[427] And I Just Can't Hide It

I'm too excited to sleep.

I shit on the word passionate. It's a cover up word meant to obscure details. When I'm in the heat of moments where, try as I might, I'm absolutely not falling asleep until I'm done writing, it has nothing to do with my “passion.”

I'm an idea man. I'm a million questions. In the course of a day I have 10 to 15 things accidentally I'd like to put together or have already laid out plans to hit the ground running if I had the cash. Whether it's further exploring real estate or renting, kick starting the coffee, exploring green technology and living, food, recycling, teaching, middle-manning any number of tasks from business start-up step by steps to initiating co-operative and actual owner based businesses, it's all doable, it's all budget-able, and the only way I can get excited is after looking up the numbers.

I lamented earlier today the lonely world of the entrepreneur. It's really hard to explain to someone how much you learn and how little you actually fucked up when they look at your ventures. Other entrepreneurs get it. They've gotten lied to, had to sign a contract, had to pay the insurance, had to meet a deadline, had to get and stay open at all costs so as not to fuck themselves for 5 years instead of a few months. There's sometimes no bigger charge than talking to someone who truly empathizes with the real world fuckery that you experience for actually trying.

I sat through another pyramid scheme presentation today. A middle-man insurance company that wants to pretend to be your investment broker. They want to attract young motivated people to work for them, and keep played “expertise” under thumb to keep funneling their effort up the chain. The guy at one point even explicitly said “some people wanna call it a pyramid, I call it keeping on good earners.” He pulled numbers out of his ass about what you can earn by investing and meeting unrealistic market conditions. He assured you you'd be in on the “rich people funds” that “previously only allowed 250K and above earners.” He's got the secret, you know, so that you can piggy back...so long as you pay him monthly for it and ignore the finer points of a complicated investment portfolio, or the general scam of insurance. And don't you dare call him a middleman.

But I get excited. I've sat through so many presentations like his because I was gunning for my own business at sixteen. I already know the bullshit of Amway-esc structures whether they hock energy drinks, “healthy” smoothies, knives, exploitative brokerage structures, or yes, even and especially your life insurance and investment scam. I can anticipate his presentation, pick apart his language, ask the appropriate questions and then, certainly feel dead inside that this person preys on ignorant peoples' pensions and savings (what's left of them), but endlessly excited that I learned how fucked up the philosophy he's selling is 10 years ago. I never interject unless they fuck up and ask me a question though.

I'm excited that I have the opportunity to even get rejected from drug studies and not shit myself because my rent's paid for the next year and a half. I can explore, annoyed, but not fucked. I'm excited that I'm looking for a few couple thousand dollar acres of land here and there; I could start the path to build something on it personally from scratch for cheap. I'm excited I already know personally people who do all the paper pushing behind the city council desks in Bloomington. If I put a plan together, they'll ask a few questions and almost assuredly sign off on whatever it is I want to do. I love the idea of one day celebrating so hard I hurt and throw myself into something because I lived the moment over and over in my head for years until it finally came true. And it came true because I counted, I tried, I learned so goddamn much that even the things I fucked up you're hard pressed to really blame me for considering the scale or scope of what was accounted for.

I get these moments from time to time. When I get on the cusps. When I can watch the bank account grow. When I've shifted gears into a new line of thinking and start to see the consequences manifest. This is my lifeblood. This is why I bitch and bitch and bitch and bitch and it never matters. I'm not bitching in “my life sucks” terms. I'm bitching about what's fucked up and needs to be bitched about, and now I get another chance to show you how I can do it differently. Now I'm dreaming again. I have to be on the road in 3 hours and nothing is going to get me the ounce of sleep I need until I express how goddamn genuinely excited I am at the prospect of kicking so much ass.

And it's because I want you on board. Little differences. You want to own and explore something, I want 10 percent, or 2. It needs to be yours but I want to keep building. I'll open a hundred coffee vans that you own if it means I get a dividend that keeps me exploring. Everything about the modern system works the completely opposite way. You're an indentured servant. I don't want slaves. You need to serve yourself in serving other people, not give me complicated bullshit language that justifies exploitation.

I'm excited because I don't believe in anything. I don't hang my hat on a prayer. I don't cross my fingers. I don't hope. I don't even really care in an important philosophical sense. I just like to see things come true as I say, predict, and can shove down your ever-doubting throat. It's exciting to be right. I'm in love with getting what I want and work towards. All I do is count, read, ask questions, and wait. And this impossibly idiot proof formula brings me more joy than anything else in the world. Now let's not crash from sleep deprivation on the ride to Madison and shit all over this whole thing.