It's been four years as of today that I've been an E2 noder, three of which I've been AWOL. But I have finally returned to noding after my long time away, and strangely, during that three year chasm, I would frequent the site to read and browse around. How I managed to avoid the itch to start doing writeups again, I know not.

What have I been up to these three years? A large part has been taken up with taking care of my mother, who has been very ill for quite awhile. It's been a hard thing; there's something about seeing a person in a constant state of struggle, and there's a part of me that wants to turn away, whether from exhaustion or disbelief - that a person can suffer, long and hard, and not break from it all. It makes me wonder how I would act if the shit really hit the fan for me. It's hard to be constantly expressing sympathy and concern, after awhile your own voice begins to ring hollow and trite; I mean what I'm saying but after repeating such things enough you begin to feel like you're reciting lines from a script.

I'm no longer in school, though I hope to be again soon. I'm reminded of what a gi-frikkin-normous dork I am, that I miss writing papers and attending lectures. At the same time, and as much as I miss college, I've realized that a lot of importance is heaped on it which isn't necessarily deserved. Don't mistake me, education is vital, but meaningless unless applied. So many of my friends from school have graduated with meaningless degrees that haven't really gotten them anywhere. They shot for "general" degrees like business, journalism, biology, and are now unemployed and cynical. If I were to go back to school, I would have to know my direction better. I've learned so much about myself these last few years, and I know I would choose my direction and my intended career and drive and push for it as hard as possible. That was my mistake years ago when I graduated from high school. Now, I would have to decide, do I want to teach? Work in a lab? Work in the field?

I've reconciled with my father. For so long, I struggled against what he was, hated him for what he wasn't, and blamed him for offenses I thought he'd committed against me. God, I swear; when it comes to the past, there's always going to be shit, but what used to be red and raw and unforgivable... fades, releases and drifts away slowly, until you're reaching to remember it at all. What's left are the quiet times, the silly times, and the moments when he trusted me enough to let me see him cry.

Regardless of everything that has changed, my love for writing here hasn't; I'm glad to be back and speaking again with my friends here and contributing to the database. I'm glad to be back at my little home-within-my-home.

I am sure we have all experienced it at some point. It is as if you are trying to solve a math problem. You keep track of half a dozen variables in your mind, and you sense that it is all coming together. You realise that if you just keep thinking, the answer to the math problem will be easy to find. If only manage to stick with it. Keep thinking about it. Pondering. Looking at the variables you have stored in your mind in a slightly different way. A minutely different angle. As if you are solving a three dimensional puzzle which will collapse within five minutes unless all pieces are present. You are holding the very last piece in your hand, and you realise clearly that there are only so many ways a single puzzle-piece will fit into an otherwise perfectly completed puzzle. You are looking at the 3d-puzzle from across the room. You grab a microscope, and look at the edges with great detail. You try standing across the room with a tele-photo lens, or walking zig-zag towards the puzzle, eyes locked on that one, single, gaping hole. The one flaw in the grand scheme. Holding the puzzle-piece in your hand, you realise it should be easy. That the solution is within reach. That all you have to do is to grab the damn puzzle-piece, shove it into the puzzle, take a step back to admire your handiwork.

But something stops you. Somehow, you just fail to grasp the whole, and you get struck down with a fit of frustration. How fucking difficult can it be, to get one puzzle-piece into one spot?

That is how I feel about life. Not always. Not even often. But some-times, I feel as if I am on the brink of understanding somebody nobody has ever understood before. As if I am standing on the edge of the Matrix, looking into the solution. As if I have managed to take a step back out of Plato's cave, and done what everybody could have done, had they not been so mesmerised by the shadow-images projected on the wall in front of them: Turned around, and revealed it all.

I am Donnie Darko.

Bolts of insanity and fear are replaced with laughter, and a feeling as if I have been invited to inspect the Grand Design, from its blueprints, via its foundation, and into real life. I laugh, because I realise things are not what they seem. The things that scare me are not the things that are out there to haunt me. The things I enjoy and actively seek out are what is driving me into an early grave.

Changing my pace, I walk along the road. It is as if my pre-destination has been broken. Suddenly, I am free. My heart stops beating, transcending the mundane task of pumping blood to my brain, and instead takes on a deep hum, not entirely like the bass line out of March of the Pigs... "I want to break it up I want to smash it up I want to fuck it up. I want to watch it come down".

In my hightened state of mind, the question of Everything is so obvious. All I have to do is ask it, and the answer will become clear. A fraction of an inch away from the entire solution. The single chemical formula that would make sense of the entire universe in one swift stroke of a cheap Bic biro on chemically mutilated, battered and bleached trees. As if I had written a symphony that was great, and loved by many, but that could actually change the course of the word forever, if I changed one single of the notes that the band was to play.

It is frustration.

Pure, unadulterated, limitless frustration. Being so close, knowing I will never get any closer.

I wish I was five per cent more intelligent. Perhaps I would have managed to actually answer the question.

I wish I was five per cent less intelligent. I would come nowhere near answering the Question, but at least I would not be ceaselessly tormented with the feeling of being onto something big, yet with the knowledge that I will never be able to answer it, because there are too many people in the world holding me back.

There is too much brain-power being wasted on vegging out in front of televisions. Too much energy being spent on fucking people that mean nothing. There is too much thinking about trivialities. Eggs, bread, milk, who gives a fuck.

Most of us forget we are here for a purpose. A grander purpose.

Anybody who is not prepared to help me, or stay out of my way, while trying to find out what this grander purpose is, and subsequently help me - or stay out of my way - while I am heading into the world to fulfill this purpose, is officially my enemy.

You have been warned.

I hate being stumped. Hate it.

My best friend is, by far, one of the single most intelligent people I know. When bored he likes to be thrown five one-digit numbers, and one two-digit number. The goal of the "game" is to use the four basic operations (addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division) on the five numbers to achieve a final answer of the two-digit number. To do this, players must go through the numbers, in order, without creating any quantities (grouping numbers into parentheses). Over the years he has sometimes been stuck but never stumped. Last night, during a round of margaritas, he finally declared this one Unsolvable... I submit this "unsolvable" problem to you.

2, 3, 5, 6, 8
61

UPDATE!
First off, I may have mispoke: the numebers DO NOT have to stay in order. Next, Oolong and I are interested in the number of permutations of numbers and operations (and Oolong, they do not have to stay in that order). Also, Swap found us some answers with some brute-force and this intensely pleases me! Thanks!!! I won't reveal it for those still interested but message one of us if you want it. Great responses and help. Thanks all.

Our mutual friend, a chemical engineer, swears it's an easy solve if he's allowed exponents... he's not. eien_meru solved this easily using quantities and also says we're stumped with our restrictive rules. I hate being stumped.

On the way to Easter service, I saw one of our regular "bag women" hovering near the doors of Sacred Heart. She held some daffodils in her hand, which she then covered with a plastic yellow bag.

Despite being human, and despite her hovering about a church, we have learned to ignore her. "Oh, she has mental illness." As though that excuses us.

We act as though schizophrenia gives folks special powers, as though cold and fear and hunger and loneliness cannot be felt by anyone insane. I tried a few times to talk to this woman. Looking into her eyes hurts.

Fear and hunger and loneliness looked back. We both scurried away.

Our Easter service started with a tape recording of birds chirping. My daughter whispered to me. "If we're going to pretend we're outside, why not just go outside?"

We once had a homeless man come ambling into a service. Walked right into the church as though he owned the place. Our particular parish prides itself on progressivism, on justice. Still, homeless folks stink, and schizophrenics can be frightening. So we pretended that we did not see him, and eventually he went away.

And the King shall answer and say unto them,
Verily I say unto you,
Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.

Matthew 25:40

Today a few of my rosemary seeds germinated; the crocuses are busting out all over, the daffy's are budding, you can smell the mud again. My surpise each spring betrays my professed faith.

I hope my crazy woman stays warm tonight, and I hope she tastes something warmer than the Chicken McNuggets in a dumpster. Pointless words to soothe me and other folks doing well in the dominant culture.

Happy Easter. Now we can celebrate the ethereal post-resurrection Jesus, the Jesus who walks through doors, the Jesus who floats away in a few weeks. Our happy ethereal Jesus doesn't spend a whole lot of time among the beggars and bums. Indeed, Mark, in our oldest Gospel, ends when the tomb was found empty today, the women running in terror.

We crucified the human, the man who would dare us to see the daffodils of a homeless woman standing at the door. If he came back as a human, we'd crucify him again.

Ye have done it unto me.