Intellect Introspect

I tried to sleep a bit ago, my mind abuzz with all the events of today, once more, she eludes me, that dream region. I wish to simply take haven in that ethereal realm where dreams are nothing more than reality. But, to what I owe displeasure for my lack of asylum?


Nothing particularly troublesome, truth be told, just some interesting ones I suppose. I worked an 8 hour shift today, afterwards on the drive home, I begin to ponder some weird questions in my mind regarding certain structures of number sequences. This is just a thing I do, I don’t really know why, it usually just leads nowhere. For about the last 4-5 minutes of the drive home, I became incredibly fixated on these ideas, and in fact upon getting in the door, I began to write 4 different series of numbers down trying to keep track of these ideas I had. I won’t actually get into the thoughts that were perpetuating this, they seem rather silly in hindsight, both the motivations and the implementation of it. Anyway, I spent about 45 minutes, just writing numbers and staring at them trying to find patterns and put a “method to the madness” as it were.


I spent 45 minutes writing numbers across several sheets of paper for no apparent reason, did not accomplish even my facade of a goal. I placed the pen down and stared over the papers while Jaslyn carried a light conversation with me after me having “shushed” her several times.

She leaves for some sort of event, I suddenly became overwhelmed with exhaustion, and giving in, I considered a nap, which about an hour later I succumbed to the thought of. But, prior to that, I wondered how my of intelligence is an illusion. How much do I poison my own thoughts in regards to my knowledge and abilities?

I will tell you, I feel I am of notable (notable is a good word for it) intelligence, but that I don’t hold my intellect in such high regards as others who know me do. I feel that this is in part due to me simply knowing something they do not. I do not hold their lack of knowledge (ignorance is such a negative word, despite it’s denotation not necessarily requiring that) as a reason for why I am more intelligent.

I simply know something. That’s it. It is no measure of intelligence, simply one of facts or knowledge. I feel competent and comfortable saying I am reasonably intelligent, because by my methods of assessment, in at least a relative stance, I do have the ability to learn and retain seemingly more easily than a host of other people. Even still, though my observations are only accurate in regards to the self contained system, that is to say myself. Others, the observations are possibly flawed for various reasons, whether it is assumptions or rigidly based on secondhand accounts, I have no way of truly “knowing” the value of these indications.

I can safely say that, people in all of my classes, throughout all of my academic endeavors, have considered me “smart”, or at least informed me of this. So, it seems exceedingly unlikely, that so many different people would possess the same thought, were it not at least true to some degree.

I try to objectively assess these things through the ages as I lay next to my fiance moments ago, before feeling the need to archive them.

Kindergarten: I was the first student in my school (at least I was informed of such) to be proposed and followed through for integration of the GT (gifted and talented) program at this stage. Because there is no kindergarten level of GT, it merely includes additional “classwork” that I must complete, while the other kids often play, I am writing or examining something for this “classwork”. It should also be noted, that anecdotes provide indications of these amidst other things, throughout my childhood. One such anecdote included how distraught I appeared to be after the first week of kindergarten, I came home and explained to my parents how I was upset that I was not taught how to read. At this point, my father had been teaching me for several months, and I was able to read simple things, and the “books” they had in the classroom proved no real challenge, I apparently expressed this to some degree.

First Grade: I began implementation with the GT program, I was in a multiclass program with another grade, second grade, outside of the GT program. I took an interest in learning cursive, though my first attempts, I did not actually grasp the concept. I tried to assist my peers in learning multiplication, my teacher awarded the student who completed their time tables accurately first with a prize. I usually won, on several occasions, the teacher indicated that she would also give second place a prize, due to my uncanny consistency. All in all, I don’t remember much about first grade, other than we got to play on Mac computers sometimes in GT, we learned to begin typing on computers as well, being taught about the “homerow keys”. I questioned the computer teacher why the keys were the layout that they were, she never gave me a real answer, I suppose that’s difficult to explain to a kid. None the less, I caught on fast and became a fast typist in the classroom, leading me to complete my assignments quickly, and freeing me up to play games.

Second Grade: I was supposed to remain in the multiclass/grade setup, but a teacher moved away and most of the kids were relocated. I was with a teacher I remember upset me towards the end of the previous schoolyear, I admittedly don’t remember the details, but I threw a fit before getting to see the principle. She spoke with such kindness and comfort. She called my mother, my mom’s voice was really nice to hear then, I don’t remember much of what she said. Afterwards, the principle asked me if I wanted to go back to the same classroom, but that one of the teachers would be gone now. I thought that sounded nice, so I agreed. They took care of it well enough I suppose. In the new classroom I still was trying to muster the effort to successfully stifle the remnants of sniffling I had from the fit before hand. I still remember two of the kids names, who were just the perfect idea of innocence looking back on it. Charles and Stephanie. Stephanie asked me why I was upset. I just continued to try to regain my composure. Charles says he is upset because he wanted to stay at home and play games today. Stephanie, seeming rather perceptive, says something to Charles about that’s not what I’m upset about probably. She turns and asks if I’m ok. I nod a yes. “Hi, I’m Stephanie, we were just about to color this picture, want to help?” Such an odd memory. Those two were my closest friends in that grade, I remember that. She was always so concerned and perceptive for a second grader, Charles just more or less was a class clown (like most second grade boys).

I wish I would continue detailing all this stuff on here, but I really ought to put a strong effort into at least finishing up this post, as well as not making it drone on for an eternity. But I have a lot of these memories, just perfectly clear. Some of them, for various reasons, I am able to confirm to an extent, after having wondered if I falsified memories, given the detail. I know I also have memories from before I turned three, not knowing my exact age, but I have several of them. I only know I was not yet three, because we still lived in an upstairs apartment, we moved across town into a duplex, a couple weeks before I turned 3 and lived there for over 10 years. I don’t have many memories from the apartment, mostly just jumbles and parts. I remember some dreams I had when we lived there too though.

I remember my dad always stocked frozen corn dogs in the fridge when we lived there, but after moving, we had a pantry and it was usually “dry” snacks that he munched on. I remember a lot of commotion about our cat killing a scorpion. I remember sitting in the backroom of a footaction, where my dad was manager, while he worked, and he would check on me often, sometimes on break, he would take me to the arcade that was a few stores away, after all he worked in the mall. I remember a particular fit I threw about forgetting to brush my teeth, it woke my dad up, and he just brushed his with me, telling me it would be alright. I remember talking to “imaginary friends” and having arguments with them, to the extent that my mom would come in and ask who I was talking to. I remember jumping on my parents bed, when they clearly told me not to, but my mom was being less attentive, packing for a trip, and my dad always the lax one, only spoke and made no physical effort to stop me, until I plummeted down and smacked the top of my head on the headboard of the bed, knocking it lose and sending me into a fit of pain and tears. We had to visit the emergency room, I got stitches.

I remember a lot of stuff, stuff that people, ones with degrees I might add, tell me I shouldn’t. They have the paper, not I, so I try to trust in their judgment, but I know those are memories. I remember our apartment, I ask my mom about some of the more notable memories, and she confirms them. I remember weird little details and stuff. I hear that’s some sort of indication of intelligence, so again, maybe I just am a little bit “smarter”, I dunno.

Anyway, if I get back to it, I will definitely some tomorrow, this was actually a really great way to analyze and think about some things, that I don’t usually provide attention to.

Hope this isn’t as boring to read as I feel like it is. I at least enjoyed writing it, and remembering some of those things. Nostalgia can be weird sometimes, at least when looking back to times as a kid.


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