"As in Ubik, we are actually dead now, and lie in graves row on row."

I just looked at my last entry on my friendspage, and I thought for a second that it was by somebody else. I'd like to say that this is because I have changed my mind so much about things in the ast few hours that I don't even recognize my own point of view anymore, but it's actually because I started that post by referring to myself in the third person.
Anyway, I've changed my mind drastically in the past few hours. You may note that I will do this a lot about large questions. Some say it's wishy-washy. I say it's recognizing and enjoying the vast range of philosophical possibilities open to the human mind. (Also, I had Kathryn over, and since it was snowing out, we opted to stay in the dorm and watch "Waking Life" instead of going to Video Land. Her choice, no prompting from me.)
Actually, we went to the "VOX Rocks" concert at the Wesley Foundation before that, when it wasn't snowing. It was pretty cool--a transgirl named Vanessa did the first act, some solo songs on guitar and banjo, and she was excellent. We left during the main act, some girl from San Francisco, because I got bored and Kathryn didn't care about staying at all.

Anyway, I don't remember where I was going with this, but I originally wanted to explain that most of the philosophical points I made in the first part of the post right before this one are moot. I don't remember why, now, because I had about five minutes where I focused all my energies on stealing a loose Hot Pocket from the communal refrigerator, then leaving $1.50 in change in there with a little "This is for the Hot Pocket" note on top of the pile. I don't know whose it was, but now they have $1.50 to make up for it, unless another amoral bastard like me takes it. There were a bunch of loose Hot Pockets in there, so at least I know that whoever it belonged to won't starve tonight.
Now I feel really bad about taking it.

You know what? I actually had a huge-ass long post about Philip K. Dick and the Tomb World and R'Leyh and Lovecraft. The point of it was that the Empire never ended, and the true nature of God was an indifferent iron mask or a tentacle monster or something along those lines, and any freedom you think you might have by breaking out of a societal construct is an illusion and you can never get out of it because the thing that made the illusion doesn't really care and also you'll go crazy, but then it occured to me that I'm taking this far too fucking seriously. Philip K. Dick was paranoid schizophrenic and H.P. Lovecraft was mostly being postmodern. I'm going to go with "reality is a bunch of stories, and as long as the author one level above you doesn't decide to make you get eaten by a dinosaur, you're OK," because then I can forget about it for a while. Actually, I don't even want to go with that. I really want to put all this into a story so that I can stop thinking about it for a just a little while, because I can't think about anything else.
And I can't decide, is the real problem. I can't decide whether reality is a dream in death or an Empire that never ended or a bunch of stories or what.
I can't decide on my own fricking delusion.

I'm going to go to a therapist on Monday. Right after class. I have game tomorrow and Fic Collective on Sunday, so that should distract me for a while. Actually, I don't know how to make an appointment with the student therapists, so Monday after class I'm going to go to the U.C. and ask, instead of just going to the library and logging onto Livejournal and reading statements for an hour.

What did I think about before this? What were my big philosophical decisions? I remember they involved snails.

My next important post will involve either kittens or snails.