Much like the history of warfare, the relationships I build with individuals of the opposite gender follow a frightening, cyclical pattern, of course with variations and derivations in between. Despite the structured, familiar course these progressive pathways take, I always end up as the defeated nation at the treaty table, the Nazis at Nuremberg, the Iraqis in the Persian Gulf.
I saw this coming, in fact, I engineered it to be so. Yet now, I find myself unable to cope with the rising consequences of my actions months earlier. If I didn't take the action I took months ago, history would have been written in a different, less eventful but also devoid of the inner torture that laces my daily existence.
As the battleship (the Spartan) that represents my emotional well-being traverses through the Great Battle of Side 2, it is taking sustained damage from both intrinsic and exterior forces. Internal strife threaten to break the will of the valiant crew, temporary held in check by a stoic captain who is uncertain how long his impassiveness will hold in the face of such overwhelming odds. Out in the chaotic expanses of Side 2, enemy warships and mobile units pepper the ship's shields with relentless cannon, machine gun and missile barrages, each successful hit bringing the battleship closer to annihilation. As the Spartan lists stubbornly to port in order to dodge a salvo of heat-seeking missiles, the bridge crew spot something far away that infuses them with the motivation to continue. However, a gigantic space fortress stands between the Spartan and that particular end-game.
Yet, the ship must push through, it has to get to its ultimate goal.
It has to open the one thing that will end this terrible war.
Schrodinger's Box.
I saw this coming, in fact, I engineered it to be so. Yet now, I find myself unable to cope with the rising consequences of my actions months earlier. If I didn't take the action I took months ago, history would have been written in a different, less eventful but also devoid of the inner torture that laces my daily existence.
As the battleship (the Spartan) that represents my emotional well-being traverses through the Great Battle of Side 2, it is taking sustained damage from both intrinsic and exterior forces. Internal strife threaten to break the will of the valiant crew, temporary held in check by a stoic captain who is uncertain how long his impassiveness will hold in the face of such overwhelming odds. Out in the chaotic expanses of Side 2, enemy warships and mobile units pepper the ship's shields with relentless cannon, machine gun and missile barrages, each successful hit bringing the battleship closer to annihilation. As the Spartan lists stubbornly to port in order to dodge a salvo of heat-seeking missiles, the bridge crew spot something far away that infuses them with the motivation to continue. However, a gigantic space fortress stands between the Spartan and that particular end-game.
Yet, the ship must push through, it has to get to its ultimate goal.
It has to open the one thing that will end this terrible war.
Schrodinger's Box.
