[1213] Stupid Monkey

Part of me feels like what I want to say could fit on an index card. It’s a part that doesn’t need articulation. It’s the face a monkey makes when he sees he’s being paid unfairly for the same task as another monkey.

There’s a “common sense,” I find is rarely lost on anyone at the level of “feelings.” This isn’t to say that the feelings, in and of themselves, are “reasonable” or “justified.” But they bind what is an otherwise vast array of different cultural expressions or norms. It’s so common, even when a monkey does it, we get it immediately. No doubt you’ve seen videos of other animals who can also, not-so-miraculously, clock when they’re not treated fairly.

I think this is no small point to linger on. As we’ve psychologically fractured into individualized scrolling-hellscapes of errant opinion and trolling hatred, it’s the hate that binds. It’s the confident ignorance that universalizes. It’s the fear, insecurity, and desire to control that gets fed.

Today’s reddit scrolling felt acutely dismal. I’m on team, “we’re literally trotting down the road to fascism.” I don’t read headlines about “jokes” about cancelling elections or redistricting as “just politics.” I see and listen to the death by a 1000 cuts nature of decline every day. I’ve made comments for years that I always hoped to be “the first Jew out of Poland” when the next global war takes place. History rhymes, and there’s echoes all over the place if you’re one of the handful of people still reading books and studying reality.

I’m like most people my age, first-world broke, but incredibly rich relative to the rest of the world. There’s a version of my life that ducks and covers as more and more suffer, and I, probably, remain one of the ones who talks about the camp they set up just down the road in Shoah 2. I’m not pretending they won’t or can’t come after me, but I’m decently far down the list if I don’t pop my head out.

I think a lot of people in similar circumstances are making that same calculation. The problem, of course, is that is precisely how we all end up dead. I’m also very loud, angry, and want to fight wherever a I can. Practically, this often translates into exactly this. I’m using my voice where I see relatively few others doing so. I’m trying to capture the contradictions in my behavior, goals, and perspective so I don’t sit paralyzed and making excuses.

While “the world” feels like it’s burning down, I’m sitting on the edge of an opportunity to distance myself from it even further, potentially making a lot of money starting a sober-living house. I’ve never needed that much money to conduct my life in the first place, and this opens me up (at least my thoughts) to levels of luxury, security, and indulgence I dreamed about as a greedy kid. It’s hard to square that with my deeper desire to just exist in a state and country that even pretended to have “common sense.”

Instead, I feel baked into a cake of helpless ignorant hatred and excuses. It feels like “natural license” to exploit and extract as much as I can before I run away to somewhere “safer” or “better.” To me, the “homeland” is wherever the ideals are being expressed and defended. “America’s,” alleged, ideals are often in considerably better shape and display elsewhere. I’ve never felt like the kind of person who would just go along with being drafted into a war I didn’t choose.

At the same time, again practically, I’ve felt for years the disconnect between what I might be able to do on any given day that meaningfully accounts, combats, or changes the overall circumstances I’m embedded in. I vote in every election, and it’s meant what? I get the consequences of ideological capture of institutions and redneck pride indefinitely. I listen to dozens of podcasts and used to read a minimum of 30 articles a day, for years, about the world. What did it get me? Low-grade depressed and ever isolated as I struggled to clock why no one wanted to talk to me.

I think my confusion, outrage, and sense of helplessness in spite of the growing localized evidence of my capacity and nature is something that can be universalized. I think if I, of all people, am calculating I need to extract and run, your “average” person with myriad more obligations, mental health struggles, and financial woes…I mean, they’re so tortured and lost they’re cheering on a fascist takeover, environmental destruction, and every attack on science and history they can muster. In addiction-speak, millions of people have caught the “fuck its,” and are burning everything down around them.

The ”non-voters” win every election. The people who are looking to be led around by the nose. Most days it feels like the best I can do is ensure I don’t get trampled and try to pass along more than an enfeebled joke to the next leading farm hand. I don’t actually think, my pretentions as they are, I’m actually licensed or called to exploit people. I don’t feel good about the prospect of abandoning ship, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t know how to swim. Millions and millions of people until the end of time are going to deny we’re in the same boat as we all slowly drown.

The monkey will scream and fight and struggle against someone trying to drown it. You’ll tell me the researcher was joking. You’ll tell me it’s normal to drown a monkey from time to time. A majority of onlookers will then say something like, “I don’t get political about monkeys or water.” I feel like it doesn’t take a big brain or moral courage to figure the absurdity out and why you don’t want to be a monkey-drowning cunt or lazy apologist for the ones that do.

[1212] Make A Wish

Superficially, I have a problem with a refund.

On July 4th, I pretended I had a nephew that made $436 worth of purchases on the game Last War to unlock a gorilla. It’s over a month later. None of the attempts to get the money refunded went through. There’s been some miscommunication between Google Play, the game developers, and maybe the credit card company. I’m now locked out of the game. They believe $125 was, in fact, refunded. It wasn’t, as confirmed by Google Play and my credit card company yesterday.

The last time I wrote about what I had done, ChatGPT told me that I was defiantly asserting my agency under a backdrop of circumstances that often feel overwhelming and out of control. I found it curious how quick it was to justify my behavior. I wasn’t looking for “real license” to make what I had done “feel better” or seem reasonable. But, like I’m sure the vast majority of what those algorithms have trained on, I found it.

Less superficially, I have a problem with the goals and purpose of my money.

I’m the kind of person who has spent years of his life proud to eat Ramen and hotdogs in service to saving. When I had a goal to buy land, I saved and sat on thousands until I could buy it, in cash, for $15,000. Before I began working with a debt consolodation company, I’d never missed a credit card payment. I never even owned credit cards until 8 years ago, meaning I lived by the idea that if I didn’t have the cash, it wasn’t “for me” or I couldn’t afford it.

I recall getting business advice from some older gentlemen who headed some business association in Bloomington. I’ve always been entrepreneurial. They said, “Get a loan.” It made sense to them, having started their businesses in the 70s or 80s, that you just get loans, pay them back over time, and it’s fairly simple and easy to get rich if you just keep at it. They had not updated their perception of the landscape. I graduated in the wake of the financial crash. Business loans for enthusiastic up-and-comers hadn’t been a thing for quite some time.

I also, once, got a loan to get a car. I found the entire process and prospect of paying it off so miserable, I’m almost positive I crashed the thing on purpose so insurance would pay it off. That, surprisingly, went exactly as subconsciously planned. I’ve been loaned $2,000 to pay off my shed-turned-house from an ex-girlfriend. I found the experience so torturous, I worked 20 hours a day for weeks to pay her back in 3. She didn’t need, want, or ask me to do so.

If you look at my entire life in terms of assests, I’m in the black. If you look at my day-to-day approach to money, you’d think I was a desperate poor person just trying to enjoy fleeting indulgences in a way that invites and deserves judgment from onlookers.

As I’ve gotten older, and acquired the things I wanted, my approach to money has gotten even looser. Thankfully, I’m generally in good health. I don’t have to keep my prescriptions flowing. I don’t have kids. I don’t have a mortgage. I don’t need premium gas for my car that cost less than my guitar. I have “first world poor” people problems in trying to find memorable experiences and tolerable people to engage in…whatever it is we do…kind of things.

I could pay another $125, get my access back to the game, reassure my alliance that it was just a hiccup, and kick myself for playing with fire. I could then spend another few months arguing with the world’s dumbest, slowest, and most intransigent “support,” I’ve encountered in years trying to get that money back. With each paycheck that comes in, it’s easier to swallow “stupid” and “wasteful” expenses, so 2 months from now when they’re still trapping me in some AI email loop, I’ll open my account, see 3 or 4 thousand dollars and think to myself there are bette ways to spend my time.

But I will still have a deeper, ongoing, and predictable problem. That money will face the same circumstances the $1,000 I have now does.

Let’s provide even more financial context. I bought a $475 dollar My Chemical Romance ticket. I’m in the pit for Linkin Park in 2 days, and the pit for System of a down on the 31st. I’ve spent $6,000 on people I’ve tried to hire in service to getting past business ventures launched. It amounted to an expensive lesson about how to manage and what to expect from people, particularly working with them remotely. Every meal my friend and I go out to lands somewhere between $45 and $100 dollars. I’ve paid my electric bill for 6 months in advance. I’ve spent, approximately, $4,000 on band t-shirts over the last 3 years. I almost never donate to charity and would piss in most collection plates.

I don’t “need” any “thing.” I’m full, clothed, and entertained even when it just looks like preoccupied. I have an budding opportunity to open my own extension of my current job, a step-down sober-living house, that could gross $4,800 a month within the next few weeks. I could go make enough money to cover every “stupid” thing I’ve bought Door Dashing at peak times for a few hours each day. I’m in no way unable or unwilling to account for my worst instincts or decisions regarding cash-flow.

Not superficially, I have a problem with meaningful investment. 

For years, arguably, I’ve been “fine.” Not driven. Not motivated. Not “passionate” (a word I continue to hate). I just am. I’m just capable, therefore maybe I do. I get jobs when the aimlessness of not having to be anywhere starts to grind me down. I spend money I both have and don’t to introduce drama, perhaps, maybe, but probably not, worthy of “me” and the creative ways I might go about fixing the problem.

As a counselor, investigator, and general advocate working with people on their linguistic barriers, self-esteem issues, and terrible framing of their circumstances and capacity, it’s incredibly hard for me to spin a story about my life or behavior that isn’t true. That doesn’t mean I don’t have blindspots. That doesn’t mean you have to agree with or believe anything I say. It does mean I know when there’s a temptation or desire to be deceptive or downplay the extent of when my behavior feels pathological or like “some addict shit.”

I didn’t really want to talk about the gorilla spending. It felt particularly acutely stupid. It also felt like it nagged and highlighted that incoherent hole at the center of my “fine” that’s never as fine as it “could” be. I feel like I owe, at least one person in particular, money who, also, hasn’t asked, doesn’t need it, and wouldn’t have offered it if she didn’t recognize what it was paying for at the time. Part of me still feels hung up on getting fucked for $12-20K in the effort to flip a house to only my ex-friend and his parents’ benefit, and the $25K I was supposed to get as a result of my grandparent’s house getting sold. I’ve been fucked out of more money than I’ve lost in service to my actual goals or folly combined, for 20 years, 4 to 5 times over.

My experience with money feels reflective of my increased richness in time. Traditionally, I’ve found ways to give myself “too much” time. I spent most of my 20s learning how to depress myself reading about the world all day, getting good at guitar, and learning how to watch TV. My friends stopped wanting to hang out, or even leave the house. Then they started moving away, and have never found the nostalgia or romance button that bothers with meeting up again when they came back. I’ve been able to spend good portions of time with the last 2 people that will have me, my dad and friend who will both be at Linkin Park with me. What are we all going to do there? Drink expensive beer, buy expensive t-shirts, scream with Chester’s ghost over ambient feelings that one hopes don’t echo reasons for a new self-righteous suicide.

Music means something to me. I’m genuinely excited and anxious and don’t wish for anything to go wrong so that I can experience the shows coming up. I’ve been to 362 shows in the last 3 years. Most often, you see solid and talented people who put on a good show. There’s a handful of bands that really seep into my bones, and they’re all mega-famous and playing in Chicago the same month.

Once, I didn’t fight to stay at a concert I only saw half of because my friend got sick. I tried to maintain perspective and respect. I’ve seen 2 of the 3 bands we missed, one at least twice, in the past. I watched full recordings of the shows a few days later. My friend means more to me than seeing the shows live, nagging “completionist” itch notwithstanding. The game, I’d been playing for 380 days straight before I was locked out, at least an hour each day, tapping the screen hundreds, if not a thousand times. I’d made “friends” at least as superficial as any in “real life.” I’m probably in the top 20% of players in terms of team power and time invested.

But I don’t really care about the game. I care about letting my alliance know what happened to me. I care about getting treated “fairly” in one more arena that is designed to exploit and extract. I care about not feeling at the “mercy” of glitches and not falling prey to sunk-cost reasoning. I could spend the $125, start the new arguments, get right back into the “flow” of tap tap tapping to collect resources and upping my stats. Why? Had I not been invited to an alliance, I would have deleted it shortly after downloading it and finding out the advertised scroll game was only a mini portion of the whole thing.

I want to have a life full and meaningfully busy enough where I don’t find myself embroiled in problems like these. I ask people often if they’re attempting to “fix” something that has nothing to do with them or their real goals. I’m rich in plenty of ways, but still don’t “feel” rich or responsible in pissing away money to account for mild inconveniences or so I can double down on a game that’s designed to function like a slot-machine addiction. I can’t even take solace in the idea that I’m just suffering compulsion. I’m not. I’m meandering into things because I haven’t felt enough of or the right kind of pain that might lend itself to growth or stability. I’m sweeping up the mess of debts, disorientation, and disaffection.