Would you blame me?
The reality of my situation is one of indulgence yearning for more. My most “altruistic” sensibilities are still predicated on a certain measure of wealth and comfort for myself first. It's a measure that's perpetually illusive until a problem presents itself to my immediate moment. I draw up budgets and plans and work until I fear for my health and mental well-being. I have a story as to why and for what. But, for what?
Every single person I meet seems to be “content” where they are. They aren't, but they're “adult” about it and chug along without persistent complaining. I don't know how to do this. I wish I did. Or, I wish that I had the practice under my belt that I could “turn it on” when times feel desperate.
Could I possibly state a point to this one sooner than later? I want to know why I can't “just sit.”
That was the question I had for myself after I drew up another 30 day plan predicated on everything going “well-enough” besides how I considered how I was spending my time. Why can't I, just like when I had all of my study money, sit and slowly spend, and work the day or 2 a month I need to keep things paid? Why can't I justify the plane ticket and weekend drinking with Hatsam until I have “more real shit” done first? My friendships aren't real? Most of them, maybe sure, but I like Hatsam and he's ride or die. Should that be postponed indefinitely until I can shit more comfortably in my field?
Do I even know what I want anymore? When I posited that I should just call people at random to kill time throughout the day, I got hung up on the idea of “killing time.” I never want to kill time. I'm already old and dying. I want my time to be valuable and useful. If I'm calling you just to distract myself, I'm disrespecting both of us. I'm aware of my motives, and I want to call you because I want to talk to you, not use you. It sounds stupid maybe? But far be it for me to be the one that pulls us both into the superficial joke ass realm of existence.
What do I want? It might be easier to ask what I wanted. I wanted money, for nondescript ends. Life experience says I don't want my parents to end up in a situation like my grandma's. I don't give much a shit about expensive “things” in and of themselves. I don't want to be surrounded with sycophants and overgrown children. I'v said it too often that I want my time, I want to create, I want to experiment, and I want to cultivate an environment to cultivate and grow “my” type of people.
I guess I'm still working towards those goals? It's just, building up to them a half bathroom at a time keeps them at a level of abstraction. At any point in the last half year I've spent “quasi-homeless” I could have taken off on “vacation” somewhere or bought some random new toys. All pointless. None speaking to the bottom line. I want to be able to travel and not think about anything else. I want to be able to make money and know it's not immediately about to disappear. I want a mental security blanket that some couch in their relationships, I've opted apparently for what I can provide on my own, which is lacking.
I'm tired of talking. I don't just want something to do, I need it. I need something that matters, even a little, even if my initial reaction is “that's fucking dumb” and then the next second we go about it with all the enthusiasm available to us. I don't need to adopt a kid or become a big brother to pretend I give a shit about helping at that level either. I will not be pacified with donations to poor areas or volunteer hours. I need an extra set of hands to “the cause,” whatever the cause that we see fit is. I'm not selfish enough to sit here for the next 6 months playing video games or watching TV, slowly accruing funds at the most comfortable pace. But I'm also too selfish to gain any sort of satisfaction at “the little things” and the idea of helping “just one person.”
Goddammit. I don't have real problems, which I guess means I'm destined to never figuring out how to feel like I've solved them.
The reality of my situation is one of indulgence yearning for more. My most “altruistic” sensibilities are still predicated on a certain measure of wealth and comfort for myself first. It's a measure that's perpetually illusive until a problem presents itself to my immediate moment. I draw up budgets and plans and work until I fear for my health and mental well-being. I have a story as to why and for what. But, for what?
Every single person I meet seems to be “content” where they are. They aren't, but they're “adult” about it and chug along without persistent complaining. I don't know how to do this. I wish I did. Or, I wish that I had the practice under my belt that I could “turn it on” when times feel desperate.
Could I possibly state a point to this one sooner than later? I want to know why I can't “just sit.”
That was the question I had for myself after I drew up another 30 day plan predicated on everything going “well-enough” besides how I considered how I was spending my time. Why can't I, just like when I had all of my study money, sit and slowly spend, and work the day or 2 a month I need to keep things paid? Why can't I justify the plane ticket and weekend drinking with Hatsam until I have “more real shit” done first? My friendships aren't real? Most of them, maybe sure, but I like Hatsam and he's ride or die. Should that be postponed indefinitely until I can shit more comfortably in my field?
Do I even know what I want anymore? When I posited that I should just call people at random to kill time throughout the day, I got hung up on the idea of “killing time.” I never want to kill time. I'm already old and dying. I want my time to be valuable and useful. If I'm calling you just to distract myself, I'm disrespecting both of us. I'm aware of my motives, and I want to call you because I want to talk to you, not use you. It sounds stupid maybe? But far be it for me to be the one that pulls us both into the superficial joke ass realm of existence.
What do I want? It might be easier to ask what I wanted. I wanted money, for nondescript ends. Life experience says I don't want my parents to end up in a situation like my grandma's. I don't give much a shit about expensive “things” in and of themselves. I don't want to be surrounded with sycophants and overgrown children. I'v said it too often that I want my time, I want to create, I want to experiment, and I want to cultivate an environment to cultivate and grow “my” type of people.
I guess I'm still working towards those goals? It's just, building up to them a half bathroom at a time keeps them at a level of abstraction. At any point in the last half year I've spent “quasi-homeless” I could have taken off on “vacation” somewhere or bought some random new toys. All pointless. None speaking to the bottom line. I want to be able to travel and not think about anything else. I want to be able to make money and know it's not immediately about to disappear. I want a mental security blanket that some couch in their relationships, I've opted apparently for what I can provide on my own, which is lacking.
I'm tired of talking. I don't just want something to do, I need it. I need something that matters, even a little, even if my initial reaction is “that's fucking dumb” and then the next second we go about it with all the enthusiasm available to us. I don't need to adopt a kid or become a big brother to pretend I give a shit about helping at that level either. I will not be pacified with donations to poor areas or volunteer hours. I need an extra set of hands to “the cause,” whatever the cause that we see fit is. I'm not selfish enough to sit here for the next 6 months playing video games or watching TV, slowly accruing funds at the most comfortable pace. But I'm also too selfish to gain any sort of satisfaction at “the little things” and the idea of helping “just one person.”
Goddammit. I don't have real problems, which I guess means I'm destined to never figuring out how to feel like I've solved them.
