I want to be very careful. The intent is to shy as far away from “mere complaining” as possible. My instinct is telling me that given the nature of the subject matter this will take some time to try and do well. I have to talk, but I’m wary that my “have to” mechanism is slowly breaking down in potentially hazardous ways.
Maybe we start with an “inspirational” video someone posted about something Elon Musk said regarding “never giving up.” Depending on the degree of fanboy (it’s always boys), you can find any degree of problems throughout Musk’s life that he conquered which in turn can serve as your own motivation. You’re bullied now? Well, wipe the blood from your nose, your future is in the stars! One might envision a tongue-in-cheek inspirational poster saying something like “How many rockets would you crash in order to achieve immortality?”
Our culture is nothing if not full of the idea that we can piggyback other peoples’ accomplishments. Their troubles are more “generally human,” and thus if we tap into our immortal connected spirit, everything gets better.
I’m losing that thread.
To get it out of the way, I don’t have problems. I invent problems. I adopt problems. I impose problems. I anticipate having problems in the future, but I don’t have problems. My mind is annoying, but if the worst I have to do is this, hardly a problem. No one is forcing me to eat like shit, work too much, or swallow anymore than the next guy in some abstract denunciation regarding the problems of capitalism.
Perhaps I can’t tell the difference between whether I’ve lost something or if I’ve never had it. I like to consider myself a man of consequence. I put my time or my mind to something and “things” find a way to resolve themselves in ways I sought. That means, more often than anything else, chasing away waterfalls of crappy people and circumstances that get in the way. It might be said that I’m just a persistent shit shoveler more than I have some particular talent or tact. That’s what this is, right? Shoveling one scoop of my dumping mind. I never know how big the pile is.
My living situation is shoveling shit. Whether it’s the shit of passive aggressive bitchiness, the being ignored or lied to by, pushing dozens, of construction people, or the fake concern and regard my job has for its “independent contractors.” I can strive and thrive, I can huff and fling. I can kill time and get blackout drunk and say things I don’t remember or believe. Why? I’m living in increasingly “there is no cause and effect” terms. I’m holding no regard for people with shortcuts and quasi-racist sentiments. Sober me would have said it was entitled idiotic white people who signaled to the rest of the developing world that they should be like that too. Blackout drunk me has a grudge against all of the Indians who don’t tip, and apparently takes it out on an Uber driver.
Worse than my lazy degradation into, honestly, I struggle to call it racism because I don’t care about Indian people anymore than I do others, but let’s run with it to make the point even greater. I don’t even care. I’m not worried about being perceived as a racist, let alone whatever lazy inanities I was spewing blacked out. I’m trying to care. I’m trying to figure out why I should give a shit about anyone, especially ones I don’t know, and I can’t. My efforts as of late are being served nothing but shit on a stick and resentment and sneers, it must feel like it’s my time to get on board.
And yes, it’s as lazy and typical and obviously morally defunct as anything and anyone else, and I don’t care. Add back into the equation me thinking of myself as a man of consequence. What happens then? What happens when it’s “not just a joke” anymore? What happens when my intentionality and break down results in actual harms? I’m not poised to hit the streets with a tiki torch angling to beat someone up, but what if I break something important? What if I do the equivalent of laying down under a train speeding over my body in an attempt to “get something back” about what’s missing in my experience or lack of meaningful action? It’s worth noting as an aside how, in these moments, I respect absolutely no one who doesn’t bother with the details for why they’re not “sharing their life” with someone else. I don’t need the provocation.
I can feel my eyes changing. I’m seeing myself in the lonely old men in the beater cars in front of mine. More cliche than thought finds its way to my lips. I’m not just eating like shit, but doing so voraciously, with an energetic spike that sees plenty of happy big bellied dudes with a litter of kids and no shame. If that were my goal, staying “in shape” is likely only to alienate me from the increasingly goofy-looking, fat, and lonely population.
I don’t know that I deserve to be angry at myself. Everything I do is about “the future,” besides drinking. It makes sense to have a house without bills and rent, right? But that’s not what I’m allowed to talk about. I have to talk about being lied to. I have to talk about being “too much” in needing a floor to sleep on. I have to talk about drunk nights out when all I wanted to do was go bowling. But, even when you wait, even when you plan, even when you give them a week or more, I know how to get 9 people to not go bowling that said they would. Or, I know their work is more important, their meal prep, their mis scheduling, their waiting to hear back from, their other thing that usually happens around then.
There was a thread about being the friend who “always texts first.” Apparently there are a lot of lonely sad extroverts with terrible friend groups. I’ve heard at least a dozen times the last week about how hard it is to make friends as an adult. Quickly follows is some placating sentiment about fluidity and maturity that never speaks to the heart of it. Was something lost, or was it never there to begin with? Do I think it’s a coincidence I’ll probably never be invited to another “friend’s” wedding now that I’m no longer with my ex? By the numbers, I’ve been “loner” me for considerably longer than whatever romance I attempted to make out of my time in college.
That seems to speak to the deepest compulsion. You want a family, even if it’s a bad one, even if it’s a lie. I want my TV families. I want the best for my dad and stepmom even if their surrounding family generally suck. I want to believe the laughs were genuine, the parties weren’t bad excuses, and the plans could actually come true. Is that the world we’re living in? Is that just the world being thrust into my experience, corrupting my otherwise persistent nature?
It’s that I’m fed up with having to rely on people. Cross my fingers for a big tip. Be strung along by white trash incidentally, barely, more knowledgeable and having of the time to get shit done I need. Talk down to the man-child so I can inhabit his space. Be constantly ignored by anyone fleetingly actually capable. I’m living at the whims of the weather and precisely ZERO people I respect. I want to be blacked out of that world. I want to tear down the idea that there’s anything left of a responsible reliable actor who’s capable of navigating it. No one is. No one should be forced to pretend they can. Money doesn’t work, trust is a joke, hard work gets you heart palpitations and one giant cramp consisting of your whole body. What’s the fucking point? Judge me, get angry, give your lazy opinion in reaction to mine. It’s meaningless, directionless babble that only hurts when you’re dumb enough to keep playing along.
I want to go back to learning. I want to sit in my box all day, read terrible things about the world, spend all my money on my projects, and be left the fuck alone. You know how hard it is to get there? Want to take a guess how many steps it takes to be left the fuck alone? Wanna know how many thousands of dollars and stupid conversations and hiccups and cancers you have to cure? I can barely listen to anyone but myself anymore. It’s a loop or a marble sorting game of debased emptiness. And I’m a man of consequence. I put it all here. What do I expect from the equally disorganized idiots who won’t take an active role in their self-destruction?
