Depression.

My work has slowed down, I cannot write. I am not sure why, but I am taking a break regardless. The ideas still flow, somewhat, but they do not connect. I can't work like this, so I am playing like this. School has gotten a bit tougher for the moment as well. Recently my work load has been much higher, and with keeping fit, reading, and typing papers, mandatory things with my friends, and the like, I have had little time.

One thing that has annoyed me recently is my philosophy class. While anyone who has read any of this before will know that I have a dislike for my philosophy teacher, I really cannot stress enough that she is rather unintelligent, and terrible at teaching. She praises idiocy and intelligence alike, because she cannot tell the difference, and her style of teaching is generally more harmful to learning than it is helpful.

One problem that she has brought up often, is that of the experience machine. The experience machine is a hypothetical version of our favorite sci-fi movie, The Matrix, in which we are allowed to enter a virtual reality of our choosing. We are supposed to determine whether or not we would go in, and if we do, what we would make our new reality like, if we are free to do anything.

Now, of course this is an interesting idea. However, the responses I have heard are hideous. People have said that they will not go in for the most part, although everyone has their own reasons, and they have demonstrated varying degrees of intelligence. However, my problem is in the hypothetical situation in which you do go in, in which you are supposed to choose how you would change your world.

Before I criticize, let me put forth my views. Firstly, it does not matter whether or not I go into the experience machine or not. I have talked about this in a previous blog, but the reasoning for this is that humanity exists in the brain somewhat A priori, that is, that each person exists in their own mind, and changing their circumstances will hardly change their life. To put yourself into a machine that only changes circumstances, then, is useless. Whether or not I go into the machine, my level of happiness will remain somewhat unchanged, when I adapt to my new conditions. If I was unhappy as a poor man, and went in and became a rich man, I would find that I would be no more happy than before. The want of money I had as a poor man could not be satisfied by money, it was a character defect that meant that I was incomplete, and would thus be happy regardless of whether I had the money or not, and I only blamed it on the money because I would be afraid to change.

When asked about what I would change if I was going in, I said "nothing." Nothing I can change by instantly remaking the world would be a change for the better. Therefore, this life is somewhat perfect. Why would I want to change? I was shocked by the response that my philosophy teacher gave. "That's so deep!" Deep? Deep means not that something is intelligent, but that you don't understand it, and therefore you are not. There is nothing deep about thinking that this is a wonderful world, and not wanting to leave it, it's as simple as the sun rising. I wanted to choke.

Worse is what some of the "brightest" philosophers in the class, the ones who are majoring in philosophy, have said. There are only a few of them, and they go on and on about how smart that they think themselves to be. However, when asked what one would change if he went in, he simply said a lot of money. What? Even the most base of true philosophers can see that money means nothing for happiness. The responses from the others were equally sickening. A man who cannot read is no different from the man who reads and does not understand.

Another problem in my current life, is that I have become somewhat displeased with my current friends. I wish them no disrespect, but I am different from them, and in many obvious ways. In order to better myself, I must find a way to cast them off, at least partially. I do not wish them harm, I simply wish to improve my life, and I cannot do that with them. They are a simply ordinary group.

Then again, I am hardly extraordinary at the moment. I have no contacts, no way to impress the woman I love, and nothing to my name.

I need to get over this slump, and soon.