reprobate

I believe, rather firmly, that there are levels of intellectual understanding and, sometimes parallel emotional understanding. That is, to grasp something intellectually can be quite divorced from internalizing it, for lack of a better way of putting it, having faith in in its truth. Conversely, there are many things that one can have emotional faith in that defy, at least for a time, articulation for lack of rational comprehension.

This evening, while sorting through a bunch of old crap in anticipation of selling the only home I've owned outright and my most permanent residence in going on two decades I came to the emotional realization that I am not, in many ways, the person I was twenty years ago. Oddly, I hadn't actually noticed that I had ever felt otherwise until discovering that that sense of myself had changed. I've spent a great deal of time conceptualizing myself as some freakish super-experienced sixteen year old, unchanged, but merely informed by a shitload of intervening experience.

Sometime, probably fairly recently, I figured out that this was crap, particularly in my own personal case, without noticing.

So as not to break my longstanding, pithy two-beat joke journal tradition to this I will add: happiness is a warm gun, and I am inordinately fond of black pepper. The latter was true twenty years ago, and is true now.