I’m going to ramble now. Don’t worry, this won’t involve any Joyce-esque stream-of-conciousness, but I need to ramble right now. The Scotch is kicking in.
I recently had a discussion with an acquaintance on the merits of Astrology with regards to predictions of personality. To say that I am a skeptic on the topic would be a gross understatement, but I must admit that I am finding some truth to certain aspects of it. Namely, there is some accuracy with regards to how I’m beginning to view myself as a person. Of course, any system of mysticism will be sufficiently vague that one can always find truth in at least 50% of associated statements, and the human mind operates in such a way that it selects only the true statements and magically discards the inaccurate ones. I believe the term is doublethink (or doublethought?) – thank you Mr. Orwell. We are delusional creatures by nature.
Nevertheless, I’ve been noticing in myself lately more and more of the traits of the Gemini. The consensus is that Geminis are generally two- (or more) faced. I indeed find distinct personalities emerging. These personalities are incongruous – like a schizophrenic, which frightens me. However, unlike a schizoid man, I am unsure of which of these personalities is the “true” me, whatever that is supposed to mean. On the one hand we have the somewhat respectable, button-up shirt-wearing, dumbly nodding, robotic electrical engineer. On the other hand we have something resembling an artistic, brooding, manic-depressive writer. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that I often find myself writing with a stiff drink poised above my keyboard. I’m very worried by the fact that instead of converging into a whole, these personalities are developing independent of each other and actually diverging. I’ve been feeling progressively more emotionally and psychologically torn.
I do not, by any stretch, imagine that it is only I (or Geminis) that have this distinct divergence of character. Instead, perhaps it is a ponderous personality that gives rise to my awareness of this strange and, some would say, unhealthy state of mind. At least I’m aware, which in theory means that I could do something about it. Theories are nice.
In all honesty, there would be no issue here if one or both of my personalities were content but, sadly, that is not the case. The artistic me resents the engineer me for censoring and subduing the boundless imagination the artistic me seems to think he has. The straight-edge me is angry at the writer me for wasting time and energy on endeavours straight-edge me claims are going nowhere. I suspect I will start mumbling like a crazy Market street crackhead any time now as these two increasing polarized characters explode in argument. My indecision is completely to blame here – I do not know which one is right; I don’t even know which one is sane.
I truly know nothing. My only comfort is this Scotch, and it is empty, so I must take leave of you now. Serious soul-searching is in order. Salam.