I want to talk a few disparate things at once, so don’t look too hard for some unifying thread.
I don’t kill every bug I come across in my home. I’ve told myself that I would
be committed to both extremes at different points. I’ve said, “Fuck it, you’re in
my space, you get to die” and, “I mean, what does the bug know? And spiders
help kill the ones I really don’t like.” I’ve waffled back and forth, as if landing
on either would somehow indicate more about who I really am or what my
values were. Given that time has shown me I play it almost wholly by ear with
an extreme prejudice against things that buzz around, I think I arrive at
another seeming-contradiction, that upon closer analysis, speaks to how I
reason and navigate the world.
A bug lives or dies based on how I feel in the moment we meet. If I’m sick of
the universe’s shit that day, I might make a concerted hours-long effort to
suck up or poison every web, gnat, or ant that has dared enter even the
perimeter of my house. My perception of the bug has nothing to do with the bug,
and everything to do with how I view myself as either enabled and powerful to
address “the universe’s shit” or not.
I’ve been drawn into a few “classic” conversations about relationships and
religion lately. My buddy has an incredibly hard time understanding why I would
be so nonchalant about an ex-girlfriend or new girl I’m talking to sleeping
with someone or going on a date. He’s so generally baffled by this he can’t
really even bring up a genuine contention or problem he has beyond, “I just
couldn’t be like that.” It’s the same kind of vague dissatisfaction people
allude to when you poke at the inconsistencies in their religion. Me, it is
supposed, is missing the point of taking for granted your partner is yours or
your God will save you and punish the wicked.
I reiterate when challenged on how or why I’m so “weird” or “different” about
these things that, the presumed values espoused by your institutions are things
I practice without the extra baggage. Marriage isn’t what dictates my sense or
practice of “commitment.” If you tell me you “honestly love” me via the dictates
of your sky daddy or naïve romantics arrested in your teenage mind, you’re not
practicing the kind of honesty I need nor love I can recognize for more than its
capacity for self-destruction. These are things I’ve talked about for so long,
and at such granular detail, it’s hard to know what else to say. It’s just been
in the air and gets a mention
I’m only working 3 days this week. All from home as I’m
going to pretend my truck is still broken. If you’re looking for the 2nd
or 3rd cracks in the story I tell myself about how long I can last
at this current job, here you go. I feel my boss/company has earned my deceit,
and in exercising my higher truth about not wasting gas, time, and energy to
drive for no reason, I’m letting the savings ride. I’m also set to go back to
Cedar Point, a music festival, and another music festival next week. I’m
primarily concerned with my piddling obligations to work.
It feels weird to call it “work.” I’m not working, I’m occupying my time. I’m
going through motions. I’ve been hung up on the word “meaningful” for the last
few months. I think work is a word that only starts to make sense when it’s
paired with meaningful. It doesn’t mean anything to me to do my job. It results
in money. What that money means is a story of what’s already been spent. How I’m
exercising my time outside of work doesn’t make the work any more meaningful.
It’s a means to money-spending ends. I’m not particularly emotionally invested
in the shows I’m going to. That’s not to say I won’t laugh, sing, dance, or
appreciate the company. But I’ve spent the vast majority of my life and time
not going out. My emotional well-being isn’t rooted in dozens of “escapes” or “distractions.”
I wish I knew how to create an upward spiral (in contrast to the downward
spiral.) I wish I knew the little things I could do each day that would just
boost a kind of stuck “on” of “better and better.” Self-destruction is so easy
and familiar, probably because it doesn’t take anyone else to keep spiraling.
The “positive” or “indicative of my values and capacity” things I do don’t have
enough meaning even if they could be described as meaningful. I’ve
improved upon and memorized more of the song I’ve been learning on piano. Some
have expressed positive likes. Gather round the trickling water hose for a sip
as we watch the neighborhood burn.
It’s several hours later and I’m as peak anxious as I ever get. I’m anxious
about what happens when I start to persuade myself it’s okay to fluidly lie to
people I don’t respect. I’m anxious about the incredibly high desire I have to
just drop off my work things and quit. I’m anxious that on nice free days I
still manage to feel as though they are being under-utilized despite feeling
genuinely unwell. I’m worried that I don’t see much of a light at the end of
this dismal story I’ve been watching myself play out of biding time for
fleetingly small amounts of money.
There’s a dozen things I want to learn more about. There’s toys and software I
want to play with. There are things around the land to do. I’m watching TV. I’m
dreading every work day. I’m worried I will literally snap and leave a black
mark I can’t be convinced to give a fuck about on my “professional” scorecard.
If I have a cycle, I’ve been bubbling for quite some time, and I don’t precisely
know what the lid coming off is going to look like, but at this rate, it’s
coming. No amount of shows or indulgences is turning down the heat. I need good
consistent change in one of the dozen directions I’ve attempted to setup for
myself. I need that change very soon.
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