Trip to a Mountain Cabin

October of 2021, I booked a stay in a remote mountain cabin for one month, alone. It did not come outfitted with any electronics but a small CRT and some ancient DVDs. My phone was scheduled to be off at all times. The below entries are transcribed from my journal written during that month, unedited. Where appropriate, notes (written in December of 2023, during transcription) will appear in italics.

October 18 — The First Night §

After a series of winding roads, I found myself at a sign. “4WD ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT”. I continued on. A gravel road led me to the cabin driveway. The cabin was atop a steep hill, with a still-steeper gravel path beside it. The owners had told me that 2WD would have problems getting up, and that I could park at the base of the hill. But the path was fairly long, and I with my dozen grocery bags plus luggage didn’t want to take 10 trips up the hill. I drove up, but got stuck. ‘No matter, I’ll back up and try again.’ But somehow I reversed into a tree and became bilaterally immobile.

‘This is not a good sign,’ but eventually I got back down the hill. The second time I gathered speed and made it up, my car complaining with the traction warning symbol. I unpacked the car. The cabin frigid, and the wood-stove off-limits, I turned on the normal oven—door ajar—and huddled in front of the space heater. My visit to Mom’s was training for this moment. There was a conspicuous oil lamp on the vanity, full of red oil, and a full box of matches beside. I studied the device and noticed that the wick could be adjusted up and down by turning a knob. I reasoned that dipping the wick down into the oil must increase the flame, and removing it from the fuel by raising it all the way up must result in a weaker, temporary flame. So I lit it while it was all the way up.

As it turns out, this is the opposite of correct. The amount of wick exposed above the separation line is the burning part; the higher the wick, the larger the flame; lowering it completely will extinguish it. An enormous flare erupted from the lamp and I soon realized this was not good. I carried the massive pillar of fire to the bathtub (it had been on the wooden vanity) and blew it out. The fire was replaced by a cloud of black smoke which immediately set off the smoke alarm. I poured bath water onto the wick, likely ruining the lamp, and opened the window until the crisis dissipated into the night air.

The place is fine. Smaller than the photos seemed, and colder than the centerpiece wood stove would imply. I do feel uneasy in the darkness outside. The gun remains near enough to give me reassuring looks. I wonder if this is a foolish endeavor. I see doubts in the corners of my mind: Will this be dangerous? Will it even be enjoyable? Will I have to choose between returning early with wounded pride and enduring something awful?

Tonight I retire early. I want to greet the morning quickly and shove the nighttime out the door. Not sure what I’ll do tomorrow, but there are not a wealth of options. Assuredly some concoction of reading, writing, studying, cooking, stretching, hiking, thinking, living.

October 19 — The Supper §

I did not sleep well the first night. I felt ill at ease, imagining the various ways a home invasion could go. I got up multiple times to check sight-lines in the house; if I stand here, can they see me from there? Eventually I settled on dimming the spotlight which shines from the loft into the lower floor. Anyone looking up at the loft from below would, in the dark, be unable to see for the light in their eyes. I, looking down, had perfect vision.

Yet even confident that I could win the resultant gunfight, being asleep nullifies any advantage. Thus I woke frequently from fearful slumber. I expect I will just get used to it in time.

Though it was expected, the boredom and urges to do stimulating things online is irritating. I want nothing better now than to play chess! But this too shall pass; may but I emerge from here more serene and less compulsive. The interim can be filled only by what is here: reading, writing, study, mild physical activity, cooking, etc. Let this month of austere splendor begin!

I did not cook yesterday, so today’s lunch was my first cabin meal. I record it not for its physical quality as much as spiritual. Seasoned baked chicken breast, surrounded on the plate with familial dressings: a hot tomato, green, from my grandfather; sweet relish from Mom; a raw onion, which reminded me of an Irish farmer I’ve heard of who had one such at every supper; and a pickle. Regrettably nothing from Dad, though I may credit his austere food habits for my own richer ones.

Each bite reminded me of various things to which I ruminated silently, seeing but not seeing out the window the yellowing mountain trees. What richness could a soul cultivate this way, severed from the pull of mealtime distractions? What lifetimes have been whittled away like soap under the tap by the mental trumpery flowing out from glowing rectangles? Yet here too was a glowing rectangle, freely used, enriching the soul. We stare at the wrong screens.

The latter glowing rectangle was referring to the window.

October 20 — Settling In §

How quickly yesterday passed! I did nothing after lunch but read (Walden) and study chess, yet I found it dark long before I was ready to sleep. Such is the power of undivided focus. I fear even with so ‘little’ to do that I may run out of time here all too soon.

There are endless books to read, a lifetime and more of thoughts to think. Rocking seated on the back porch among the bows and distant auburn strokes of autumn would fill some years itself, would I but let it. This surely must become a fixture of my life; this infinite stillness is too precious to end as a distant memory of my youth. But ideally, in future sojourns, have some gentle company, too.

Despite sleeping a normal amount last night, I ended up taking a 3-hour nap immediately after gorging myself on pasta. Now my schedule is messed up.

Two discoveries have drastically increased my self-assurance in bed. No, it’s not Viagra. One, I forgave myself the use of the internet to learn when I may shoot an intruder. Turns out I can shoot them even in the back, with no announcement; this pleases me greatly because I will surely get the first shot if I’m awake, due to the spotlight trick. Two, I realized that I could prop the baseball bat precariously against the front door, such that if the door opens, however slowly or quietly, the bat will fall and slam into the wooden floor. This noise would awaken even the heaviest sleeper.

October 21 — The Debate §

The first rainy day. I’m running into a problem with concentration. It’s not that I’m getting distracted or bored, but rather that my brain gets tired and can no longer process whatever I’m doing. I don’t have enough brainless things to do to keep myself sharp. This may improve over time, yet improvement may come too slowly to be of use. I will need to devise some activities to relax my mind without severely boring it.

It occurs to me that I should define some goals I will have done by the end of this trip. This will give some guidance and structure to the daily life, as well as giving me a sense of pride and accomplishment by the end, rather than of dismay, or relief, whichever the case may be.

Things I would like to have done by November 19:

This may be beyond my grasp, but not surely so. The chief difficulty will be in maintaining focus, not in maintaining will.

Ahh! I’m bored! Is four days my limit?! This was expected and even desirable, but it’s like withdrawal… I wonder how long this phase will last before even ponderous tomes are as enthralling as anything was? Is this why the olden days had so much drinking?

I think that I may one day this week, before a grocery run, go to a Starbucks or the like and download some media to watch. Not to fill the time, as I would strictly regulate it, but to have something to do in between study sessions when my concentration is recharging. It’s simply impossible to read or study for 12 hours each day, no matter how light of reading it may be; the eye strain besides, I stop absorbing the information, and it’s likely counterproductive.

Now, ideally, I would have idle activities that did not involve media consumption, but those that interest me, among them gardening, strength training, socializing, art, are not feasible in this cabin. And moreover, I don’t desire to have more such idle activities than those, because avoidance of idleness, and escaping my Oblomovka, were principal reasons for my coming here. And while I wish to become that manner of man whose Works and Days are Cal Newport’s Deep, and whose repose is substantially verdant, and whose connection to modern technology is to the extent possible tenuous, is this ignominious boredom my toll?

Of course it must be. How can I conquer the vice-hold grip that modern entertainment has seized 'round my neurons if not by starving its roots entirely? Did an alcoholic ever triumph over self by self-allotment? But methinks the substance itself may not be the poison. What is the sickness? Is it the urge, the resignation, and the wasted hours? Or is it the shallow concentration that follows? One cannot live deeply if thoughts are interrupted by urges toward distraction; all the less if the distraction is indulged. Each indulgence is a lesson to your brain that urges are rewarded; that depth is hard and unnecessary.

Thus it may be that the substance itself can be used freely, so long as it does not follow and thus reward a pang of distraction. As far as the wasted hours are concerned, any idle activity is equally a waste of time. The former type only becomes problematic due to its addicting nature, which draws one away from real activities. Between rocking among trees for 20 minutes and watching an episode of TV, both waste time; only that the former relaxes the mind and the latter stimulates it.

All of this is to say, I want to rationalize to myself that it’s okay to watch some TV between study sessions. But I’m not convincing myself. If I do that here, why have I even retreated to the woods? I may as well just schedule some internet blockers at home for X minutes per day and pretend I’m doing something noble, for free and with a more comfortable seat. No, I came here to rewire my brain, and these clumsy exhortations are the gasps of a dying parasite. If I cannot do the idle activities of my choice, I will simply meditate, and when I emerge from here, if I am substantially bored, all the better, for then even the mundane will excite, and without relapse, only benefit can follow. Or put briefly, if I can endure but one month of this, then surely what I found boring before will be gladly done, and what ensnared me will remain shunned, it having no monopoly over my interest.

This being determined, and much time having passed, let us cook and think no more of it.

October 22 — Assorted Musings §

I noticed this morning that my coffee was steaming for quite a bit longer than usual, and that despite the steam it was a drinkable temperature. ‘Is it so cold in here,’ I thought, ‘that the steam becomes more visible, and I just got used to the cold?’ Surely not; I keep it toasty and a few days is too short to acclimate. Then I realized: I’m at altitude! Water boils and steams at lower temperatures when at altitude. Come to the mountains if you want the most aesthetic tendrils above your mug.

In English pronunciation guides, the ‘a’ in map, can, pat, pan are the same sound. But it seems to me that when it precedes ‘n’ as in can, pan, Dan, it is not the same sound as in any other case like pat, cat, map, apple, ass, affable, all of which are the same sound according to the guide. Is this my regional dialect, or is the subtlety common yet simply not different enough to be delineated?

I wonder what percentage of English words I can give a decent definition of, beyond just recognition. We can test this. Let words starting with A be a representative sample of all words. I can take the first word on each A page in the dictionary and quiz myself to reach a rough estimate.

Here a table of words appeared, with a circle or X beside each to indicate knowledge or lack thereof. The words marked with an X were: ablation, absorbance, accession, actinon, afferent, afortiori, agapanthus, alençon, alee, and allocution. 20 correct and 10 incorrect.

From this rigorous study we can see that I know only 2/3 of my native tongue. Sad! Even less in actuality, because I marked a circle if I could give any definition even if the first one I did not know. Even less than that, for I used an abridged collegiate dictionary. Sad!

October 23 — The Schedule §

Each day the trees across the way get more autumned. Magnificent!

I needed to follow up on the apartment situation, so after doing that I checked LinkedIn; from Thibaut I received a message. He heard I left our shared prior employer, and in a lot of words offered me a referral. I’m extraordinarily flattered to receive such a message! Not in general, for there are countless poor craftsmen whom I’ve worked alongside who would be blessed (and were) to learn from me. But from him, who was perhaps the best—no, quite surely was the best—developer I’ve yet encountered, the pleasure is all mine. Did he not sense my slothful work habits? Or was even that half-impression enough to inspire respect? In a way, such an offer is more validating than any salary or title. Impressing fools is no feat, yet earning a nod from a true craftsman cannot be simply done. I know because I am one such.

Research indicates that after four hours on a mentally taxing activity in a day, performance drastically declines or becomes counter-productive. However, switching tasks after that can restore some efficiency. I would like to here formalize the 3-block schedule I’ve been generally using.

Block 1 will be the day’s primary mental task and will last four hours. This is for what I’m mainly focusing on at that time. Block 2 will be for a secondary task still requiring mental effort but not as much; also four hours. Block 3 is a low-effort block, but not quite relaxation, for two hours. The blocks will go in order each day, with various mentally-relaxing breaks between them. An example may look like this:

Not each block may last the full time. If a good stopping point is reached early, the schedule can be shifted around. Additionally, one day each week will be a rest day, with only Block 3, and the rest of the time used for movies or anything else.

For the following week, these will be the activities:

Leisure/rest time may be filled with writing, cooking, exercise, or anything else mentally light. This is already what I’ve been doing, but if I formalize the process it can become better.

I would also like to figure out the chess study program for the week after I return, but before the tournament, November 20–26. I think whatever understanding of the game I can absorb from books will take longer than that week to sink in. I also need to apply the concepts I’m learning now to games. And because I have no computer here, I will become tactically rusty.

That week needs to consist then of play, tactics, and opening prep, none of which I can do here. I think a 2-block daily approach makes sense, though I’m not sure whether tactics or play deserve the 1-slot. There may be an existing pedagogy I can consult; I don’t have to decide now.

So depending on time constraints (Thanksgiving), something like Morning → Block 1 → Leisure + dinner → Block 2 → Bed. Opening prep is least strenuous and so can be done on days with little free time or mental focus. November 25 full rest.

I will also need to decide about November 26–28. I expect to be too mentally fatigued to do anything, and that may be for the best. But I shall consult recommendations for warmups, analyses, etc for the tournament situation. Also need to research dietary recommendations. Coffee? Carbs? Fasting? Probably just do whatever athletes do. I found that at Seattle Chess Club, which had evening games, I got extremely drowsy after a big meal, and another time was drained despite an energy drink. It may be that caffeine has a negative effect when the event lasts too long.

This heavy focus on chess was due to a large tournament happening soon after the end of the cabin trip. Unsurprisingly, my performance in November and December of that year reached a peak that has yet to be reached again.

October 24 — The Bad Day §

Today is Amy’s birthday, but as she did not acknowledge mine, and they are so close, I will not hers. I have the well-founded suspicion that we are not to be considered ‘friends’ anymore, in any case. Such is life; friends grow apart, connections dwindle, and we men seek harbor in romance’s bosom, with but a few brothers still upholding the Fellowship. This is why Sam held his Shire-wedding so swiftly.

I’m in a foul mood and feeling witless. The chess testing today went horribly; the subsequent workbook questions went worse; I even turned my phone on to play a blitz game, but lost that too out of the opening. 1. d4 b5 2. e4 Bb7 3. Bd3 Nf6 and I was already tilted. Disgusting performance in all matters today. Then there were issues with the cooking, the smoke alarm went off, and so I am officially taking the day off. Our regularly scheduled programming will resume tomorrow. For today, no more brain power will be expended. I will be watching a movie, drinking, and reading some pulp genre fiction, with an early slumber.

I feel concerned about my chances in the tournament. I may need to allow for internet use here so as to play practice games. I fear that without proper reinforcement through play, these concepts from books will not be solidified or usable for me. I don’t want to waste half my clock thinking, ‘What was that concept? Didn’t it say…?’ and become lost in the sauce. I’m similarly unconvinced that the few days preceding will suffice.

But once I open that path, I shall have to be exceedingly careful not to allow the internet to distract me from my purpose. I’m most likely not ready, yet, for that temptation. But in a week or two more, perhaps.

October 25 — On Videogames §

Feeling much better today after an 11-hour sleep. I sipped my coffee and sang to the distant slopes from the back porch.

I’ve been thinking about the role video games have played in my life. It’s been my impression of late that video games are responsible for my various shortcomings in life; my youth wasted on them, rendering me a nerdy loser; my later years also wasted on them, preventing me from achieving some vague concept of Greatness or even Satisfaction. But I wonder now if that’s even remotely true. Were games not how I coped with a depressing youth, and even how I connected to friends at the time? If not for games, I doubt I’d have been a popular, tanned jock as a boy; more likely, everything would be the same and I’d escape into books instead. And in adulthood, what would become of my few friendships if not sustained by the community fire of League and Melee? We’d huddle in the pub instead? No, I believe now that games have been a positive force in my life overall. That is not to say that they have no downsides, or that I didn’t overuse them, become addicted to them, and waste a lot of time having very little fun. No matter how I try I cannot rationalize to myself any reason why games are worse for me than the equivalent time in other solo leisure activities, like watching movies. I have been trying to convince myself of this for years, but it simply does not stand up to scrutiny. Because of this, my endeavors to become a normie are always half-hearted.

Upon further analysis, it is not video games themselves which are any sort of problem, but a certain kind: the addictive, competitive team games. I won’t elaborate further; this is obvious. What they provide by sating my competitive drive is overshadowed by the frustration, addiction, and endless lost time. Single-player games never cause such bad feelings, nor do 1v1 games like chess.

And yet, these 5v5esque games are the overwhelming majority of my playtime because they are designed to be so. Enough!

I will hereafter renounce but a small subset of games, yet with it solve all game-related problems: I will no longer, ever again, play a competitive team game alone. With friends, sure. Single-player games? Sure. I don’t foresee this lessening my fun whatsoever. It will only lessen frustration and compulsions. Yet what of my competitive drive? It may be expressed through chess, through games with friends, or even through 1v1 video games like Starcraft; I don’t anticipate the latter becoming any issue, because the personal nature of the losses will tilt me off the game quickly each day. This can be re-evaluated if necessary, but it is important for me to have some competitive outlet. Boxing is one such idea.

What if, through this vow, my time simply becomes taken up with single-player games and nothing is solved? Well, if this happens it means that I am lacking fulfillment and challenge in life. I shall have to deal with that separately. Quitting games entirely in that scenario would not help, because I would fill the void with something else. You see, things that people spend a lot of time on, especially if they aren’t proud of it, like social media or video games, those things are filling some need. The need to socialize, or the need for achievement, or of challenge. (So what need are team games filling for me? Competition, without accountability. I don’t think the clause there need be coddled.) If you just remove the coping mechanism, the people don’t stop needing those things. They usually just get depressed because now they have a need which isn’t even able to be coped with. In other words, those are symptoms of some other problem, and removing that outlet doesn’t help; it can often make things worse.

All this is to say, I don’t need to quit video games. I need to quit one type, and separately, I may also need to find fulfillment in life.

The extreme boredom I felt earlier in the week has all but passed. I’ve not been bored at all for some days now. Only the occasional pang to play chess, and the regret at a lack of things to do when my brain tires. Were I able to productively concentrate the whole day, I don’t think I’d get bored here of studying various things.

There is a fly in the house making a racket like I’ve never heard before. It sounds like an angry wasp, and is loudly audible from anywhere inside. Yet, it is certainly just a fly. Perhaps some forest variety, less shy than its suburban cousins.

October 26 — Assorted Musings 2 §

What the hell is the point of toaster dials that go 1–6 if the 1.5 setting burns the toast? What is the 6 for? Are they thinking a frozen chicken breast is going in there?

Another rainy day. Us city folk had no way of knowing that wind through the trees could get so loud or sound so strange. “It’s just the wind” makes more sense now.

My handwriting annoys me with how bad it is. That other men are usually worse doesn’t change anything; I am not other men. But, practicing it now is just vanity, so I won’t ever get motivation to.

Here was a long section about how Swiss-style tournament ties might be resolved. It is uninteresting and so omitted.

I’m getting rather addicted to studying chess. I feel like I’m learning and improving and understanding the game more, which makes learning even better. Will my hubris be shattered once I start playing games again? I will be happy with just a modest Elo gain online. Though I have heard that often times after learning, you temporarily become worse, as you clumsily try to apply new concepts and fail. This would be disturbing, which is another reason I think I need to resume training games ASAP.

About 5 days left of this study cycle and then chess will have to take a back seat to algorithm study. That too will be fun in its way. Rediscovering my love of learning is more than I could have hoped for on this trip.

October 27 — Time §

It strikes me today that time is moving extremely slowly. It feels like I’ve been in this cabin for some 3–4 weeks, yet it has been fewer than two. This is by no means a bad thing, since I am enjoying myself. I suppose when you are living slowly, it’s no surprise that life feels slower. One can easily watch TV or play a game for two hours and feel like no time has passed; compound this lifestyle daily for a decade, and you end up 27 feeling 24.

Of course I knew this all along, and there have been periods of time when I used this escapism technique to intentionally fast-forward through dull or depressing situations. But if the bad times are fast-forwarded, I think one must ensure the good times play in slow-motion. This is something I shall try to implement in life from here on.

It may be my imagination, but I think my evening handwriting is noticeably better than its morning kin. Now is morning, incidentally. If this is true, I think it may have to do with a caffeinated versus a relaxed hand. I find it harder, at the moment, to write in this more curvy way than it normally is (and which occurs on its own; not intentionally forced as now).

My stamina of the brain is surely improving. At first it was a struggle focusing more than four hours, the resultant fatigue precluding even moderate reading from being absorbed. But now this doesn’t seem to occur until the 5th or 6th hour. Nice!

October 28 — Life Crisis §

Poor sleep last night. Kept getting startled awake every few minutes by the tree branches banging against the tin roof, which sounds unfortunately similar to footsteps on it. I have still yet to get used to all the sounds of the forest and of this old house; many of them sound like steps, or a window sliding open, or other such hallucinations. Though I know the only sounds I need to listen for are either glass breaking or the baseball bat hitting the floor, my ancient instincts are not so discriminating.

Dear me; I’m nearly thirty! Where has my youth run off to? Is it hiding here, among the leaves? I don’t feel like I’m qualified to be thirty. My friends and I still play video games for our primary amusement; no wife in sight; an owned house still off in the distance; still toying with those youthful ideas of career changes, of becoming great at something, of effecting some temerarious change. I suppose I shall feel no different even as death takes me. Even after these long years of wondering (or were they short?), I’m still no closer to understanding ‘What is worthwhile?’. I’ve written extensively about this elsewhere, so I won’t repeat it here — though perhaps another day dedicated to the topic, now that my thoughts are clarified by mountain air — but it does still plague me. Despite the most part of me appreciating and reveling in this isolati intellectual carnival, that selfsame rectitudinous voice tolls: “Is this worthwhile?” Well, I think it is, at any rate.

Anyway, it’s not that I want to postpone the passing of time; my mid twenties haven’t been so savory as that. Just feels uncomfortable on my tongue to roll the word ‘thirty’ across it. A half decade hence, I’ll no doubt read this entry wryly, “You navel-gazer, you fool! You still have time!” But alas.

October 29 — The Disaster §

Disaster! I have but 2, maybe 3 poops of toilet paper left. I had intended to go shopping once the weather cleared, but it seems that won’t happen, based on the forecast, until Monday or Tuesday (today is Friday). You see, the last mile or more of road to the cabin is dirt and gravel which I had difficulty driving on when it was dry. With the gravel damp, there is a very high chance that my car gets stuck, if not leaving then returning. Calling a tow truck out here would cost hundreds, and there is a chance they refuse to come at all. All this is to say: I am rained in! The next few days will be unpleasant, as I will have to ration the paper, and in a not-unlikely worst case, clean myself with only a shower. Oh cruel world!

October 30 — On Surrealism and Pedagogy §

My mind is empty today and so I have but little to write. Using today as my weekly rest, from thoughts, caffeine, studies and austerity. Today I will do nothing of note, eat leftovers, watch a movie, perhaps imbibe if the movie is poor, and back to bed. I would have liked some fresh air too, but the mountain is still determined to embargo the toilet paper companies.

I finished Book of the New Sun Part 1 this morning, and felt that it is overrated. I may or may not begin part 2 of 2 in this place. It’s another one of those narratives I loathe wherein the author decides to — or director in many cases — put in a ton of unexplained shit but pretend that it’s “up to interpretation” rather than “I couldn’t think of a good way to explain it so I’ll let internet theory-crafters make up whatever they want.” These same hacks would write Citizen Kane today and never reveal who Rosebud was. Anyway, there was enough of that to leave a sour taste, but not so much to prevent my finishing it.

Listen, it’s not like I hate ambiguity. But it’s obvious when something is skillfully ambiguous, like The Shining, and when the writers are just jerking themselves off. There’s far more of the latter, especially in modern media. I’m of the opinion that most of the time in modern works, an ambiguous ending is used so that the meat of the story can be more entertaining, as they don’t have to be cognizant of writing a coherent plot. Other times when not in the ending and just scattered about, unexplained plot points are usually inserted because it’s ‘cool’, yet would not make sense if it had to be explained. I’m a smart guy; if there is some subtext hinting at answers that any normal moviegoer could see, I’m seeing it. But no, far too often it is just completely void of information. Imagine if in Lion King, Simba could randomly control plants with his mind, but then never used it after one scene and it wasn’t mentioned again. Then the movie ends right before he faces Scar. That’s modern entertainment.

I recently had the same thoughts about Mulholland Drive, which is a disturbingly meaningless movie. I hate surrealism so much.

Doing some reading on retrieval practice. Apparently, factors of sleep timing and test timing are important. This seems to be the ranking best to worst:

  1. Immediate practice test before sleep
  2. Delayed practice test, sleep optional / the same as above (what I’ve been doing)
  3. No practice test; restudy instead

To optimize, I’d have to move one or both of study/practice to the evenings. Or I could delay it until the next day, but the studies didn’t check that so it might be worse. The problem is that I’m studying something almost all day, so an evening test would be a tired brain test. With that in mind, and my caffeine schedule, and the unwillingness to shift everything around, I am going to continue as before. But in more standard times, such as choosing before/after work to study, it seems after work is going to be the best option. Before work may be reserved for gym time.

This leads to another question for which science has no answer. It’s hard to even formulate the question. Does memory retrieval of discrete units of information help retention or absorption of generalized related patterns? In other words, does solving the same problem set many times (with intervals between, long enough to not fully remember) help you solve other similar problems better than if you solved non-repeating problems of the same type, quantity, and delay? Intuition says of course not, yet there are some anecdotal proponents of that method. Seems silly to me.

October 31 — Stale Coffee §

Today marks two weeks since my arrival. Still it rains. Last night I again woke many times to strange sounds, and for a time listened to what I was sure — though I’m unsure now — was a rodent scurrying throughout the inside of the ceiling and gnawing the rafter beams. During this frustrating time I considered, both strongly and for the first time, calling it quits here. I thought it over more in the morning, sipping a stale coffee (two weeks is generally as long as pre-ground can be used).

The lifestyle does not yet tire me. If anything, barring the sleep issue, it invigorates. A return to the distracted noisy life of modernity is not compelling at all. Yet the small discomforts here are becoming irritating enough to cause disquiet: the shower faucet drips loudly, the insects clamor in, I cannot leave safely for nearly a week now, the furniture is as uncomfortable as possible, I have unsatisfactory cooking implements, and I cannot sleep, among other things.

Were I paying nightly, I may have left today. I may yet leave before the deadline. But let us first await the glorious Apollonian morrow and see if our spirits cannot be lifted. Perhaps once I can rock in the fresh air once more with a fresh beverage, my outlook will freshen as well. Until then, may my lids be light and my turds be tight — Jesus, can your oil lamp miracle extend to toiletries, too?

Halfway through, how are the goals coming along? Here are the unfinished ones:

I don’t like to stretch cold, and there’s no good way to get warm. Maybe postpone this. EPI is meant to start tomorrow, but for various reasons I may wait until I have internet to begin that. The book is less instructive than I had first thought; many Python-specific things need preexisting knowledge or Google to learn about. I had thought it to be more of a textbook, but it appears to be a workbook; the textbook, Algorithms, I don’t have. I am still undecided about whether or not I want to muddle through it regardless — I certainly need the practice before my interviews, but it may simply be more effective to begin after the tournament, when my mind is clear and I have a more comfortable computer setup (both physically and practically).

If I do delay it, then the next two ‘sprints’ will remain chess-focused, with a new emphasis on tactics and practice games. I confess I am nearly as nervous to play practice games as to play in tournament; it will quickly become clear whether my time here has been wasted, and if it has, that will be disturbing. But it must be done! This fear is yet another permutation of the deep fear which always haunts me and discourages effort, and I must not let it win this battle.

This cursed fear borne of expectations, more generally called a fragile ego, is one which never seems to weaken. Were I never raised to believe myself ‘smart’, were my meager accomplishments recognized as such and lowly praised, this surely would never have taken root. Imbue a child with an identity of ‘smart’, allow him to internalize it, yet condition it upon no real measures? An identity hates to be shattered, and there is but one way to remain smart in the ego’s eye, one way to risk nothing. I developed the fear of effort — if I fail having not tried, I’m still smart, just lazy. If I try my absolute best and fail, well, I’d be proven stupid then; that cannot be allowed. As such, I’ve quite literally never tried hard at any intellectual thing in my life. I don’t believe I’ve even tried at a medium level.

People often don’t understand why I am so ‘humble’ about my ‘achievements’. “You went to UNC!” “You scored so well on this or that!” “Top X%, wow!” It’s nothing! It was effortless!! They don’t understand — how can I have an ounce of pride in achieving what I tried so little for? If they but knew the absolutely minuscule amounts of effort exerted for those things, they’d have no praise to give! I could have, should have been so much more successful at every endeavor — 4.0 GPA; $300K salary by now; these things are not trivial, but well within the bounds of my potential. I have not tried one bit for my success.

If one chances to read this, they’ll doubtless think me arrogant, delusional, or some other like thing. “Yeah, if you were really smart you’d have done those things; keep stroking that ego.” This is a common response when I’ve dared to chance this confession. What they mean, and what is true, is that I am a coward and unwise. “If you were really smart you’d be able to flirt with women; can’t you figure it out?” said no one to any pimpled nerd. Intelligence unfortunately does not overrule emotion in every circumstance, or can Hawking not love? Anyway, even if the reaction is not so strong, there is always some mixture of disbelief and their own wounded ego. People do not like to hear that you achieved what they couldn’t, effortlessly, and are now complaining about it. No one who I know can relate. It’s a very lonely problem to have.

The solution is obvious, and simple, but not at all easy. Even ignoring the fear, trying hard is by definition hard. Yet I am now trying hard in this cabin. I only wonder, is it better in the end that I try so hard and succeed, or fail?

November 1 §

I CAN’T SLEEP

These fucking night noises have me as a zombie. I can barely read a book in this state. If this doesn’t improve by the weekend (today is Monday) I am leaving. Sleep deprivation is not a vacation; it’s a torture.

Somehow my net worth is at an all-time high, continuing to climb, despite having no income for two months, and paying rent, and for this cabin. The rich get richer…

That was the final entry. Because of the rodent in the ceiling keeping me up every night, I left soon after this. It was a regrettable thing. I remember my time there fondly, and often think of a return to such quiet repose. I will surely make my way to the woods again some day. That infinite stillness was too precious to end as a distant memory of my youth.