A Delicate Imbalance

and Walt, the main character, gets on my nerves a bit because he’s always dogging on Jesse and convincing him to put himself in compromising, dangerous situations; I wonder why he refuses to receive any financial assistance to cover his medical expenses and would rather engage himself in a risky, illegal endeavor.

Then I remember him claiming that he’s never had complete control over his own life, and it becomes clear that he’s finally trying to change that. His cancer is the ultimate, final example of his loss of control… but he seizes his unfortunate situation and tries to, essentially, play God.

His illness is his own—he owns it; his cancer is the last thing he can claim for himself. So he figures enough is enough, and he’s finally going to make Fortune his bitch. This becomes evident in the transformation of his personality: he’s more daring and unapologetic.

He tries and tries, however, regardless of the terrifying things he witnesses and gets involved with; he thinks he can control what is really out of his hands because it’s his to deal with.

The irony lies in his ignorance; he tries to take matters in his own hands—to pull the puppet strings of his own being. He doesn’t realize that his attempts make things much worse; the consequences that ensue place the course of events much farther out of his control.

It’s a tremendous struggle, which he doesn’t realize is sadly cyclical, and it is so because of his meddling. In other words, his desire to finally be in control of his circumstances makes him much more helpless.

It’s his fatal flaw.

I know it, and I don’t give a shit. :)

Hey, Cursor… what’s your precursor? 

Hahaha. *snort, snort*

If for some reason your nerves are fried, you know the hydrocodone has kicked in when you get all damn itchy. I looked it up: it’s a common side-effect. I’ll think of it as a new-age exfoliation shit—scratching, I mean.

Okay, no, for real. I can’t even see straight with one eye closed, lol.

Blabbers.

I’m feeling fucking gooood.

This is fantastic—fucking fantastic.To quote the bullshit that is McDonald’s: “I’m lovin’ it.”

And to top it all off, I met someone new, and oh my god… oh my god.

I’m having difficulty seeing straight and keeping my eyes open, so that is all.

Oh, this is fucking lovely. I need to revel in this blissful moment.

My entire body is seamless. I feel my particles meshing with those of the air.

I yearn for this. I don’t want to feel my own being and struggle with it’s consequential distractions when I could be experiencing uninterrupted serenity. Being human means waging a continuous battle against white noise.

Loveliness coursing through my veins.

So, sometimes being awake feels like an unusual, monotonous dream, and dreaming feels disturbingly realistic; it seems things actually HAPPEN in my dreams—my life actually hurls toward a certain direction—whereas in reality, except for the passing of time, no matter what I do, everything collectively stays the same.

We’re all organisms that spontaneously spring into life, all the way down to the cellular/molecular level; like the birth of the universe and galaxies, we’re all accidents of nature—collisions of chemical, unfathomable forces.

How can one expect everything to miraculously fall into place when she’s part of countless accidental accidents? She’s just asking for too much.