Normal
Let me begin by expressing remorse for past indecorous behaviour. I don't seem to have much of a choice when it comes to being who I am, none of us do. I feel like trying to enumerate and sort the immense list of formative events in ones life by their significance, is one of those tasks where if you tried to write an algorithm to do it, you'd expect a stupidly large number to drop out of the equations at some point, so it really isn't so shameful that I can't seem to draw the most useful conclusions from mine. Sapolsky talked of this, and he's clearly right. I haven't believed in free will for a single moment of my adult life, therefore I have no choice but to apologize for my past and sustained disorder, and to learn from it. It's strange, this sort of weird accountability I feel towards the space of expressed sentiments. I know that scarcely anyone is reading what I write, therefore there isn't really anybody to apologize to, and yet I still think I h...