[370] Let's Shit On Me For A Minute

You'd think, for as hopelessly introspective as I'd like to be, maybe, from time to time, I'd figure something out every now and then.

I'm fucking hopeless. Let's take business. I bought my van in like, September? I got the work done. I was terribly insistent on my mechanic people to get tables installed and the generator attached. I had all the dialogue of a budding entrepreneur. I was angst ridden about not getting approved for the right permit at the right time.

And what do I have now? I have a van, paid for, permit ready, equipment checked and ready. And what have I been doing for the last week or so? Sleeping.

You see, not only do I have the motor by which I could run my little egotistical empire, I also have money in the bank. In an exceedingly loud sense, I'm accountable to no one. Sure, there are still people I want to pay back for their willingness and belief in me when it came to starting the mall kiosk. But, this is a problem I could solve in 2 weeks. Notwithstanding, they don't actually expect the money back, I'm just not that big a dick.

I'm in an increasingly confusing and fucking horrible way paralyzed. I belabor the phrase “I always get what I want.” This isn't as awesome as it may sound. What clued me into having that big of an “ego” and ability to make such a crass statement, were things that anyone would be proud to inform themselves as capable of being. I suppose, I just took them too far?

In the world I perceive, people aren't acting like me. For all my effort and understanding and intention or will-power, I'm still amongst the ranks of those I would still count as hopelessly naïve and circumstantial. That is, I don't look to entrepreneurs and and rich folk like “oh boy! You're my crowing example!” Mark Cuban has, after all, referred to “the issues Apple had in China” whilst not talking about modern slavery. Meager and empty head nod mode, engage...

I'm so jaded I want to shit on myself before I begin! What does that mean? I not only opened a coffee shop, found the money, made the calls, navigated and negotiated the terms, paid the rent, and showed up every fucking day, I did it while working other jobs and to the point where, sitting, my body was shutting down from lack of sleep. I have nothing else to prove to myself in “work” regard. Nothing you ever fucking tell me about what you do or how hard you work will match “ yeah, I spent so much time making sure the rent got paid, I sat on a chair and felt like dying/falling asleep because 'hours = money' was as far as I could conceive, for all pragmatic purposes.”

I've talked about working in spite. I don't even hold a grudge at this point. There's nothing new I feel is being taught in me succeeding. My life is succeeding. I'm living for, strong enough, but not business affirmative, ideas I hold from my dad or what I give a fuck about Kristen.

What a weird road you have to travel to think to yourself as “I have no problems.” I've never genuinely worried about my well-being. I've never thought I didn't have a plan. When I'm broke, before I'm broke, I chose to be broke. When I want to do something bigger, it was just as easy and circumstantial. Just ruminating on the idea that it's as simple as “it's up to me,” I guess I find rather terrifying.

I suppose I'm currently spiting myself. I'm spiting what I know to be true. What I've already proven. I'm “lazy” because I can, because your opinion of it means nothing, and when we die broken and alone, whether I made ten or a million dollars hocking coffee, the very idea brought me jaded laughter already. Jesus fucking Christ I think sometimes I'm a sick individual...