i’d say that
my life means to me approximately what your job (
job, not career) means to you. if you do not have a job because you have a career, think back to that
shitty minimum wager you had back in
high school that gave you a pay check and allowed you to arrive
fashionably late to every weekend party. it’s not as bad as it could be, sometimes you think you even like it because it keeps you away from sunday home with the family, but all in all you either did or you will eventually have it up to HERE and
just fucking quit.
yeah, i’d say that’s about right.
i myself currently do not have a job. i do not have a boyfriend, i do not have a blooming social life, and i do not have a steady educational career. it’s summer, it’s hot outside. i have an apartment where i live thankfully alone with my three cats whom i actually like quite a lot; my life would be much more void of emotion without them.
i have discovered that my preference for solitude is becoming an everyday habit that it does not appear that i will be seeking to change in the near future. i stay inside mostly everyday (this is seasonal, i like it outside but it’s just too damn hot to be there during the day) watching reruns of “modern tv classics” and the occasional black and white flick that comes on amc, tcm, or comedy central (i have a deep, life long respect for steve martin.) i read a fair amount for someone in my position. i run, and i write--i try to do these things everyday. they provide, besides a change in my otherwise stagnant routine, a release for the shit that boils underneath my skin constantly; and they are, besides the small mountains of pills i’ve been taking daily for three years, the last stab i am taking at things i believe to be beneficially healthy. *i waiver between a care and no care for punctuation and grammar. i am currently not seeking to remedy this.* in fact, that’s how i feel right now about most things: a mental wavering between caring and not caring, and currently i am not seeking to remedy this. i remember when convenience existed. now nothing provides that sort of gratification.
i started to drink occasionally, and like many mistaken declarations i made growing up but have now come to embody the opposite of, i drink to get drunk. it just sounds bad, it isnt really. being buzzed only makes me dizzy and boring; i prefer, if i am going to delve into the vat of toying with alcoholism, that i may as well go the full “humorous to sober people”, funny voices, and affectionate DRUNK. it’s the only time i really feel like being affectionate these days, and the only time i dont seem to long for affection from others. not that i want a boyfriend--on the other hand, i have gone from lonely to seeking time alone on a constant level.
my debased life provides no room--within my schedule of nothing there is no time for someone i have to attach my emotional self to. and i personally have no desire to seek this kind of relationship. i am silently resolved when it comes to my solitude: i have nothing to offer anyone romantically, and i desire nothing anyone else might have to offer me. “i am a rock,” but despite what you might think i am not concerned with my rock-like status. these days, i dont even go there mentally, even late at night when i am at my most vulnerable.
i’m not really ever that vulnerable anymore, though.
my desires have been greatly reduced. i dont even really care for food much anymore. i drink lots of chilled water and i want things to be very, very clean in my environment. i want my books nearby and i want to have important letters to write to pen pals. as i have all these things at current i am sustained, at least for now. going to the movies has ceased bringing me the menial pleasure it used to. going to shows leaves me feeling like a wet cat, unhappily submerged in cigarette smoke with painfully ringing ears and a few more unpleasant run-ins with people i feel no preference for under my belt. in the words of the experienced and jaded, “it’s just not the same.” but i dont regret it.
i have little to say these days. i have become a listener and even this is bringing me grief. my friends, few as they are, tire me with their meaningless jabber that benefits not them for having said it nor me from having heard it. perhaps it will not be long before my desire for solitude overcomes even the most carnal of desires for human companionship.
but i do not think these feelings will last forever. i am sure that some day, probably not in to the too distant future, i will reverse into my old ways and fall head over heels for some ass hole with a cool hair cut who calls me too much and eventually smothers me and at the same time pushes me away until i cannot stand it and become a hermit again.
it just doesnt seem worth it some days, does it.
everything is a cycle, void of meaning or pleasure. “i am healthy, i am unhealthy.” “i am depressed, i am not depressed.” “i am social, lovable, concerned--or i am not”. i wish i had a mission to do, something that would withdraw me from life as i know it and stimulate my body and mind to a state of exaltation.
this is where my need for religion comes in. For my definition of religion, see my collected memoirs, chapter 12. that is all, for now. boredom.