An Open Head at Thirty Miles an Hour.

Have you ever stopped to ponder the idea of a predatory curiosity? I think there's such thing, and if you look into stories like Little Red Riding Hood, you see that unsettling sensation of someone who has a perfectly logical answer for everything. It also sort of works backwards, where you have the Big Bad Wolf asking, "Little pig, little pig, let me in?"

I've been looking into and discussing it amongst several people I respect. They're good people overall. Very helpful. Very talkative. Full of intellectual perspective and functionality. But they both have a tendency to unsettle people, and I think it's because of their perceived predatory curiosity. They ask far too many questions or explain far too much, and they are - or once were, in the case of the first - exceptionally and intentionally vague on details regarding their personal life.

Predatory curiosity is just something I've been thinking a lot on recently. Awhile back it was the concept of human Justice, now it's predatory curiosity. Endless rote, endless rote.

My left arm is shot. That's completely unrelated, but my head's a little foggy, and it's the first thing that comes to mind. I mentioned that the blood clinic jabbed it really good. I think they went entirely through the vessel and into the underlying muscle or nerve or something, because I can press it softly - even rolling my sleeves seems to trigger it despite having had adequate time to recover since donation - and a painful sort of 'Knocked Funny-Bone' sensation rushes down my forearm and dissipates in my wrist. It's quite painful, and I think I may go back into the Red Cross to pose questions about it.

I've not sent a lick of mail beyond the handicrafts I made for Hjalmar and Shawn, and some paid bills. I really want to, but I've been really busy and generally unhappy as of late. I hate being unhappy. I dislike people who get unhappy naturally in response to opposition. I prefer a frustrated ass to a sad-sack any day of the week because it's exhausting to be frustrated, and the moment you tire yourself out, you're back on the job, perhaps with a vengeance if your work is what frustrated you. Sad people just accept the cards dealt to them while bitching about it.

Yes, that's an umbrella statement about mopes. If you disagree with me enough to have a bone to pick or you're a sad-sack and take offense to that view, by all means, write me up for discussion or otherwise prove me wrong. I'm no saint and I'm no philosopher, but I love a good debate.

I've tried to cure my unhappiness with a good Gym stint, but the moment I came home, there was family drama abound and I was kind of frustrated again. I think I've got an ace up my sleeve though. I'm going to get a hot shower, and then I'm going to meditate. Frankly, it's been awhile.

I've been generally exhausted as of late. I've not been sleeping well, as I'd mentioned, and I've been having to run a lot of errands on foot, which means jogging in the spring sun for mile to two mile distances daily. Coupled with my morning work-out and anything else I might do between, I want to conk-out on a well-rested day, let alone one where I've gotten four hours of sleep, if that.

I'm uh, hold on, I have to formulate the next sentence I'm on because I'm not - I'm running out of topics, really, I wish I weren't, but there's just not a whole lot of room to think, because of all that's-

I've been handling a lot of paperwork; I think I mentioned that somewhere. I'm getting some benefits paperwork. It's pretty convoluted, and I want to fill it out, but I'm having trouble because it's requesting convoluted military doctrines and garbage that it doesn't host for you to consult, but expects you to have pre-read before attempting to invoke the aforementioned benefits.

I'd talk more, but I really need that shower.
I really reek of sweat and my muscles are aching.