Every morning at 9am I stroll a few hundred meters to the university physics building. There I am greeted by a steel elevator surrounded by chipped burgundy tiles. The former has a poster plastered near it espousing the benefits of taking the stairs.
Naturally, I engage in my first act of defiance by slipping into the elevator and jamming 4. Only to be, often, followed by my realization that I forgot my water bottle or some mundane utensil; consequently ruining my day.
On the ride to the fourth floor I often become absorbed by my fantasies. I fantasize about existing in another world, a world that bends to my woes and interests. A utopian world where I play characters ranging from a world class musician to a Nobel prize winning physicist and even a communist revolutionary. A world where I can truly realize my infinite potential, a world in which god is another viewer admiring my prowess.
Some days , more often than not, I imagine chasing after women who have no real love for me. Although I could sleep with theses women in my fantasy , i have no desire for it. Rather I enjoy the thought of a seducer slowly pulling me in and pushing me away, playing me for a fool. A sexual attraction equivalent of zenos paradox.
Once I reach the fourth floor my fantasies slowly subside, instead its replaced with the drone of finite existence. I apathetically head in to my musky room which I share with an aryan-esque swiss post doc , one that I am convinced dreads being in my presence let alone have a non-condescending conversation.
After a few minutes of browsing through the internet and running my simulations on a computer from 2010 I normally go bother my soviet born supervisor, an old wily man who doesn’t dare look a fly dead in the eye let alone me. I often leave his office holding onto nothing but key words and a fascinating realization that we both only understood patches of our conversation. And then a somber realization that I am not as intelligent as I thought I was.
This morning routine only reaffirms my dread, a dread emerging deep within my soul. A dread that actualizes the sharp discontinuity between the schizophrenic/genius barrier.
This dread then realizes itself into my existence through my actions. I define the set of actions generated by my dread as idle perfectionism, A state best explained through example.
Consider a man cursed to strive for perfectionism , whereby he detests half measures in the utmost regards and breathes a sigh of orgasmic relief when a job edges to the asymptote of perfectionism.
But now consider the same man is simultaneously cursed with all the attributes that hamper perfectionism. He is lazy, unfocused ,selfish , lustful and forgetful. It would truly be a feat for such a man to not spontaneously combust into a million mental states.
If the above is too abstract, perhaps the following examples will splatter your mental canvas with a hint of understanding.
The idle perfectionist does not wash his dishes, rather he stares at them and calculates how long it will take to clean to a perfect state. He then rushes out of the kitchen in horror due to the fact it will take hours of his day.
The idle perfectionist is not resourceful, he detests any system build up without thorough documentation and a strong logical basis. Any project that he views as insufficient must be revamped to suit his perfectionist standards.
The idle perfectionist can never truly love women, rather he imagines the time he must spend to truly love and consequently spends little to none. Thus his natural selfishness is compounded on by his wish for perfectionism.
The idle perfectionist is embarrassed at himself, he is embarrassed at his mediocrity on the bases that mediocrity implies lack of perfectionism which counters his very existence.
The idle perfectionist is a man who borders between schizophrenia and genius. He enjoys , 100 fold, imagining a task completed to perfection rather then doing one to his current standards.
The idle perfectionist is me comrades, and as always I digress.