has been dammed.
The other thing is that I recognize a lot of my insecurity lies in the fact that, even at this late stage in the game, my life is still provisional. Oh, sure, I’m kind of doing what I want to be doing with my life, but it still isn’t it (whatever it maybe.) Fact of the matter is that I have no fucking clue what I’ll be doing two years from now, except that it won’t be what I’m doing now.
This feeling of transience, this sensation of being unmoored, is really getting to me.
I’ve been reading Many Worlds out of One which is about how the Theory of Inflation basically leads to a universe so expansive that it contains not only everything that we can observe, but every possible variation, combination, and sequential history of everything that we can observe. (In other words, there are 10100100 versions of any one thing, each one marginally different from the other only due to the vagaries of quantum uncertainty.)
I had this bizarre moment where I sensed that every time I moved, all googleplex of my clones and quasi-clones moved almost exactly like I did, each in their own particular region of space. This quickly made me tired.
I remember going to sleep with this creepy feeling that all this infinity is out there, and it’s populated with different versions of me (not to mention everybody else who ever existed.)
Although I suppose this has always been my pathetic fantasy. Somewhere out there in the vast infinity that is our universe is a version of me who is actually happy. I guess knowing that will have to suffice.
It’s been a long time since I’ve hoped for anything, and I’m not about to start now.
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