[1099] Choo Choose

The last few days I've been in the space of "trying to persuade myself." It's becoming increasingly obvious that is the main pipe between my otherwise chill sensibilities and any amount of anxiety. I don't want to do what I don't want to do. I don't like the anticipation of what I instinctively imagine it's going to feel like. I think it's the same mechanism behind why you don't want to jump straight into the pool, even if you'll get immediately acclimated, and it doesn't hurt, and it shortens the "suffering."

I'm on unemployment. I've never been on unemployment before, even if I've certainly qualified for it. I have almost no bills and it's not nearly enough. But that's not even my problem. My problem is that it's a humiliating series of reminders about the state of your existence and what your literal state thinks about you.

You'll get it cancelled or penalized if you don't show them you've kept a record of the jobs you've applied to. You have to file every week, inputting the same information you've put in before, but just because they're cunts, they want your finger to slip so they can claim it doesn't match last week. You have to drive to a center an hour away for an hour and a half meeting that ensures you know how to put your resume together, submit cover letters, and get all of the paperwork in order that show you're not just "leaching" off the state.

I've graduated college, opened businesses, literally built my house, and worked for 20 different job environments both blue and white collar from literally scrubbing toilets to handling child removals. I've never been paid enough. I've always worked to concurrently create an environment I hope can directly compete with the exploitative asks and standards of what's otherwise considered "normal" or "inevitable." I paid to not only have my resume updated and professionalized for modern horrifying auto-deny machines, but have submitted dozens of applications and invested in grant-writers and fundraisers after establishing my addiction counseling company as a nonprofit.

So tell me, state of Indiana, what do you think you can teach me about how to pull myself up by my own bootstraps?

I have to create a little profile, fill out some forms, waste time and gas to play their game. Conversely, I need one grant to hit. If it's higher than $10K I'll have at least paid back what I've invested to get them submitted and keep the lights on the rest of the year. I'm one celebratory email away from having achieved what I've been after business wise for many years. My personal expenses, while still higher than what unemployment covers, hover around $10,000 a year. I don't need much to be able to offer free services and keep the bills paid.

It's not more complicated than it has to be. The idea of, "What do you really want?" has been floating around the media I've been listening to. I want the work I do and time I spend to not be "trying to persuade myself." That isn't my time at that point. That's time being hijacked by something I perceive to be a waste or unreasonable. It's why I, at least, would ever "procrastinate." I don't struggle to focus or stay organized. I struggle to swallow and remain pressed up against bullshit.

I noticed the longer I sat alone and marathoned/organized my TV shows and fired back up the video game systems that I don't clench my jaw. My shoulders don't get tight. That sense of dread doesn't kick in until I'm facing the prospect of this condescending paperwork. I can slash pirates all night, predict plot points on my shows, or play the same riffs indefinitely, and I never feel like I feel googling the address of some bullshit company to prove to no one in particular that I'm worthy of basic subsistence. I don't feel like shit paying money I don't have for people I'm investing in to help my business grow. I don't feel hollow reading code and policy to make sure I don't fuck up the taxes or forget a form for my company.

I'm not "shiny." I'm not the fake bullshit that the brain-dead world pretends to find convincing or indicative of competence. You know why I would spend $1000 or more to have you write a grant for me? Because I'm paying you to lie like other people need to hear. I can't do it long enough without giving up, letting my hatred seep through, or my exhaustion make me look like a pleading beggar. I don't want the background muzac on an inoffensive background and script telling you how effective our approach is compared to the other guys. You know why what I do does or doesn't work? It's just fucking real.

You either set a goal that's specific, or you don't. You either dig into the vague language you use to describe your "love" or your feelings towards difficult circumstances, or you don't. You either believe you want to get "completely off everything" and you work through the psychological and bodily pain to do so, or you don't. You can do so alone, or you can do so with someone who understands the struggle of delineating and committing to tough decisions. That's it. That's all it is. Over and over and over and over and over again.

I can whine and complain and pretend to negotiate with the universe about how unfair and ridiculous my circumstances are. I can pretend any one of us "deserves" anything. I can cite a hundred reasons any one of my decisions might look questionable or unreasonable. You know what I do next? I try anyway. I spend the money. I show up. I work. I complain about how unprepared I was to deal with -30 degree weather under my two heated blankets, sandwiched between cats with a heated vest in the mail, utilizing the time to catch-up on subtitled movies.

Fundamentally, we have a very bad sense of what it is we "really" want or need. When we arrive at a relative conclusion, there's no guarantee that we're correct. There's little to no conversation about how to approach or discover this dilemma. I had to write for years before I recognized I want/need my time more than money. I wanted a "floor" to work from more than convenience. Those two sentiments alone guide my decision-making in major ways. I want to express myself creatively more than simply to amass "stuff." I want to spend time with anyone I care about doing just about anything before I'll pick an activity I can do alone.

I am standing deep within a well of my creation regarding discovered and cheered for desires. I defend my perspective line by line every time I get that sense of impending doom that suggests I'm lost in the forest losing my footing on the tree I'm climbing. It's work. It's time invested in a specific direction regarding what makes the most sense big and small decision wise with regard to what I profess to care about. I'm trying to shed one of the hardest taken-for-granted obligations we impose on ourselves that exists. I'm trying to reconnect to the dignity and ownership of my work. I'm trying to match the ideal to a practically felt reality. That shit is fucking hard for an infinite list of reasons outside my own hang-ups or perspective pitfalls.

Eventually I think the work will speak for itself. I don't "believe" it will like there's something magical about it. I'm literally the work speaking for itself every time I do. I'm sitting within my previously achieved goals. You can measure my progress day-to-day, week-to-week, year-to-year. I get more time and I use it to play more. I get a more stable floor, so I make balanced gambles in service to higher ideals and dreams. The tips of my fingers are back to catcher's mitt status. Anyone who even hints at the next show to see can assume I'm down or are invited in turn to what I'm doing.

And I know what's next. If we get a $5K or a $50K grant, I know the emails and calls I'm making that day. If we spend the next year getting turned down everywhere I attempt to invest in, I know how often I'll need to spend on the road Door Dashing or how much psychological shit I'll need to eat to take up something hourly. I know what kind of people I'll need to find to translate all of my cunty bluntness into roses people like to sniff regarding their own righteousness. I have over a dozen resumes of people who've expressed excitement at the prospect of working in service to our cause. I have several thousands left of damage I can do to the credit cards, or chunks of my land to sell, or pictures of my butthole for OnlyFans.

You might not need a therapist or counselor if you've been riding this train of creative disposition and accountable practice for decades. The vast majority of us haven't. And we don't even realize we haven't because it's normal to go with the flow and follow prescribed paths. It's normal to not kick up dust and fight and work through the incredibly shitty circumstances on offer. Our sympathies blind and comfort us just as much as any punishment. We are pummeled into submission, suffer indefinitely, and cope in any way we possibly can find. If it's with drugs, we then break the fuck out of the only tool that can reorient the approach and frame. If it's through endless busy-ness and faux-obligations, we rehearse distraction and disembodiment until it becomes normal.

One email. I'm one email away from having established a new floor. I'm one decently-sized grant for an amount of money some organization may not even sneeze at away. I'm a handful of decently-monied individuals partnering up. I'm a few hires of "This has deeply touched me" individuals away. The train is moving. Which one are you on?