Since and only because I get to come home to a heated box, I love when it finally gets cold out. And for me, cold is any day where the high temperature never goes above freezing. We're getting a string of them right now: the local rivers are already becoming choked with ice. It's wonderful.
And I love going out in it. Winter is the only time of year I get to feel my body struggle to stay alive. It's invigorating and it reminds me that I still want to be here even though my life affords me precious few days to actually enjoy it.
The Summer heat saps my will to live. I accept it only because Winter alone would destroy the food chain. The heat of Summer is necessary. I understand that...but with every heatwave, my body is all the more ready to surrender to death. It is only in the bitter, numbing cold that I feel myself remembering I still have things I want to do and that I'm not yet ready to give up on them.
And yet it is only in the Winter when pity is taken upon me and I find myself being offered more rides both home and to work. I look forward to these chills all year only to have them taken from me by some misplaced kindness. I just want to walk in it. I want to feel my body's aura of heat stripped away. I want to endure the pain of the wind on my face and fingers. I want to feel the cold creeping up my arms and legs. I want the hurt. I want my body to tell me it will not go down without a fight. I want to experience the desire to survive another day. It is the closest I come to knowing meaningful struggle.
I'm tempted daily to surrender on all fronts and return to the void but Winter reminds me to press on for there may still be a use for my being yet...
So if you see me walking in the cold and/or in the snow, leave me be. Don't deprive me of one of the few joys that still has not been taken from me...
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Friday, December 29, 2017
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
DIDN'T QUIT WHILE I WAS AHEAD...
Two Sundays ago I went gambling for the first time in my life. My cousin and his wife invited me to go to Atlantic City for the day. I took the night off work leading me to tell my coworkers that my gambling goal would be to win my lost wages. The trip down was disappointing in that it's very boring. I had no idea New Jersey has so many trees. The parkway is just an unbroken line of trees on one side and another unbroken line of trees on the other. It was only shortly before our destination that it opened up into what looked like salt marshes and a bay with electricity-generating giant windmills.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
A FAREWELL TO YOUTH...
She was there. She spoke to me briefly. She gave me a polite hug and kiss on the cheek. :-)
I never thought I would see The First One again with my own eyes or hear her voice and although my shitty memory dooms me to have already forgotten both, it did happen. She wasn't supposed to be there. I was prepared for that disappointment but for the first time in a while, my pessimism was wrong. I got to see, hear, and be near her one last time. Nothing would come of it, as expected, so I can only conclude that God does not me to believe in Him that badly. ;-)
It was my high school class's 20th reunion. There were more people there than I had thought were coming (I can't be bothered to come up with one-time nicknames - some are in the pictures I've downloaded, others with have to suffice with initials like RD (who brought The First One), AC, AT, RJ, KS, CM, MC, CN, MW, SG, and even JS (my brother's other crush) et al....I'm not even sure if these initials will help...probably have duplicates). I didn't get to say hello to them all. Unfortunately several were not present, including Patient Zero, whom I would really like to have seen again. She was always nice to me. The last person who saw me from my class (at work), EE, did not show nor did Smokeychick as she had business to attend to with her new home.
The four hours went by far too quickly and once again I found myself ruminating on what I didn't say and what I should've said because my happiness has never been permitted to last long. I took my friend, The Security Guard, with me because he is naturally more social than I am. I thought he would be able to help sell me better. Unfortunately, he was extra tired that day so he kept mostly to himself forcing me to do what I could to socialize on my own. I'm not mad though I'm curious how (and assuming it were possible to pull off - impossible now as her license has been suspended a second time for DWI) Winwood would have managed in that environment...especially with The First One there.
Still...it felt good. It has been a long time since I had last been steeped in such familiarity even if only from the recognition of faces last seen long ago.
I got an "award" for Person Who Has Changed Least Since High School. I don't normally say I deserve things, but I deserved that one. The First One got an "award" for Having Had the Most Work Done, haha.
Everyone there who spoke to me spoke to me kindly, some thanking me for my uploads to the event's Facebook page or just my posts in general. But no one except DOB lingered for any length of time with me...just like high school.
Overall, and perhaps because I've never felt much of a connection to my classmates (my fault...really. No...really), the event had the feeling of a wake. Hell, there were even photo collages and memorabilia! It was as though we had all come together one last time, in a spirit of obligation, to honor the memory of our deceased youth both literally in those classmates of ours who have since passed and metaphorically for those who could not be there with us that night.
Perhaps it's a twisted way of looking at such things but what else were we celebrating? Certainly not a future in which we would again be together. We would part ways that night, having left something behind and only taking that which we had brought with us. I don't suspect I will ever see any of them ever again with my own eyes aside from some rare random encounter...most likely at work. They were family to me in the same sense of my blood family: people brought and kept together by circumstance rather than choice.
I'm going to miss them. Really. And though last night was a step closer to the abyss which awaits us all, it was fun and most of all, it felt good, even if only for a little while...
I never thought I would see The First One again with my own eyes or hear her voice and although my shitty memory dooms me to have already forgotten both, it did happen. She wasn't supposed to be there. I was prepared for that disappointment but for the first time in a while, my pessimism was wrong. I got to see, hear, and be near her one last time. Nothing would come of it, as expected, so I can only conclude that God does not me to believe in Him that badly. ;-)
It was my high school class's 20th reunion. There were more people there than I had thought were coming (I can't be bothered to come up with one-time nicknames - some are in the pictures I've downloaded, others with have to suffice with initials like RD (who brought The First One), AC, AT, RJ, KS, CM, MC, CN, MW, SG, and even JS (my brother's other crush) et al....I'm not even sure if these initials will help...probably have duplicates). I didn't get to say hello to them all. Unfortunately several were not present, including Patient Zero, whom I would really like to have seen again. She was always nice to me. The last person who saw me from my class (at work), EE, did not show nor did Smokeychick as she had business to attend to with her new home.
The four hours went by far too quickly and once again I found myself ruminating on what I didn't say and what I should've said because my happiness has never been permitted to last long. I took my friend, The Security Guard, with me because he is naturally more social than I am. I thought he would be able to help sell me better. Unfortunately, he was extra tired that day so he kept mostly to himself forcing me to do what I could to socialize on my own. I'm not mad though I'm curious how (and assuming it were possible to pull off - impossible now as her license has been suspended a second time for DWI) Winwood would have managed in that environment...especially with The First One there.
Still...it felt good. It has been a long time since I had last been steeped in such familiarity even if only from the recognition of faces last seen long ago.
I got an "award" for Person Who Has Changed Least Since High School. I don't normally say I deserve things, but I deserved that one. The First One got an "award" for Having Had the Most Work Done, haha.
Everyone there who spoke to me spoke to me kindly, some thanking me for my uploads to the event's Facebook page or just my posts in general. But no one except DOB lingered for any length of time with me...just like high school.
Overall, and perhaps because I've never felt much of a connection to my classmates (my fault...really. No...really), the event had the feeling of a wake. Hell, there were even photo collages and memorabilia! It was as though we had all come together one last time, in a spirit of obligation, to honor the memory of our deceased youth both literally in those classmates of ours who have since passed and metaphorically for those who could not be there with us that night.
Perhaps it's a twisted way of looking at such things but what else were we celebrating? Certainly not a future in which we would again be together. We would part ways that night, having left something behind and only taking that which we had brought with us. I don't suspect I will ever see any of them ever again with my own eyes aside from some rare random encounter...most likely at work. They were family to me in the same sense of my blood family: people brought and kept together by circumstance rather than choice.
I'm going to miss them. Really. And though last night was a step closer to the abyss which awaits us all, it was fun and most of all, it felt good, even if only for a little while...
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
HEROES & VILLAINS...
I wish I didn't identify so much with the villains of stories. And I don't mean I think they look cool or dress fashionably or something otherwise superficial. I mean their motivations. Like I get that hurt that consumes them and shapes them into mighty opponents to the forces of good.
I feel like villains, at least in some stories, were supposed to be either normal people or even the good guys but that they didn't get from life what they were told they should get.
In my life, I was told if you did well in school; went to college; if you followed the rules; and if you stayed out of trouble, that your life would be pretty much set. You'd get a good job, find a good woman to make your wife, start a family, and safely and without obstruction, cross the various milestones of life.
But that's not how it goes. Sure, it does for some. But ultimately, it appears (and too late for me) that the rewards go not to the rule-followers but to the risk-takers. And that is not to say that risk-takers don't have their share of failure too, it just appears that it is the risk-takers, the ones who flout conventions rather than adhere to them, have the best chance of achieving something like the success promised to the meek, but bright, students who took following the rules to heart.
You grow upset that the rule-breakers go unpunished, seeing the unjustness in society, and you grow jealous of those who get the good jobs, the friends, the influence, the girl, etc. because you were told those things would come to you by being a rules-bound, dutiful soul but they got theirs by being rebellious and flouting.
You grow angry at a world that rewards relationships over merit. You question why you spent so much of your time doing what you were told was the right thing instead of building connections which could be exploited later for better jobs and relationship opportunities.
You grow impatient with a world that does not desire your intelligence or value the contributions you're capable of making.
You grow tired of being ignored and invisible.
You're then struck by your utter powerlessness. You'll never be the villain. You'll never make anyone pay for your suffering. It's very depressing. You wish you had the necessary charisma to sway millions to your way of thinking; to create a backbone to execute your nefarious plans and then you realize that had you had that charisma in the first place, you'd've made friends and the evil that is now in your heart would never have grown into its present, all-consuming form.
It's quite the paradox...
To have the skills of a villain you need the very qualities that would have prevented you from becoming a villain in the first place. Maybe villainy only works when discovered by someone already in power. I don't know...
But either way, when villains like Melkor, Father, the Shadows & Vorlons, the Sovereign, and Voldemort appear, and even one-dimensional ones like Mumm-ra, Skeletor, and Saw Boss...I feel a kinship with them. I understand where they're coming from even if they're incompetent. I root for them, even when their success would mean the end of all things.
I feel their suffering and believe that, like me, had they only been given a normal life...perhaps the normal life they had been promised, that they'd've never become the threats they were. Or to put it bluntly, I really can't believe Hitler would have been Hitler had he only gotten laid...
"Heroes and Villains" by The Beach Boys
I feel like villains, at least in some stories, were supposed to be either normal people or even the good guys but that they didn't get from life what they were told they should get.
In my life, I was told if you did well in school; went to college; if you followed the rules; and if you stayed out of trouble, that your life would be pretty much set. You'd get a good job, find a good woman to make your wife, start a family, and safely and without obstruction, cross the various milestones of life.
But that's not how it goes. Sure, it does for some. But ultimately, it appears (and too late for me) that the rewards go not to the rule-followers but to the risk-takers. And that is not to say that risk-takers don't have their share of failure too, it just appears that it is the risk-takers, the ones who flout conventions rather than adhere to them, have the best chance of achieving something like the success promised to the meek, but bright, students who took following the rules to heart.
You grow upset that the rule-breakers go unpunished, seeing the unjustness in society, and you grow jealous of those who get the good jobs, the friends, the influence, the girl, etc. because you were told those things would come to you by being a rules-bound, dutiful soul but they got theirs by being rebellious and flouting.
You grow angry at a world that rewards relationships over merit. You question why you spent so much of your time doing what you were told was the right thing instead of building connections which could be exploited later for better jobs and relationship opportunities.
You grow impatient with a world that does not desire your intelligence or value the contributions you're capable of making.
You grow tired of being ignored and invisible.
You're then struck by your utter powerlessness. You'll never be the villain. You'll never make anyone pay for your suffering. It's very depressing. You wish you had the necessary charisma to sway millions to your way of thinking; to create a backbone to execute your nefarious plans and then you realize that had you had that charisma in the first place, you'd've made friends and the evil that is now in your heart would never have grown into its present, all-consuming form.
It's quite the paradox...
To have the skills of a villain you need the very qualities that would have prevented you from becoming a villain in the first place. Maybe villainy only works when discovered by someone already in power. I don't know...
But either way, when villains like Melkor, Father, the Shadows & Vorlons, the Sovereign, and Voldemort appear, and even one-dimensional ones like Mumm-ra, Skeletor, and Saw Boss...I feel a kinship with them. I understand where they're coming from even if they're incompetent. I root for them, even when their success would mean the end of all things.
I feel their suffering and believe that, like me, had they only been given a normal life...perhaps the normal life they had been promised, that they'd've never become the threats they were. Or to put it bluntly, I really can't believe Hitler would have been Hitler had he only gotten laid...
"Heroes and Villains" by The Beach Boys
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
MISERY STREET...
Sometimes I wonder if the reason I'm unhappy with working is not because I have to have a job in order to survive but that I'm largely constrained into having the same job in order to survive...
I find that I get bored easily with both people and things. It is rare that I find a person or subject constantly interesting. I don't see why a job would be any different. Some people need constant novelty in their life experiences and I need constant novelty in my mental ones.
The trouble is, while working multiple jobs is indeed possible, it would monumentally unwise to do so without a significant cash cushion as different jobs pay differently, if at all...and assuming you can even find one in a timely manner to begin with.
I find I'm happiest when I am free to pursue my interests at will and without outside constraint on the speed and manner in which I tackle it. Life largely does not afford such opportunities to me, if it does at all. I'm so introverted that going to work counts as going out/socializing so my time off each day and on weekends is largely spent indoors not talking to anybody in order to simply recharge.
And it's never quite enough. I only just start feeling recharged on the day I have to go back to work. I haven't quite gotten there yet but I suppose it's the mental equivalent of using duct tape to mend a broken pipe: serviceable, but hardly a true fix.
It is only when I'm on vacation for an entire week that I actually have a few days (three, to be precise) where I'm fully recharged and more like myself again. I've been working so long at my place of employment that I have maxed out on my vacations. I get four weeks which means I get a total of twelve days a year where I feel like myself again. That's all I get. As you can imagine, I guard those days jealously.
I remember when I first started doing my job that it was actually enjoyable. So long as I still had new things to learn and new routines to figure out, I didn't mind going. It also didn't feel like work. My time off was all I needed to recharge so I still got to feel like myself two days a week. As I maxed out in my experience though, it fell to only one day then only the aforementioned vacation days. My job ceased to challenge me but there was nowhere else I could go which would pay me enough to survive on, let alone live on.
I was stuck. I've been stuck.
It made me wonder though, if money wasn't an issue, would I be happier at work? I would be free to quit my job when either I've maxed out what it could teach me or if I were made to feel worthless as a human being...another thing I have to swallow, my need for dignity, because I am still in need of a reliable source of income to survive.
But I think about that. What if I were free to satisfy my mind's desire for mental novelty? I could work anywhere that would take me for whatever they wished to pay me, if at all as I could just as easily do volunteer work at soup kitchens or animal shelters. Might I encounter new, constantly fascinating subjects that I could explore in great depth? Might I meet new, constantly interesting people to interact with...even love?
I just hate knowing that I'll never know the answers to those questions...and that I only get four groups of three days to be myself a year. I just finished up my last three days for the year. I don't get to be myself again for another 4½ months. The time in-between vacations feels so long already...not that this weekend has done me any good.
Four hours to go before I have to get ready to keep doing it all over again.
No way out...
I find that I get bored easily with both people and things. It is rare that I find a person or subject constantly interesting. I don't see why a job would be any different. Some people need constant novelty in their life experiences and I need constant novelty in my mental ones.
The trouble is, while working multiple jobs is indeed possible, it would monumentally unwise to do so without a significant cash cushion as different jobs pay differently, if at all...and assuming you can even find one in a timely manner to begin with.
I find I'm happiest when I am free to pursue my interests at will and without outside constraint on the speed and manner in which I tackle it. Life largely does not afford such opportunities to me, if it does at all. I'm so introverted that going to work counts as going out/socializing so my time off each day and on weekends is largely spent indoors not talking to anybody in order to simply recharge.
And it's never quite enough. I only just start feeling recharged on the day I have to go back to work. I haven't quite gotten there yet but I suppose it's the mental equivalent of using duct tape to mend a broken pipe: serviceable, but hardly a true fix.
It is only when I'm on vacation for an entire week that I actually have a few days (three, to be precise) where I'm fully recharged and more like myself again. I've been working so long at my place of employment that I have maxed out on my vacations. I get four weeks which means I get a total of twelve days a year where I feel like myself again. That's all I get. As you can imagine, I guard those days jealously.
I remember when I first started doing my job that it was actually enjoyable. So long as I still had new things to learn and new routines to figure out, I didn't mind going. It also didn't feel like work. My time off was all I needed to recharge so I still got to feel like myself two days a week. As I maxed out in my experience though, it fell to only one day then only the aforementioned vacation days. My job ceased to challenge me but there was nowhere else I could go which would pay me enough to survive on, let alone live on.
I was stuck. I've been stuck.
It made me wonder though, if money wasn't an issue, would I be happier at work? I would be free to quit my job when either I've maxed out what it could teach me or if I were made to feel worthless as a human being...another thing I have to swallow, my need for dignity, because I am still in need of a reliable source of income to survive.
But I think about that. What if I were free to satisfy my mind's desire for mental novelty? I could work anywhere that would take me for whatever they wished to pay me, if at all as I could just as easily do volunteer work at soup kitchens or animal shelters. Might I encounter new, constantly fascinating subjects that I could explore in great depth? Might I meet new, constantly interesting people to interact with...even love?
I just hate knowing that I'll never know the answers to those questions...and that I only get four groups of three days to be myself a year. I just finished up my last three days for the year. I don't get to be myself again for another 4½ months. The time in-between vacations feels so long already...not that this weekend has done me any good.
Four hours to go before I have to get ready to keep doing it all over again.
No way out...
Sunday, August 23, 2015
CELLULAR MARGINALIZATION...
I've finally pinpointed the time when I first felt decoupled from the world as though no longer a part of it: cellphones. I think cellphones represent a sea change in our culture not so much because of what they are, but what they have enabled. They started proliferating in 1999 and by the advent of smartphones capable of accessing the internet, the change was too far along for me to feel like I could ever be a part of the world again.
I feel marginalized by them. It's in my nature (or at least I'm well disciplined) to be patient and to delay gratification. I can't imagine answering an unexpected cellphone call nor can I imagine myself responding to a text in public and especially if I'm around friends and/or gathered with family. I thought such behavior was considered rude. Now, it's whatever and I'm the weirdo for sticking to that and now I'm the asshole if I get mad when I'm interrupted because someone couldn't wait to respond to a text.
When I make plans or agree to the plans of another, I stick to them and budget my time accordingly in order to show up on time and at the agreed-upon place. But if I get mad when plans are changed last minute or when people text to say they're going to be late, again...I'm the asshole. I don't understand when the world became so fly by the seat of one's pants. I don't understand how or why planning has come to be seen as obsolete; how it is in any way more virtuous to alter plans via constant updates, punishing those who would keep them. But now it's considered a punishment to hold others to plans. I don't get it...God forbid we do what we said we were going to do.
Smartphones have added another element to my feelings of obsolescence. Now the idea of waiting until later to do something has been almost completely taken off the table and for some reason this is celebrated.
And I say all this as a coward. One would think I would welcome texting over conversation; that I would welcome distractions to avoid interacting with groups of people; that I would welcome popping in earbuds to block out the public world around me...but I don't.
I don't actually carry my cellphone with me when I leave my apartment (unless I'm going someplace I've never been before since payphones are no longer a thing). Why should I? Growing up, the telephone hung on a wall. Later they became somewhat portable but they were still tied to the home. I've spent more than half my life being comfortable being out of contact and perhaps more so, EXPECTING to be out of contact when I've left my home to run an errand. When people learn of this, they act as if I am mad. And it's not the kids who act that, but the adults. Those same adults who, like me, did not have cellphones growing up.
I don't listen to music when I'm walking. Not having a car, I'm a professional pedestrian - if such a thing may be said. I know the value of being aware of environmental sounds for my own safety but even outside that. If I'm walking in a park or sightseeing, I don't want to be shut out from it. I don't see the point of going outside to listen to music. It's like people today are afraid of silence and I don't know where that fear came from. In some ways I can understand women doing so...men are proven assholes so providing a visual cue of "Don't talk to me" may have actually proven liberating for women. I wouldn't be surprised if their mp3 players aren't actually on: that it's all an act because men just don't know how to keep to themselves in public.
I don't like texting. And again, this comes from a coward who avoids talking to people at practically all costs. However, despite that, I feel if I do want to talk to someone that...I should talk to that someone; that even if it's all subconsciously processed, body language and tone of voice is important when getting to know someone. I don't want to hide or avoid that obligation when it comes about.
I don't mind being bored. I feel no terror when bored yet I swear people do or that they feel boredom is bad for you somehow. I feel no need to fill every waking moment with an activity nor do I feel compelled to respond to texts and phone calls immediately. I'm not a doctor, EMT, police officer, volunteer fireman, etc. whose services may be required at a moment's notice. Whatever it is, it can wait. Good news can wait. Bad news can wait too. And bullshit...bullshit can DEFINITELY wait until later. And if it's really bad news, well...bad news has a way of finding you. Because of that, I feel no need to even look at my phone when out and about.
When I go out, I'm going out. When I go out with friends, I'm going out to see those friends. When I'm seeing family, I'm there to see my family. I don't think it's wrong to be busy. Likewise, I don't think it's wrong to expect other people to be busy when they're out with their friends too. Phones used to have busy signals. I miss those. Now that I think about it, the introduction of call waiting was a harbinger of things to come. I would never answer call waiting. Why? Because I'm talking to you now. I don't see how it's good psychologically to tell your friend that you have other things you'd rather be doing than talking to them...
How ironic that putting my friends first while I'm with them in person and believing that others should do the same would make me the impolite one. Sorry that I don't feel it an appropriate time to look at who's texted me...
But that's not how the world works anymore. I can lament it. I can wish it weren't so or that it would go back to the way it was...but that won't happen. Regardless of whether my positions are better or saner is irrelevant because they're obsolete. I'm obsolete. I don't foresee me ever fitting in with this brave new world of what I perceive to be rudeness, impulsiveness, and impatience. I just fade. For all the good cellphones can and do do, the shitty behaviors they've liberated from their users are alien to me. It's not something I can ever in good faith join.
I'm not saying I don't ever feel the temptation nor do I wish to imply that I myself have never engaged in such behaviors. Besides, one doesn't need a cellphone to be rude and I've been rude in my day. I wasted many weekends playing videogames, listening to music, and watching TV shows nonstop (sometimes just to watch something...anything. I wasn't even all that into a lot of shows I watched as a kid) when maybe my Mom or Dad would have rather me spent some time with them. Looking back on it, I'm not proud. I could've been...should've been...a better son. The point is, I'm certainly not innocent. Maybe it's just all too new so a culture and its associated rules haven't been established yet. Maybe in the coming decades, I'll feel a part of this world again as people temper their behavior in light of what these machines are capable of doing to us. But I don't know, the drug of now is most addicting.
Even television's not the same. VCRs in a way started it, but their capacity was limited so the idea of binge-watching an entire season wasn't exactly a thing. VCRs allowed a person who would otherwise be left out join in the conversation. Television used to be a cultural thing. Sure, there were repeats in the Summer but otherwise you had to watch the show when it aired or risk being left out. There were no high-capacity DVRs or on-demand online video feeds.
It's more minor than the points above but it's still a thing now that you can't expect the people you're talking to to have seen a show's episode the day it aired...or even at all. Cable's proliferation has fragmented audiences to a considerable degree. It's not all bad but at times I think there are too many channels...too many options. The old cable boxes used to only have 36 channels and the first 12 were broadcast and local access leaving you with 24 cable channels and HBO.
It's all so alienating...
My world is gone...or at least, the world I understood is. It's ironic that I should feel so disconnected when the people of this world have never been more connected to each other.
I feel marginalized by them. It's in my nature (or at least I'm well disciplined) to be patient and to delay gratification. I can't imagine answering an unexpected cellphone call nor can I imagine myself responding to a text in public and especially if I'm around friends and/or gathered with family. I thought such behavior was considered rude. Now, it's whatever and I'm the weirdo for sticking to that and now I'm the asshole if I get mad when I'm interrupted because someone couldn't wait to respond to a text.
When I make plans or agree to the plans of another, I stick to them and budget my time accordingly in order to show up on time and at the agreed-upon place. But if I get mad when plans are changed last minute or when people text to say they're going to be late, again...I'm the asshole. I don't understand when the world became so fly by the seat of one's pants. I don't understand how or why planning has come to be seen as obsolete; how it is in any way more virtuous to alter plans via constant updates, punishing those who would keep them. But now it's considered a punishment to hold others to plans. I don't get it...God forbid we do what we said we were going to do.
Smartphones have added another element to my feelings of obsolescence. Now the idea of waiting until later to do something has been almost completely taken off the table and for some reason this is celebrated.
And I say all this as a coward. One would think I would welcome texting over conversation; that I would welcome distractions to avoid interacting with groups of people; that I would welcome popping in earbuds to block out the public world around me...but I don't.
I don't actually carry my cellphone with me when I leave my apartment (unless I'm going someplace I've never been before since payphones are no longer a thing). Why should I? Growing up, the telephone hung on a wall. Later they became somewhat portable but they were still tied to the home. I've spent more than half my life being comfortable being out of contact and perhaps more so, EXPECTING to be out of contact when I've left my home to run an errand. When people learn of this, they act as if I am mad. And it's not the kids who act that, but the adults. Those same adults who, like me, did not have cellphones growing up.
I don't listen to music when I'm walking. Not having a car, I'm a professional pedestrian - if such a thing may be said. I know the value of being aware of environmental sounds for my own safety but even outside that. If I'm walking in a park or sightseeing, I don't want to be shut out from it. I don't see the point of going outside to listen to music. It's like people today are afraid of silence and I don't know where that fear came from. In some ways I can understand women doing so...men are proven assholes so providing a visual cue of "Don't talk to me" may have actually proven liberating for women. I wouldn't be surprised if their mp3 players aren't actually on: that it's all an act because men just don't know how to keep to themselves in public.
I don't like texting. And again, this comes from a coward who avoids talking to people at practically all costs. However, despite that, I feel if I do want to talk to someone that...I should talk to that someone; that even if it's all subconsciously processed, body language and tone of voice is important when getting to know someone. I don't want to hide or avoid that obligation when it comes about.
I don't mind being bored. I feel no terror when bored yet I swear people do or that they feel boredom is bad for you somehow. I feel no need to fill every waking moment with an activity nor do I feel compelled to respond to texts and phone calls immediately. I'm not a doctor, EMT, police officer, volunteer fireman, etc. whose services may be required at a moment's notice. Whatever it is, it can wait. Good news can wait. Bad news can wait too. And bullshit...bullshit can DEFINITELY wait until later. And if it's really bad news, well...bad news has a way of finding you. Because of that, I feel no need to even look at my phone when out and about.
When I go out, I'm going out. When I go out with friends, I'm going out to see those friends. When I'm seeing family, I'm there to see my family. I don't think it's wrong to be busy. Likewise, I don't think it's wrong to expect other people to be busy when they're out with their friends too. Phones used to have busy signals. I miss those. Now that I think about it, the introduction of call waiting was a harbinger of things to come. I would never answer call waiting. Why? Because I'm talking to you now. I don't see how it's good psychologically to tell your friend that you have other things you'd rather be doing than talking to them...
How ironic that putting my friends first while I'm with them in person and believing that others should do the same would make me the impolite one. Sorry that I don't feel it an appropriate time to look at who's texted me...
But that's not how the world works anymore. I can lament it. I can wish it weren't so or that it would go back to the way it was...but that won't happen. Regardless of whether my positions are better or saner is irrelevant because they're obsolete. I'm obsolete. I don't foresee me ever fitting in with this brave new world of what I perceive to be rudeness, impulsiveness, and impatience. I just fade. For all the good cellphones can and do do, the shitty behaviors they've liberated from their users are alien to me. It's not something I can ever in good faith join.
I'm not saying I don't ever feel the temptation nor do I wish to imply that I myself have never engaged in such behaviors. Besides, one doesn't need a cellphone to be rude and I've been rude in my day. I wasted many weekends playing videogames, listening to music, and watching TV shows nonstop (sometimes just to watch something...anything. I wasn't even all that into a lot of shows I watched as a kid) when maybe my Mom or Dad would have rather me spent some time with them. Looking back on it, I'm not proud. I could've been...should've been...a better son. The point is, I'm certainly not innocent. Maybe it's just all too new so a culture and its associated rules haven't been established yet. Maybe in the coming decades, I'll feel a part of this world again as people temper their behavior in light of what these machines are capable of doing to us. But I don't know, the drug of now is most addicting.
Even television's not the same. VCRs in a way started it, but their capacity was limited so the idea of binge-watching an entire season wasn't exactly a thing. VCRs allowed a person who would otherwise be left out join in the conversation. Television used to be a cultural thing. Sure, there were repeats in the Summer but otherwise you had to watch the show when it aired or risk being left out. There were no high-capacity DVRs or on-demand online video feeds.
It's more minor than the points above but it's still a thing now that you can't expect the people you're talking to to have seen a show's episode the day it aired...or even at all. Cable's proliferation has fragmented audiences to a considerable degree. It's not all bad but at times I think there are too many channels...too many options. The old cable boxes used to only have 36 channels and the first 12 were broadcast and local access leaving you with 24 cable channels and HBO.
It's all so alienating...
My world is gone...or at least, the world I understood is. It's ironic that I should feel so disconnected when the people of this world have never been more connected to each other.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
WEARINESS...
One thing I've noticed about me is that going to work counts as going out. I guess I'm just that introverted which sucks because I would like to go out more but I just don't want to after a week's work. I want to recharge and recoup and by the time I'm feeling like I might want to go out, it's already the start of my workweek again.
I don't have this problem on vacations. By Wednesday I'm done spending time inside and away from people and ready to go out and explore or whatever. It's fun and I like getting to do those things, but I don't like having to wait three months until my next week off to do so.
Another reason I wish I could quit working altogether. That I don't have enough money saved to purchase my freedom is another reason my life sucks. I just don't see a victory scenario. It actually makes me wish I could have a mild, totally survivable heart-attack so I could justify quitting on the grounds that, having been given a taste of my own mortality, I no longer wish to put off the life I have been suppressing all these years just so I could work at a job I don't like for not enough money to enjoy life on.
I think the source of that unhappiness is in my very nature. I read recently in Scientific American a reference to a book by Donald Stokes called Pasteur's Quadrant. He had this idea that there are three types of research which he separated into quadrants he named using epitomizing examples: Bohr, Edison, and Pasteur.
The Bohr Quadrant, named after physicist Niels Bohr, exemplified pure basic research, which might be thought of as seeking answers for their own sake with no particular goal in mind. Such research is not concerned with how the knowledge gained might be used by others.
The Edison Quadrant, named after inventor Thomas Edison, exemplified applied research, which could be thought of as a striving to produce a specific product in response to a problem. Such research is a quest for an invention or a method and might be thought of as profit-driven research; their interest is ultimately in utility.
The Pasteur Quadrant, named after researcher Louis Pasteur, exemplifies a middle ground between the two: a quest for knowledge and its application to benefit humanity. Pasteur's specific example would include Germ Theory which sought to not only understood what germs/disease were and how they spread, but also how to use this knowledge to keep people healthy.
I find that I don't like being caged into any one particular thing. I dislike specialization. I would say I fit most comfortably into the Bohr Quadrant. I am curious about the world, reality, existence, etc. but while I am interested in learning how it works, I show almost zero interest in doing anything with this knowledge, content to leave it to others to exploit.
I guess most of the big stuff has been found out already making me moot. To learn more about reality requires one to delve deeply into the kinds of mathematics I can't even hope to comprehend: I just don't have the discipline for that.
I find my mind wanders a lot. I am the typical example of "Jack of all trades; master of none." I know a little bit about a lot of things, perhaps in order to cast the widest possible net in a desperate attempt to be loved. I suppose this is why my personality type is flagged for leadership roles: I'd be a natural delegator, able to recognize who's good at what so that they may be in the right positions when they are most needed. If only I liked leading. I despise it and resent whenever I'm forced to take up the reins. Then again, that may be another reason I would make a good leader: I don't want the power. I've heard it said that those who want power are the ones who least deserve it. It's just sometimes...sometimes, I wish I had someone I could focus on. Someone who could give me purpose. Maybe I've been intellectually wandering for too long now and wish to limit my subjects to the benefit of someone whom I care about deeply or to someone whom I believe in. I certainly don't get that from my job and my life is as lonely as ever.
Still...it would be nice to not have to work anymore. I'm tired of it. The thought of having to do this for thirty more years is practically intolerable. I yearn to be free. I want to be free...
I don't have this problem on vacations. By Wednesday I'm done spending time inside and away from people and ready to go out and explore or whatever. It's fun and I like getting to do those things, but I don't like having to wait three months until my next week off to do so.
Another reason I wish I could quit working altogether. That I don't have enough money saved to purchase my freedom is another reason my life sucks. I just don't see a victory scenario. It actually makes me wish I could have a mild, totally survivable heart-attack so I could justify quitting on the grounds that, having been given a taste of my own mortality, I no longer wish to put off the life I have been suppressing all these years just so I could work at a job I don't like for not enough money to enjoy life on.
I think the source of that unhappiness is in my very nature. I read recently in Scientific American a reference to a book by Donald Stokes called Pasteur's Quadrant. He had this idea that there are three types of research which he separated into quadrants he named using epitomizing examples: Bohr, Edison, and Pasteur.
The Bohr Quadrant, named after physicist Niels Bohr, exemplified pure basic research, which might be thought of as seeking answers for their own sake with no particular goal in mind. Such research is not concerned with how the knowledge gained might be used by others.
The Edison Quadrant, named after inventor Thomas Edison, exemplified applied research, which could be thought of as a striving to produce a specific product in response to a problem. Such research is a quest for an invention or a method and might be thought of as profit-driven research; their interest is ultimately in utility.
The Pasteur Quadrant, named after researcher Louis Pasteur, exemplifies a middle ground between the two: a quest for knowledge and its application to benefit humanity. Pasteur's specific example would include Germ Theory which sought to not only understood what germs/disease were and how they spread, but also how to use this knowledge to keep people healthy.
I find that I don't like being caged into any one particular thing. I dislike specialization. I would say I fit most comfortably into the Bohr Quadrant. I am curious about the world, reality, existence, etc. but while I am interested in learning how it works, I show almost zero interest in doing anything with this knowledge, content to leave it to others to exploit.
I guess most of the big stuff has been found out already making me moot. To learn more about reality requires one to delve deeply into the kinds of mathematics I can't even hope to comprehend: I just don't have the discipline for that.
I find my mind wanders a lot. I am the typical example of "Jack of all trades; master of none." I know a little bit about a lot of things, perhaps in order to cast the widest possible net in a desperate attempt to be loved. I suppose this is why my personality type is flagged for leadership roles: I'd be a natural delegator, able to recognize who's good at what so that they may be in the right positions when they are most needed. If only I liked leading. I despise it and resent whenever I'm forced to take up the reins. Then again, that may be another reason I would make a good leader: I don't want the power. I've heard it said that those who want power are the ones who least deserve it. It's just sometimes...sometimes, I wish I had someone I could focus on. Someone who could give me purpose. Maybe I've been intellectually wandering for too long now and wish to limit my subjects to the benefit of someone whom I care about deeply or to someone whom I believe in. I certainly don't get that from my job and my life is as lonely as ever.
Still...it would be nice to not have to work anymore. I'm tired of it. The thought of having to do this for thirty more years is practically intolerable. I yearn to be free. I want to be free...
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
TO CONTINUE...
Gandalf's description of how the One Ring grants its bearer immortality feels like such an apt description for much else in life.
The more I read about Tolkien's mythology, the more I find it such a remarkable way of looking at things. Although we are not Valar nor Maiar, I find the idea that we have within us a native strength (or power) which can be spent to our fortune or peril an interesting one.
The great evil ones, Melkor and Sauron, spent their spirits in envy and hate in their respective attempts to dominate the very matter of Earth and its inhabitants, growing weaker over time. Once mighty and seemingly invincible, they would, over time, lose their ability to shapeshift, no longer be able to create new things to use against the existing order (instead being able to only make parodies and corruptions of works already made), and take on wounds which would no longer heal.
The great maia, Sauron, would impart much of his remaining native strength into the One Ring so that it would be able to dominate the other nineteen rings of power. When he wore it, the One Ring made him even stronger than before but should the ring be destroyed, it would take with it that native strength Sauron had poured into it so there was a risk involved for any spirit who wished to go against the natural order of things.
It makes me think of how we live our lives and the values and desires we place in things and in people. I feel like I have invested much of my native strength in the wrong girls and it has left me considerably weaker for my troubles. The last time I felt my native strength increasing was when I was in college back in late 1998/early 1999...but mostly in 1998.
I had met many new friends (even girls who found me desirable) and for perhaps the only time in my life, had a near-daily exposure to love and acceptance. I felt a part of something bigger than me for the only time in my life. If I were somehow able to quantify my native strength and add up the percentages of it placed into other people and things and that which is still left in me, the number would be greater than 100% mostly for that time but also for times in my past like it (such as when I started getting to know my Best Friend and other friends both remaining and lost in my life).
My last happy New Year was the changeover from 1999 to 2000. So far, the 21st century has held little to no happiness for me and as I now find myself well into it. I am also less than ten years away from the pivot point whereby I become a 21st century man (that is, soon I will have existed longer in the 21st century than I did in the 20th...another of my weird thoughts/realizations).
But I know I squandered a large part of myself in the First One. It felt only natural and I did so out of ignorance. While foolish in retrospect, how was I to know at the time she wasn't "the one"? First love is foolish love much as is all young love. Still...I miss her and the nervous energy she imparted on me that I was then able to transform into creative and artistic pursuits like drawing, poetry, and most proudly, a constructed language.
The First One would come to be known to me as a personification of idealization. She is what attraction means to me and what it means to be in love. All those who have followed (and even those who preceded) are compared to her, being either greater or lesser. In a mythological sense, she would be the physical manifestation of a god, specifically of Aphrodite. In a different and more modern sense I would describe her as a "genetic attraction", which was most definitely eugenic in nature as I recall myself, even as a young teenager, wanting to merge my DNA with her own as if our respective DNAs would result in a more superior human than she already was. That's a strange thought I admit and to this day, while I would most certainly prefer to do so the, uh..."natural" or "fun" way, I would be happy to have her accept my DNA via artificial insemination just to bring about that genetic fulfillment.
Smaller parts of me would be invested in nearly a dozen other girls and more still in lost friends, but the next great investment was in Digby, the source of many downer posts in this blog. I saw in her a salvation of sorts. She appeared to me as the actual "one" I had been spending my life looking for (and this time a human right from the start rather than the fleshy goddess that was the First One) as I now had many more years of experience and working knowledge of who I am and what I had wanted. I felt able to see our compatibility but ultimately, I had deceived myself...
Don't get me wrong. I still believe with all my heart that Digby is right for me. It's just...what I never considered and what would thus be my downfall, was that it never occurred to me just how cruel nature is when it comes to love. I made the mistake of believing, because I had never properly had it contradicted prior, that compatibility is more of a scalar than what it truly is, a vector.
You see, compatibility has a direction to it: it's not a universal number or quality. Digby is good enough (maybe even ideally so)...but only for me. But I am not perfect for her. It seems an impossible thought but it's sadly so very true.
For the longest time I went through life believing that if you found a person you were compatible with that it was only natural that they too would be compatible with you. It might take some convincing, but I truly believed compatibility was like an equation. In this case, different sets of numbers that added up to the same result (a simplified example being 4+5 = 108÷12 ...seemingly different in all ways but nevertheless, their underlying nature, that they are both manifestations of 9, is the same). But no, compatibility is not a simple equation...it is a vector. The direction compatibility moves in matters (like how whether a targeted item in a supermarket will appear on the left side or right side of an aisle depends on the direction you enter said aisle) and resultant vectors cannot be found simply by adding two (or more) vectors together.
The maddening result of all this grief is the knowledge that you can be great for someone but that you, in turn, are not necessarily great for them. It is a seeming defiance of logic but it is most assuredly true and a depressing truth at that. Perhaps if I had learned that lesson at an earlier age...
Digby would become the personification of desire in many, if not all, of its manifestations and especially representative of my desire to do right by and for a woman; to be her one and only; to be the father, and properly so, to her children; to give of myself that she and my progeny might experience a life most fitting for them. Digby was truly a dream given form...
Now if only I might find that (as of yet unknown) Third One who is this time as compatible with me as I am with her.
However, to get back to my opening statements, I feel I have been living a life without purpose and I have been living this way largely for the last three to seven years depending on your reckoning and arguably I have been this way since finding the First One back in 1992 as fulfillment is not something that would ever be known to me.
Much of my native strength has been spent. It has left me feeling weak and my spirit fragile. It takes so much time now to find even the smallest amount of will to make a move and such strength is all too easily spent resulting in months of recovery from even the slightest of setbacks...time I really don't have anymore as my youth has been gone for some time now.
For the time being, I find myself bound spiritually to my Best Friend but she is not enough. She is like family and family does not represent the future nor does family represent change, whether the family we're born into or the family we choose. Love must ultimately manifest either literally in the form of children or spiritually in the form of a legacy which will outlive our physical forms. Our genes demand from us immortality. For me personally, that satisfaction requires a yin for my yang to be the means, undeniably female, for manifesting that immortality. But I have been denied such satisfaction...
And I feel that's what living with purposelessness is: it is merely survival, not life. The food I eat, the water I drink, and the air I breathe extend my life but mere acts of survival do not grow or obtain for me more life. They permit me only to continue and every day the burden of continuing makes me feel heavier and that heaviness is most certainly wearisome. It is not yet unbearable and while I have no intention of "doing" anything about it, it does leave me wondering just how much more my body can handle before it decides it has had enough or will I find my continuance, my merely surviving, to be corrupting like that of Sméagol as he became Gollum under the One Ring's influence and living on only as a shadow of my former, once hopeful, self,
...a living mockery of a man...
Like the other Great Rings of Power, [the One Ring] would extend the lifespan of its
owner indefinitely, but that person...would not grow
or obtain more life, but would merely continue, until every minute was
an unbearable weariness.
The more I read about Tolkien's mythology, the more I find it such a remarkable way of looking at things. Although we are not Valar nor Maiar, I find the idea that we have within us a native strength (or power) which can be spent to our fortune or peril an interesting one.
The great evil ones, Melkor and Sauron, spent their spirits in envy and hate in their respective attempts to dominate the very matter of Earth and its inhabitants, growing weaker over time. Once mighty and seemingly invincible, they would, over time, lose their ability to shapeshift, no longer be able to create new things to use against the existing order (instead being able to only make parodies and corruptions of works already made), and take on wounds which would no longer heal.
The great maia, Sauron, would impart much of his remaining native strength into the One Ring so that it would be able to dominate the other nineteen rings of power. When he wore it, the One Ring made him even stronger than before but should the ring be destroyed, it would take with it that native strength Sauron had poured into it so there was a risk involved for any spirit who wished to go against the natural order of things.
It makes me think of how we live our lives and the values and desires we place in things and in people. I feel like I have invested much of my native strength in the wrong girls and it has left me considerably weaker for my troubles. The last time I felt my native strength increasing was when I was in college back in late 1998/early 1999...but mostly in 1998.
I had met many new friends (even girls who found me desirable) and for perhaps the only time in my life, had a near-daily exposure to love and acceptance. I felt a part of something bigger than me for the only time in my life. If I were somehow able to quantify my native strength and add up the percentages of it placed into other people and things and that which is still left in me, the number would be greater than 100% mostly for that time but also for times in my past like it (such as when I started getting to know my Best Friend and other friends both remaining and lost in my life).
My last happy New Year was the changeover from 1999 to 2000. So far, the 21st century has held little to no happiness for me and as I now find myself well into it. I am also less than ten years away from the pivot point whereby I become a 21st century man (that is, soon I will have existed longer in the 21st century than I did in the 20th...another of my weird thoughts/realizations).
But I know I squandered a large part of myself in the First One. It felt only natural and I did so out of ignorance. While foolish in retrospect, how was I to know at the time she wasn't "the one"? First love is foolish love much as is all young love. Still...I miss her and the nervous energy she imparted on me that I was then able to transform into creative and artistic pursuits like drawing, poetry, and most proudly, a constructed language.
The First One would come to be known to me as a personification of idealization. She is what attraction means to me and what it means to be in love. All those who have followed (and even those who preceded) are compared to her, being either greater or lesser. In a mythological sense, she would be the physical manifestation of a god, specifically of Aphrodite. In a different and more modern sense I would describe her as a "genetic attraction", which was most definitely eugenic in nature as I recall myself, even as a young teenager, wanting to merge my DNA with her own as if our respective DNAs would result in a more superior human than she already was. That's a strange thought I admit and to this day, while I would most certainly prefer to do so the, uh..."natural" or "fun" way, I would be happy to have her accept my DNA via artificial insemination just to bring about that genetic fulfillment.
Smaller parts of me would be invested in nearly a dozen other girls and more still in lost friends, but the next great investment was in Digby, the source of many downer posts in this blog. I saw in her a salvation of sorts. She appeared to me as the actual "one" I had been spending my life looking for (and this time a human right from the start rather than the fleshy goddess that was the First One) as I now had many more years of experience and working knowledge of who I am and what I had wanted. I felt able to see our compatibility but ultimately, I had deceived myself...
Don't get me wrong. I still believe with all my heart that Digby is right for me. It's just...what I never considered and what would thus be my downfall, was that it never occurred to me just how cruel nature is when it comes to love. I made the mistake of believing, because I had never properly had it contradicted prior, that compatibility is more of a scalar than what it truly is, a vector.
You see, compatibility has a direction to it: it's not a universal number or quality. Digby is good enough (maybe even ideally so)...but only for me. But I am not perfect for her. It seems an impossible thought but it's sadly so very true.
For the longest time I went through life believing that if you found a person you were compatible with that it was only natural that they too would be compatible with you. It might take some convincing, but I truly believed compatibility was like an equation. In this case, different sets of numbers that added up to the same result (a simplified example being 4+5 = 108÷12 ...seemingly different in all ways but nevertheless, their underlying nature, that they are both manifestations of 9, is the same). But no, compatibility is not a simple equation...it is a vector. The direction compatibility moves in matters (like how whether a targeted item in a supermarket will appear on the left side or right side of an aisle depends on the direction you enter said aisle) and resultant vectors cannot be found simply by adding two (or more) vectors together.
The maddening result of all this grief is the knowledge that you can be great for someone but that you, in turn, are not necessarily great for them. It is a seeming defiance of logic but it is most assuredly true and a depressing truth at that. Perhaps if I had learned that lesson at an earlier age...
Digby would become the personification of desire in many, if not all, of its manifestations and especially representative of my desire to do right by and for a woman; to be her one and only; to be the father, and properly so, to her children; to give of myself that she and my progeny might experience a life most fitting for them. Digby was truly a dream given form...
Now if only I might find that (as of yet unknown) Third One who is this time as compatible with me as I am with her.
However, to get back to my opening statements, I feel I have been living a life without purpose and I have been living this way largely for the last three to seven years depending on your reckoning and arguably I have been this way since finding the First One back in 1992 as fulfillment is not something that would ever be known to me.
Much of my native strength has been spent. It has left me feeling weak and my spirit fragile. It takes so much time now to find even the smallest amount of will to make a move and such strength is all too easily spent resulting in months of recovery from even the slightest of setbacks...time I really don't have anymore as my youth has been gone for some time now.
For the time being, I find myself bound spiritually to my Best Friend but she is not enough. She is like family and family does not represent the future nor does family represent change, whether the family we're born into or the family we choose. Love must ultimately manifest either literally in the form of children or spiritually in the form of a legacy which will outlive our physical forms. Our genes demand from us immortality. For me personally, that satisfaction requires a yin for my yang to be the means, undeniably female, for manifesting that immortality. But I have been denied such satisfaction...
And I feel that's what living with purposelessness is: it is merely survival, not life. The food I eat, the water I drink, and the air I breathe extend my life but mere acts of survival do not grow or obtain for me more life. They permit me only to continue and every day the burden of continuing makes me feel heavier and that heaviness is most certainly wearisome. It is not yet unbearable and while I have no intention of "doing" anything about it, it does leave me wondering just how much more my body can handle before it decides it has had enough or will I find my continuance, my merely surviving, to be corrupting like that of Sméagol as he became Gollum under the One Ring's influence and living on only as a shadow of my former, once hopeful, self,
...a living mockery of a man...
Sunday, November 9, 2014
ABOUT AS MUCH A PROTEST AS BISMUTH-209 IS RADIOACTIVE...
I decided since neither my store nor my union supported me with my latest run-in with management that I would no longer shop at my store. I figure, I will take their money but I will not give any of it back.
I was placed on cash control at the end of September. This is one of the drawbacks of lane accountability. While the upside is that I get to go through a hell of a lot more change (my take of 1978-dated coins, especially quarters, has been WAY higher since my store switched over to this new system), the downside is that the screw-ups of those who worked the lane before (and after) me affect us all.
Anywho, when placed on cash control, I was given a sheet to sign with several rules regarding how I am supposed to conduct myself and control my cash while under this observation period.
This was also my first time on cash control ever. Nearly fourteen years I've been there and it's never happened. Yes, I've gotten the occasional write-up for being over/short (almost always over...I seem to be good at convincing customers to walk out without their money) warning me that if it happened again within a certain period I would be placed on cash control. I never was. I'd get a write-up once, sometimes twice, a year.
Three months into lane accountability and I've been written up three times for shortages. Like the other warnings there is a rollover period where if nothing else happens (I think it's ten days), your reputation is restored...until the next time. The trouble is, this third write-up mentioned that the shortage was excessive so I was placed on CC immediately...
Right away I got into conflict with my manager. He would refuse to prove my till either having me do it myself or not at all despite the CC guidelines specifically stating the manager has to do it. I had also been directed to not leave my register unattended (the till would have to be placed in a cash control bag, sealed, and locked away before I could leave).
The second night he insisted I leave my register without securing it first. And when I protested and finally refused, he sent me home for insubordination. Was it insubordination? Yes. Technically.
It bugged me that he refused to take the thirty or so seconds it would take to lock away my till as directed or that he refused to use another employee who wasn't on cash control...no, it had to be me for some reason. It bothered me that he reprimanded me publicly and in front of other employees (both union no-no's). I was also annoyed that I got sent home for refusing to violate cash control policy and another cashier that same night also refused to do what he told her for the exact same reason and did NOT get sent home. And it irked me that when I returned, he took me aside immediately and insisted I pledge to do whatever he tells me.
I told him I would do what he said provided it does not violate CC policy. For him, this was a yes or no question. He would not accept my modification and sent me home again, pending a union meeting...also my first in all my years there.
I made my detailed statement, gave it to the shop steward, and when I finally got my callback, I was told basically "do the crime, snitch later." My union did not side with me at all. My union would not fight to get my lost pay restored for refusing to follow what I felt was an illegal order. And my store felt the same. Insubordination, period. Completely risking my job now if it happens again.
Now understand, yes...I would've like to have won that battle but that's not really the point as far as I'm concerned. All I needed to hear was the gist of President Luchenko's speech to Sheridan (from Babylon 5) and I would've been fine.
In Rising Star she told Sheridan that his insurrection against President Clark's dictatorship was probably the right thing to do but that he did it the wrong way, the inconvenient way and thus, even though we viewers saw Sheridan as a hero, he still legitimately faced execution for taking up arms against his own government.
Now obviously I didn't go THAT far, but it would've been nice to hear from either side that at least someone believed that I was trying to do the right thing but that I was doing it the wrong way...the inconvenient way and thus I still had to be punished. But I would never get such satisfaction.
Thoroughly demoralized, I knew I couldn't quit my job (I was really, really tempted to). I meant to take a "mental health" day too after that phone call but I ultimately decided not to. The bitch of that decision was when I got into work, I was the only one on my shift who DIDN'T call out. What luck!
I went into a severe depression that got interrupted, but not aborted. When I get very sad I lose my appetite. This was the first time since 2008 that I had gone the no-eating route. I forgot I had agreed to go to a charity dinner that Friday so I had to eat before I was ready to again. By that point, I had gone thirty hours without a calorie. I gorged at the dinner thus refueling my sadness. After that dinner I went another forty hours without food...a new record. My previous record was thirty-six hours (which is also the longest I've ever gone without sleep) so, uh...yay?
I've been fine since but I decided I would no longer shop at my store. I imagine this will become difficult after Christmas when I'm staring at all those discounted M&Ms. I'll have to hope my alternate store will have had the same difficulty off-loading their supply as mine always does.
My alternate store is smaller than my own so its product diversity is not as high. One thing it definitely does not have is my high-fiber Fiber One bread so I've been eating a different brand of ordinary whole-wheat bread.
Here's the thing. I've had hemorrhoids for a good five years now. My asshole still bleeds occasionally (story's taken a turn now, hasn't it?) but since I've stopped eating the Fiber One bread, my asshole's been getting, well...better. So far, it's the only thing I'm doing differently in my diet. Everything else is the same. My poops are smaller too...easier to pass. Is it possible there is such a thing as "too much fiber"? Perhaps.
I've had some hints of blood on my wipes, but not as much and many times now, none at all. It's weird those unintended consequences, right? I inconvenience myself to make purchases at another supermarket, a protest which the accountants will never even notice in their weekly sales reports and it results in me discovering that maybe I've been overdoing it with my fiber intake.
Weird...
I was placed on cash control at the end of September. This is one of the drawbacks of lane accountability. While the upside is that I get to go through a hell of a lot more change (my take of 1978-dated coins, especially quarters, has been WAY higher since my store switched over to this new system), the downside is that the screw-ups of those who worked the lane before (and after) me affect us all.
Anywho, when placed on cash control, I was given a sheet to sign with several rules regarding how I am supposed to conduct myself and control my cash while under this observation period.
This was also my first time on cash control ever. Nearly fourteen years I've been there and it's never happened. Yes, I've gotten the occasional write-up for being over/short (almost always over...I seem to be good at convincing customers to walk out without their money) warning me that if it happened again within a certain period I would be placed on cash control. I never was. I'd get a write-up once, sometimes twice, a year.
Three months into lane accountability and I've been written up three times for shortages. Like the other warnings there is a rollover period where if nothing else happens (I think it's ten days), your reputation is restored...until the next time. The trouble is, this third write-up mentioned that the shortage was excessive so I was placed on CC immediately...
Right away I got into conflict with my manager. He would refuse to prove my till either having me do it myself or not at all despite the CC guidelines specifically stating the manager has to do it. I had also been directed to not leave my register unattended (the till would have to be placed in a cash control bag, sealed, and locked away before I could leave).
The second night he insisted I leave my register without securing it first. And when I protested and finally refused, he sent me home for insubordination. Was it insubordination? Yes. Technically.
It bugged me that he refused to take the thirty or so seconds it would take to lock away my till as directed or that he refused to use another employee who wasn't on cash control...no, it had to be me for some reason. It bothered me that he reprimanded me publicly and in front of other employees (both union no-no's). I was also annoyed that I got sent home for refusing to violate cash control policy and another cashier that same night also refused to do what he told her for the exact same reason and did NOT get sent home. And it irked me that when I returned, he took me aside immediately and insisted I pledge to do whatever he tells me.
I told him I would do what he said provided it does not violate CC policy. For him, this was a yes or no question. He would not accept my modification and sent me home again, pending a union meeting...also my first in all my years there.
I made my detailed statement, gave it to the shop steward, and when I finally got my callback, I was told basically "do the crime, snitch later." My union did not side with me at all. My union would not fight to get my lost pay restored for refusing to follow what I felt was an illegal order. And my store felt the same. Insubordination, period. Completely risking my job now if it happens again.
Now understand, yes...I would've like to have won that battle but that's not really the point as far as I'm concerned. All I needed to hear was the gist of President Luchenko's speech to Sheridan (from Babylon 5) and I would've been fine.
In Rising Star she told Sheridan that his insurrection against President Clark's dictatorship was probably the right thing to do but that he did it the wrong way, the inconvenient way and thus, even though we viewers saw Sheridan as a hero, he still legitimately faced execution for taking up arms against his own government.
Now obviously I didn't go THAT far, but it would've been nice to hear from either side that at least someone believed that I was trying to do the right thing but that I was doing it the wrong way...the inconvenient way and thus I still had to be punished. But I would never get such satisfaction.
Thoroughly demoralized, I knew I couldn't quit my job (I was really, really tempted to). I meant to take a "mental health" day too after that phone call but I ultimately decided not to. The bitch of that decision was when I got into work, I was the only one on my shift who DIDN'T call out. What luck!
I went into a severe depression that got interrupted, but not aborted. When I get very sad I lose my appetite. This was the first time since 2008 that I had gone the no-eating route. I forgot I had agreed to go to a charity dinner that Friday so I had to eat before I was ready to again. By that point, I had gone thirty hours without a calorie. I gorged at the dinner thus refueling my sadness. After that dinner I went another forty hours without food...a new record. My previous record was thirty-six hours (which is also the longest I've ever gone without sleep) so, uh...yay?
I've been fine since but I decided I would no longer shop at my store. I imagine this will become difficult after Christmas when I'm staring at all those discounted M&Ms. I'll have to hope my alternate store will have had the same difficulty off-loading their supply as mine always does.
My alternate store is smaller than my own so its product diversity is not as high. One thing it definitely does not have is my high-fiber Fiber One bread so I've been eating a different brand of ordinary whole-wheat bread.
Here's the thing. I've had hemorrhoids for a good five years now. My asshole still bleeds occasionally (story's taken a turn now, hasn't it?) but since I've stopped eating the Fiber One bread, my asshole's been getting, well...better. So far, it's the only thing I'm doing differently in my diet. Everything else is the same. My poops are smaller too...easier to pass. Is it possible there is such a thing as "too much fiber"? Perhaps.
I've had some hints of blood on my wipes, but not as much and many times now, none at all. It's weird those unintended consequences, right? I inconvenience myself to make purchases at another supermarket, a protest which the accountants will never even notice in their weekly sales reports and it results in me discovering that maybe I've been overdoing it with my fiber intake.
Weird...
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
HAPPY BIRTHDAY...
It's Digby's birthday today. It's been a little over three years since I would last see her somewhat regularly hoping for that chance and never getting it. Yeah, I still kinda miss her. I never said I wasn't pathetic...
This card is so true :-)
This card is so true :-)
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
NOTHING LEFT...
A week ago, my job switched to "lane accountability". Management claimed our supermarket was actually in the minority of stores still not practicing it. While it may be entirely unrelated, our supermarket is also the top one in our area so maybe don't fix what ain't broken?
I've been through lane accountability before. It's where instead of getting an individual till, you share tills with other employees. The lane itself is proven rather than the individual and if the lane is short/over then those cashiers using the lane go on cash control in an effort to discover the likely culprit which...now that I think about it means the method we had been using all along was like being on permanent cash control and it didn't take two steps to identify the problem.
But like I said, I've been on this before and I thought it made sense for my department. I was in the Prepared Foods section and there was only one till and I usually manned it as I had prior experience as a cashier. The trouble was, when we had individual tills I had to wait for a coworker to get a till to relieve me for breaks which sometimes never happened. When lane accountability was introduced, I always got my breaks.
That being said, I think lane accountability makes sense for small stores and small departments within larger stores like my own. Prepared Foods, Pharmacy, and Courtesy would benefit from lane accountability I think whereas the Front End would not. It remains to be seen how this experiment pans out because if too many people end up on cash control, it defeats the point of this practice.
Normally I wouldn't care about this change but then I really don't like my job anymore. It's been going downhill for a long time now, probably as soon as 2004 when the original owner died leaving his sons fully in charge. I think the father kept his sons' selfishness in check because he built up his empire from the ground, starting as just a fruit stand back in the 1950s. His sons inherited an already successful chain.
Micromanagement started hitting us almost right away and it became rather apparent by the next contract negotiation when the store was very big on shitting on new hires. This trend has continued and I really cannot recommend working for my supermarket anymore as you are in no way cared about.
Coupled with the "Great Recession" downturn, it only got worse to work there. I really started feeling like an undesired expense rather than a dedicated asset to the company. I used to care about my company and it has since become clear to me that I have cared about my company long after it had stopped caring about me. I've given a lot of my life to that store that I can't ever get back and the only two things I have ever asked for were to have my hard-work/dedication be recognized by being left alone and by giving me Full Time.
By left alone, I mean trusted to do my duties because they knew I would not slack off and would commit to my tasks at hand and by having that dedication respected when it came to scheduling. For a long time I got that. My schedule was stable enough that it was like getting a salary and management was happy with my performance. I was rarely sick. I've never been injured. I was happy to come to work. They got good value for my wage. And for ten years, I bid for Full Time. And I wanted Full Time simply to guarantee my hours. As a part-timer, technically I could be cut pretty badly if they wanted to. My seniority will only take me so far but it is that seniority that has kept them from cutting too deeply though cut they have. The past two years have seen an average weekly drop of about 1½ to 2 hours.
It is only now by looking back on it that I realized I had only begun bidding for Full Time after the original owner had died. It's not possible to prove, but had I started bidding back in 2001 or 2002, would I have received my wish?
So now we all are increasingly micromanaged, the night shift has to deal with a manager whose continued employment probably counts as a verified miracle leaving him only one more to qualify for sainthood, wages have declined to survival level (not that they were ever fantastic to begin with...I'm still drawing a profit but I don't know how much longer I can keep that up. Last year 98% of my earnings were spoken for before they even got home), workers are made to feel like cogs rather than people, we're judged increasingly on ever less relevant statistics, our union grows weaker each negotiation...it sucks.
And now to top it all off I have had my identity stripped from me. Like I said, if I were happier in my job, lane accountability would not faze me but I'm not: I'm very unhappy at work. I despise having to go there now. My weekends are no longer enough to recharge me for another workweek. I meet each Wednesday night (my Monday) with dread. The only good about a Wednesday is that the shitty manager is off that night so I at least return to some peace. But it's not enough and I can't afford to take three days off.
But at least I had a till with my name on it. It was mine. I made it my own. I sorted things the way I like sorting them. It was efficient and orderly. Now I have a till. It is not my till. It belongs to the lane I have been assigned. It has been run through by all those who used it before me. I have to sort now according to a prescription that goes against 13 years of habit. Sure, I'll adapt...but it's like the last straw, y'know?
I have come to feel like a nothing at my job, as though I were no one. Now I am no one. I am a number when I clock in...not a person. I am a number when I sign in...not a person. I am a part of a whole when proven rather than an individual.
My job has taken away the fun of working there. It has taken away the sense of satisfaction I once derived from working there. It has taken away my dignity by making me into a series of percentages, ratios, and figures. Now it has taken away my identity.
I don't know why I continue to work for them...
Oh, that's right. I know why. It's because I don't have a choice. There are no other jobs near me that will pay a living wage, let alone a survival wage. I am bound to them and they know it and the store shows its contempt for all those whom it employs because it can...because it knows we have no place else to go. Why treat employees with respect when your employees are afraid to lose their jobs? Standing up for myself would be a fool's crusade. Yes sir! No sir! Whatever you say sir! Right away sir!
I hate my job, but I cannot leave my job. My job owns me. There is no escape and it kills me slowly...
I've been through lane accountability before. It's where instead of getting an individual till, you share tills with other employees. The lane itself is proven rather than the individual and if the lane is short/over then those cashiers using the lane go on cash control in an effort to discover the likely culprit which...now that I think about it means the method we had been using all along was like being on permanent cash control and it didn't take two steps to identify the problem.
But like I said, I've been on this before and I thought it made sense for my department. I was in the Prepared Foods section and there was only one till and I usually manned it as I had prior experience as a cashier. The trouble was, when we had individual tills I had to wait for a coworker to get a till to relieve me for breaks which sometimes never happened. When lane accountability was introduced, I always got my breaks.
That being said, I think lane accountability makes sense for small stores and small departments within larger stores like my own. Prepared Foods, Pharmacy, and Courtesy would benefit from lane accountability I think whereas the Front End would not. It remains to be seen how this experiment pans out because if too many people end up on cash control, it defeats the point of this practice.
Normally I wouldn't care about this change but then I really don't like my job anymore. It's been going downhill for a long time now, probably as soon as 2004 when the original owner died leaving his sons fully in charge. I think the father kept his sons' selfishness in check because he built up his empire from the ground, starting as just a fruit stand back in the 1950s. His sons inherited an already successful chain.
Micromanagement started hitting us almost right away and it became rather apparent by the next contract negotiation when the store was very big on shitting on new hires. This trend has continued and I really cannot recommend working for my supermarket anymore as you are in no way cared about.
Coupled with the "Great Recession" downturn, it only got worse to work there. I really started feeling like an undesired expense rather than a dedicated asset to the company. I used to care about my company and it has since become clear to me that I have cared about my company long after it had stopped caring about me. I've given a lot of my life to that store that I can't ever get back and the only two things I have ever asked for were to have my hard-work/dedication be recognized by being left alone and by giving me Full Time.
By left alone, I mean trusted to do my duties because they knew I would not slack off and would commit to my tasks at hand and by having that dedication respected when it came to scheduling. For a long time I got that. My schedule was stable enough that it was like getting a salary and management was happy with my performance. I was rarely sick. I've never been injured. I was happy to come to work. They got good value for my wage. And for ten years, I bid for Full Time. And I wanted Full Time simply to guarantee my hours. As a part-timer, technically I could be cut pretty badly if they wanted to. My seniority will only take me so far but it is that seniority that has kept them from cutting too deeply though cut they have. The past two years have seen an average weekly drop of about 1½ to 2 hours.
It is only now by looking back on it that I realized I had only begun bidding for Full Time after the original owner had died. It's not possible to prove, but had I started bidding back in 2001 or 2002, would I have received my wish?
So now we all are increasingly micromanaged, the night shift has to deal with a manager whose continued employment probably counts as a verified miracle leaving him only one more to qualify for sainthood, wages have declined to survival level (not that they were ever fantastic to begin with...I'm still drawing a profit but I don't know how much longer I can keep that up. Last year 98% of my earnings were spoken for before they even got home), workers are made to feel like cogs rather than people, we're judged increasingly on ever less relevant statistics, our union grows weaker each negotiation...it sucks.
And now to top it all off I have had my identity stripped from me. Like I said, if I were happier in my job, lane accountability would not faze me but I'm not: I'm very unhappy at work. I despise having to go there now. My weekends are no longer enough to recharge me for another workweek. I meet each Wednesday night (my Monday) with dread. The only good about a Wednesday is that the shitty manager is off that night so I at least return to some peace. But it's not enough and I can't afford to take three days off.
But at least I had a till with my name on it. It was mine. I made it my own. I sorted things the way I like sorting them. It was efficient and orderly. Now I have a till. It is not my till. It belongs to the lane I have been assigned. It has been run through by all those who used it before me. I have to sort now according to a prescription that goes against 13 years of habit. Sure, I'll adapt...but it's like the last straw, y'know?
I have come to feel like a nothing at my job, as though I were no one. Now I am no one. I am a number when I clock in...not a person. I am a number when I sign in...not a person. I am a part of a whole when proven rather than an individual.
My job has taken away the fun of working there. It has taken away the sense of satisfaction I once derived from working there. It has taken away my dignity by making me into a series of percentages, ratios, and figures. Now it has taken away my identity.
I don't know why I continue to work for them...
Oh, that's right. I know why. It's because I don't have a choice. There are no other jobs near me that will pay a living wage, let alone a survival wage. I am bound to them and they know it and the store shows its contempt for all those whom it employs because it can...because it knows we have no place else to go. Why treat employees with respect when your employees are afraid to lose their jobs? Standing up for myself would be a fool's crusade. Yes sir! No sir! Whatever you say sir! Right away sir!
I hate my job, but I cannot leave my job. My job owns me. There is no escape and it kills me slowly...
Sunday, May 18, 2014
IS THIS ME...OR JUST ME NOW?
Sometimes I just wish someone I date would take me aside and convincingly tell me in a manner I would no way misinterpret as hurtful that I shouldn't date...that it's not for me because dating/being in a relationship isn't me.
I want to be told that I am meant to be alone because that is who I am. The intent wouldn't be that of a sad ending, but rather an ending appropriate for a mind like mine. That I'm not meant to be pinned to a single soul. That my duty lies in helping others and that I cannot be that man if I am obligated to another solely. Yes, I will be lonely at times but it will not be for naught. Yes, I will be horny at times but there's a way for dealing with that. Yes, I will long for a human touch but it will turn out it is that yearning which allows me to be at my best. A rationale for my life...
I'll admit I, at times, wish prostitution were legal and that I would not feel guilty in partaking. I want to believe that at least some of these women are doing it because they genuinely enjoy and are not otherwise trapped in a cycle of despair or abuse from which they cannot escape. It's difficult overlooking the power of reproductive urges. They're so selfish...so needy...so wanting... If I didn't feel them at all, my life would prove much more bearable. I wish it didn't feel so intoxicating, the desire to feel wanted at that raw, animalistic, sexual level...
I also admit I have a difficult time even imagining being in a relationship. It's weird. I can envision the companionship angle of it...the day-to-day stuff, but not the romance...not the wooing. Those latter aspects feel so unlike me. I love caring for other people in tangible ways but I have no desire to solicit a person to care for.
Eh, I don't know...
I want to be told that I am meant to be alone because that is who I am. The intent wouldn't be that of a sad ending, but rather an ending appropriate for a mind like mine. That I'm not meant to be pinned to a single soul. That my duty lies in helping others and that I cannot be that man if I am obligated to another solely. Yes, I will be lonely at times but it will not be for naught. Yes, I will be horny at times but there's a way for dealing with that. Yes, I will long for a human touch but it will turn out it is that yearning which allows me to be at my best. A rationale for my life...
I'll admit I, at times, wish prostitution were legal and that I would not feel guilty in partaking. I want to believe that at least some of these women are doing it because they genuinely enjoy and are not otherwise trapped in a cycle of despair or abuse from which they cannot escape. It's difficult overlooking the power of reproductive urges. They're so selfish...so needy...so wanting... If I didn't feel them at all, my life would prove much more bearable. I wish it didn't feel so intoxicating, the desire to feel wanted at that raw, animalistic, sexual level...
I also admit I have a difficult time even imagining being in a relationship. It's weird. I can envision the companionship angle of it...the day-to-day stuff, but not the romance...not the wooing. Those latter aspects feel so unlike me. I love caring for other people in tangible ways but I have no desire to solicit a person to care for.
Eh, I don't know...
Sunday, February 23, 2014
MEMENTO MORI...
It was still there when I had returned. We first met in passing that morning on the way home. It was alive then, if only barely, shivering in the snow. Had it been injured? Had it lost its way in the dark, waiting for the morning light to fly away? Had it become ill? Had the past week's heavy snowfalls made it too difficult to find enough food to survive?
I'll never know...
I felt bad for it. The bird was no longer afraid of humans. I could've brought it home with me. Let it warm up some. But I couldn't. I have nothing here to care, even temporarily, for an ailing animal. I left it where I had found it, hoping that nature would take a positive course for once.
But that did not happen...
The bird had frozen to death and was now being buried in the falling snows of that morning. I decided rather than let it lie there, to give it a "burial at sea". I returned its body to the food chain via the local river rather than let it rot out in the open. I can't say that was necessarily more dignified, but that's how it went down.
It died cold and alone and probably scared.
How sad...
Friday, December 27, 2013
WEARINESS...
I'm weary.
There's a certain heaviness that comes with knowing your suffering is pointless.
Now, I want to be clear. I'm not suffering in any physical sense. My body, its organs and limbs, are doing quite well for themselves. I've managed to take good care of myself and avoid catastrophe. But my mind...my mind is weary. I don't want to do this anymore...this purposeless of being...this monotony.
I don't like working for a living. It sucks. I never wanted my life to be defined by how I earned money. I didn't want my life defined by my job but my job most certainly defines my life. I work overnights and I've worked overnights since 2001. I thus keep odd hours and on top of that my job requires me to work weekends...all of them. My job pays me enough to survive but not enough to live. To make ends meet I cannot drive. I can't afford the car payments, the car insurance, and gas & miscellaneous expenses associated with car ownership. You can imagine how difficult this makes it to meet girls. How difficult you (didn't) ask? I went on my first date when I was 33 years old. My job is not responsible for all of that...but it is responsible for enough.
Maybe things will get better... - something I've said for many years, but - ...I'm starting to see a girl at a time every now and again. There's definite improvement over the nearly 20 years of nothing. It's heartening to find girls who will give me a chance despite knowing the difficulties I enter in on...even if the majority of them have been one-date-wonders. Still...I'm weary.
I don't want to work anymore. Not just my current job but any job. I wish I could just stop but the bills won't stop just because I want to. It's frustrating but it's a frustration I feel I could endure if I only had a reason to endure it. I'm not enough. My selfish will to live means less and less to me each day. The only official thing I have to look forward to is New Horizons reaching Pluto in July 2015. I do want to see what this world looks like after all these years. That date is fast approaching and then what?
I feel like if I had a girlfriend or a wife (as I have wanted one since I was 24) and/or a child to raise, I feel I could muster the requisite strength to endure the monotony, to endure the purposeless because I would thus have a purpose. My suffering...my anguish?...it could be rationalized.
I don't like having these fantasies but I will admit one of my darker ones today. Maybe doing so semi-publicly will prove cathartic. I'm not an immediate suicide risk and the reason for that is simple: I've been diligent in saving my money for old age though I've been able to save far less since moving out. The inheritance I received from my father was, in the beginning, less than a third of my net worth. Now it is possibly over half thanks to a rising stock market. Still, it's blood money so I don't want to spend any of it except in my old age. Killing myself would mean leaving all that money behind unused.
What a waste...
What I daydream about when I'm weary is cashing out my IRAs and summing it up with my savings to see what I've got. I keep detailed financial records so I know how much my life costs. Presently, it's just under $20,000 a year. I think my financial happiness would peak at around $30,000 a year take-home pay (I really could give less than a fuck about gross pay...if I don't see it, I didn't earn it so stop using my gross as a basis for aid calculation). I could be happy on the $20,000 if my rent were halved but that won't happen unless I get a girl to move in with me and just getting a girlfriend has proven ridiculously difficult.
But that would be nice...a girlfriend who loves me enough and whom I love enough to want to live together and pool expenses in preparation for marriage. That'd be the best thing that could happen to me both as a human being and financially...someone to share the burden-of-living with. Hell, at this point I would take a fucking cat but my apartment strictly forbids pet ownership and there isn't another affordable complex within walking distance of work...additional sorrow...
My net worth is around $200,000. I don't know what the tax penalty would be if I cashed out all the IRAs I have but even if it was half, and I highly doubt that, I'd still have a minimum of five years worth of money...and if interest rates would ever rise, up to seven.
That's some fantasy. Five years of freedom. The only problem is when the money would run out I know I would not have the courage to kill myself at the end. I'd be a coward and run...or desperately get a job to keep alive, however miserably...but those five years...they could be good ones. Five years to do whatever the fuck I want. I'd be like one of those Inca sacrifices (except they only got one year...I'd get five).
It bothers me because usually I can talk myself out of these fantasies within a few hours. I'm usually just cranky. But this one has lasted a full week and as far as I know will continue tomorrow. I blame my job and by extension myself for not getting out of it while I still could. Almost thirteen years I've put in there. What pisses me off is how the words don't match the deeds. For my entire tenure there I've been told what a good and dutiful employee I've been. I've been given numerous awards in recognition of that. What have I wanted in return? Full time. That's it. Full time. I've been bidding for ten years and still have not gotten it. In fact, in all my years there I have not known anyone to have gotten full time. How shitty of the store. The store doesn't give full time...that's basically what I'm told...yet they have to present bid sheets every six months (which they make a pain in the ass to get). It feels so fraudulent. If they don't give full time and only offer it to satisfy some union demand...it just feels wrong. Like holding a contest but never declaring a winner.
Additionally, despite my glowing reviews, I have been given a pay cut. For the past year I've consistently had about 2 hours cut from my schedule each week. It's not even something I can bump for. It's a very calculated move on my employer's part and it's costing me about $1000 in lost income over the course of a year. My income has been stagnant or falling since 2008. I don't feel like a valued employee...I feel like an unwanted expense.
Word-deed mismatch. I would cry out that I feel like I've earned a little respect from the store but then I feel like I would be met with the same words Lyta Alexander got when confronting Ulkesh over the same idea..."Respect...from whom?"
Hell, I'd even settle for "full-time lite". I'm old school. A full time job to me is a 40 hour workweek. Sundays are paid at time-and-a-half and Sundays are separate from regular pay. The rule for part time is less than 29 non-Sunday hours a week (5 weeks or more above 29 equals automatic full time but my store is just as diligent about preventing that as they are at denying full time status to begin with). But anyway, it's workable within the system. 28 non-Sunday hours plus 8 Sunday hours straightens out to 40 hours of pay. Full time with the status of part-time...but I can't even get that. My historical average was 27.5 + 7.5 which, quite frankly is close enough but nowadays it has been averaging 26.75 + 6.75 which hurts, albeit slowly. It's like death from a thousand small cuts. My budget is already tight as is. I already endure a cold apartment in the Winter (I keep it at 60 degrees and dress warmly...I only turn it up to 72 degrees when I know I'm having company. I have not had company in over a month) and a hot apartment in the Summer (I only turn the air conditioner on when my apartment's temperature rises above 90 degrees and I'm off work or when I have company [see Winter]. In the meantime I sweat it out sitting around in my underwear) so I've already squeezed what savings I can from my electric bill. The only room left for cuts is cable and food.
I know cable seems like an obvious luxury to eliminate and while I have no problem with that conceptually, I am trying to date girls. It's already bad enough that I work weekends, overnights, and can't drive. Must I be without entertainment capabilities as well? How much poverty must I ask a potential girlfriend to endure? But it will go if it gets difficult since I'm already stretched thin enough as is.
I'm sure I'll get over this but it's been a hard week. It's all psychological...it's always been psychological. I've been blessed with a healthy body but cursed with a poisoned mind...
I don't think my problems are as big as I imagine them to be. I can't imagine there aren't throngs of people who'd happily trade their problems for mine. I hate that I even consider that. I want to be selfish at times. I want it to be about me sometimes. Stupid brain...
I wish I were less lonely. I've never been truly alone before. There's always been someone living with me even if we largely ignored one and other. It's been just me for 2½ years now. It's soul-crushing. Someone to pass the time with...someone I could hold and who would hold me...that would be nice. It would be nice to have some of the voids in my soul filled with joy and comfort. Definitely nice...
There's a certain heaviness that comes with knowing your suffering is pointless.
Now, I want to be clear. I'm not suffering in any physical sense. My body, its organs and limbs, are doing quite well for themselves. I've managed to take good care of myself and avoid catastrophe. But my mind...my mind is weary. I don't want to do this anymore...this purposeless of being...this monotony.
I don't like working for a living. It sucks. I never wanted my life to be defined by how I earned money. I didn't want my life defined by my job but my job most certainly defines my life. I work overnights and I've worked overnights since 2001. I thus keep odd hours and on top of that my job requires me to work weekends...all of them. My job pays me enough to survive but not enough to live. To make ends meet I cannot drive. I can't afford the car payments, the car insurance, and gas & miscellaneous expenses associated with car ownership. You can imagine how difficult this makes it to meet girls. How difficult you (didn't) ask? I went on my first date when I was 33 years old. My job is not responsible for all of that...but it is responsible for enough.
Maybe things will get better... - something I've said for many years, but - ...I'm starting to see a girl at a time every now and again. There's definite improvement over the nearly 20 years of nothing. It's heartening to find girls who will give me a chance despite knowing the difficulties I enter in on...even if the majority of them have been one-date-wonders. Still...I'm weary.
I don't want to work anymore. Not just my current job but any job. I wish I could just stop but the bills won't stop just because I want to. It's frustrating but it's a frustration I feel I could endure if I only had a reason to endure it. I'm not enough. My selfish will to live means less and less to me each day. The only official thing I have to look forward to is New Horizons reaching Pluto in July 2015. I do want to see what this world looks like after all these years. That date is fast approaching and then what?
I feel like if I had a girlfriend or a wife (as I have wanted one since I was 24) and/or a child to raise, I feel I could muster the requisite strength to endure the monotony, to endure the purposeless because I would thus have a purpose. My suffering...my anguish?...it could be rationalized.
I don't like having these fantasies but I will admit one of my darker ones today. Maybe doing so semi-publicly will prove cathartic. I'm not an immediate suicide risk and the reason for that is simple: I've been diligent in saving my money for old age though I've been able to save far less since moving out. The inheritance I received from my father was, in the beginning, less than a third of my net worth. Now it is possibly over half thanks to a rising stock market. Still, it's blood money so I don't want to spend any of it except in my old age. Killing myself would mean leaving all that money behind unused.
What a waste...
What I daydream about when I'm weary is cashing out my IRAs and summing it up with my savings to see what I've got. I keep detailed financial records so I know how much my life costs. Presently, it's just under $20,000 a year. I think my financial happiness would peak at around $30,000 a year take-home pay (I really could give less than a fuck about gross pay...if I don't see it, I didn't earn it so stop using my gross as a basis for aid calculation). I could be happy on the $20,000 if my rent were halved but that won't happen unless I get a girl to move in with me and just getting a girlfriend has proven ridiculously difficult.
But that would be nice...a girlfriend who loves me enough and whom I love enough to want to live together and pool expenses in preparation for marriage. That'd be the best thing that could happen to me both as a human being and financially...someone to share the burden-of-living with. Hell, at this point I would take a fucking cat but my apartment strictly forbids pet ownership and there isn't another affordable complex within walking distance of work...additional sorrow...
My net worth is around $200,000. I don't know what the tax penalty would be if I cashed out all the IRAs I have but even if it was half, and I highly doubt that, I'd still have a minimum of five years worth of money...and if interest rates would ever rise, up to seven.
That's some fantasy. Five years of freedom. The only problem is when the money would run out I know I would not have the courage to kill myself at the end. I'd be a coward and run...or desperately get a job to keep alive, however miserably...but those five years...they could be good ones. Five years to do whatever the fuck I want. I'd be like one of those Inca sacrifices (except they only got one year...I'd get five).
It bothers me because usually I can talk myself out of these fantasies within a few hours. I'm usually just cranky. But this one has lasted a full week and as far as I know will continue tomorrow. I blame my job and by extension myself for not getting out of it while I still could. Almost thirteen years I've put in there. What pisses me off is how the words don't match the deeds. For my entire tenure there I've been told what a good and dutiful employee I've been. I've been given numerous awards in recognition of that. What have I wanted in return? Full time. That's it. Full time. I've been bidding for ten years and still have not gotten it. In fact, in all my years there I have not known anyone to have gotten full time. How shitty of the store. The store doesn't give full time...that's basically what I'm told...yet they have to present bid sheets every six months (which they make a pain in the ass to get). It feels so fraudulent. If they don't give full time and only offer it to satisfy some union demand...it just feels wrong. Like holding a contest but never declaring a winner.
Additionally, despite my glowing reviews, I have been given a pay cut. For the past year I've consistently had about 2 hours cut from my schedule each week. It's not even something I can bump for. It's a very calculated move on my employer's part and it's costing me about $1000 in lost income over the course of a year. My income has been stagnant or falling since 2008. I don't feel like a valued employee...I feel like an unwanted expense.
Word-deed mismatch. I would cry out that I feel like I've earned a little respect from the store but then I feel like I would be met with the same words Lyta Alexander got when confronting Ulkesh over the same idea..."Respect...from whom?"
Hell, I'd even settle for "full-time lite". I'm old school. A full time job to me is a 40 hour workweek. Sundays are paid at time-and-a-half and Sundays are separate from regular pay. The rule for part time is less than 29 non-Sunday hours a week (5 weeks or more above 29 equals automatic full time but my store is just as diligent about preventing that as they are at denying full time status to begin with). But anyway, it's workable within the system. 28 non-Sunday hours plus 8 Sunday hours straightens out to 40 hours of pay. Full time with the status of part-time...but I can't even get that. My historical average was 27.5 + 7.5 which, quite frankly is close enough but nowadays it has been averaging 26.75 + 6.75 which hurts, albeit slowly. It's like death from a thousand small cuts. My budget is already tight as is. I already endure a cold apartment in the Winter (I keep it at 60 degrees and dress warmly...I only turn it up to 72 degrees when I know I'm having company. I have not had company in over a month) and a hot apartment in the Summer (I only turn the air conditioner on when my apartment's temperature rises above 90 degrees and I'm off work or when I have company [see Winter]. In the meantime I sweat it out sitting around in my underwear) so I've already squeezed what savings I can from my electric bill. The only room left for cuts is cable and food.
I know cable seems like an obvious luxury to eliminate and while I have no problem with that conceptually, I am trying to date girls. It's already bad enough that I work weekends, overnights, and can't drive. Must I be without entertainment capabilities as well? How much poverty must I ask a potential girlfriend to endure? But it will go if it gets difficult since I'm already stretched thin enough as is.
I'm sure I'll get over this but it's been a hard week. It's all psychological...it's always been psychological. I've been blessed with a healthy body but cursed with a poisoned mind...
I don't think my problems are as big as I imagine them to be. I can't imagine there aren't throngs of people who'd happily trade their problems for mine. I hate that I even consider that. I want to be selfish at times. I want it to be about me sometimes. Stupid brain...
I wish I were less lonely. I've never been truly alone before. There's always been someone living with me even if we largely ignored one and other. It's been just me for 2½ years now. It's soul-crushing. Someone to pass the time with...someone I could hold and who would hold me...that would be nice. It would be nice to have some of the voids in my soul filled with joy and comfort. Definitely nice...
Saturday, May 11, 2013
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
I hate working. I hate having to spend so much of my life doing something for which I have never been given a choice. And this isn't because I work a shitty job. It wouldn't matter what I would be doing to earn money. The problem would still remain: I was never given a choice in the matter.
What do I mean? I mean the idea that one has to earn money for a living. We were all born under that regime. There can be no job I can ultimately enjoy doing because any job, by its very nature, would REQUIRE me to do it. It's that MUST aspect of working that drives me to despair.
I value leisure and by that I don't mean being a lazy asshole. If I come across that way at all it is because my time off from work is so short. I haven't been "free" since the Summer of 1996. And a week off from work just doesn't cut it. All that week off does is get me used to the idea of being off just in time to go back to work. Vacations are almost more cruel than not having vacations. At least my weekend is part of the flow of my week. A vacation is a tease of the worst kind...
So it got me thinking, what is the price of my freedom? In other words, how much money do I need on an annual basis to cover my life the way I wish to live it? I make almost $28,000 a year now and barely eke out a living from it. I don't drive because I can't afford it so while I'm keeping a roof over my head and food in my belly (and internet for my mind), it's hardly affording me a "lifestyle". I've learned how to live without driving but I'm going to assume I'll need it for this equation.
Now I know this number won't be accurate because I don't know how the taxes would work. For me, the price of freedom is the amount of money you would need in an interest-bearing account that it pays enough in interest to cover your annual expenses thus removing the need to work for a living. Now this doesn't preclude you working or volunteering. No, what it does is remove the NECESSITY that you work. It makes working a CHOICE; something you've never had before when it comes to employment. Now you can do what you've always wanted to do because you know you're covered by this bank account.
See, I'm assuming you can't collect Social Security based on interest income so you're probably not paying the FICA tax, just the Federal and State income taxes. Therefore, I'm guessing that an annual taxable income of $35,000 would not only cover my life's expenses (and a car) but leave enough left over for activities as well. Any money unspent could always be returned to the fund. Might even be a good idea to do so on account of inflation and variable interest rates.
Anyways, so what amount in the bank would cover that $35,000 annual income? The amount, of course, varies because the interest rates keep changing. The highest my CDs ever earned was 5.15%. I locked in on a 3-year CD for 2% a couple years ago and that same 3-year goes for 0.9% now. The highest my bank offers is 1.25% on a 5-year CD. Just terrible rates.
But let's use that 1.25% as our basis. I'm going to pretend that 1.25% represents the floor for interest rates that can be gotten. Thus in higher years, your account will grow in value producing greater income. With that said, the current price of my freedom is, get this, $2,800,000. Yup. 2.8 million dollars. Interest rates are so low that at that amount, with no interest at all, just withdrawing $35,000 a year, it would last 80 years which is longer than my projected lifetime by almost 35 years.
If the interest rate were 3%, the price of my freedom would be approximately 1.2 million dollars. I have less than 15% of that total.
The point of this entry? That I will never be free...
What do I mean? I mean the idea that one has to earn money for a living. We were all born under that regime. There can be no job I can ultimately enjoy doing because any job, by its very nature, would REQUIRE me to do it. It's that MUST aspect of working that drives me to despair.
I value leisure and by that I don't mean being a lazy asshole. If I come across that way at all it is because my time off from work is so short. I haven't been "free" since the Summer of 1996. And a week off from work just doesn't cut it. All that week off does is get me used to the idea of being off just in time to go back to work. Vacations are almost more cruel than not having vacations. At least my weekend is part of the flow of my week. A vacation is a tease of the worst kind...
So it got me thinking, what is the price of my freedom? In other words, how much money do I need on an annual basis to cover my life the way I wish to live it? I make almost $28,000 a year now and barely eke out a living from it. I don't drive because I can't afford it so while I'm keeping a roof over my head and food in my belly (and internet for my mind), it's hardly affording me a "lifestyle". I've learned how to live without driving but I'm going to assume I'll need it for this equation.
Now I know this number won't be accurate because I don't know how the taxes would work. For me, the price of freedom is the amount of money you would need in an interest-bearing account that it pays enough in interest to cover your annual expenses thus removing the need to work for a living. Now this doesn't preclude you working or volunteering. No, what it does is remove the NECESSITY that you work. It makes working a CHOICE; something you've never had before when it comes to employment. Now you can do what you've always wanted to do because you know you're covered by this bank account.
See, I'm assuming you can't collect Social Security based on interest income so you're probably not paying the FICA tax, just the Federal and State income taxes. Therefore, I'm guessing that an annual taxable income of $35,000 would not only cover my life's expenses (and a car) but leave enough left over for activities as well. Any money unspent could always be returned to the fund. Might even be a good idea to do so on account of inflation and variable interest rates.
Anyways, so what amount in the bank would cover that $35,000 annual income? The amount, of course, varies because the interest rates keep changing. The highest my CDs ever earned was 5.15%. I locked in on a 3-year CD for 2% a couple years ago and that same 3-year goes for 0.9% now. The highest my bank offers is 1.25% on a 5-year CD. Just terrible rates.
But let's use that 1.25% as our basis. I'm going to pretend that 1.25% represents the floor for interest rates that can be gotten. Thus in higher years, your account will grow in value producing greater income. With that said, the current price of my freedom is, get this, $2,800,000. Yup. 2.8 million dollars. Interest rates are so low that at that amount, with no interest at all, just withdrawing $35,000 a year, it would last 80 years which is longer than my projected lifetime by almost 35 years.
If the interest rate were 3%, the price of my freedom would be approximately 1.2 million dollars. I have less than 15% of that total.
The point of this entry? That I will never be free...
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
IT'S A NO-GO...
The customer I had mentioned in a previous post came into work on February 1st. I approached her immediately and wasted no time (for once) in asking if she was seeing anyone or not. She said she was.
Damn...
Despite having had little emotional investment in her, the rejection still hurt. Who am I kidding? It always hurts. It only lasted the night, but it still hurts...
Back to the Online Dating Site drawing board.....
Damn...
Despite having had little emotional investment in her, the rejection still hurt. Who am I kidding? It always hurts. It only lasted the night, but it still hurts...
Back to the Online Dating Site drawing board.....
Saturday, January 19, 2013
ANALOGIZING DEPRESSION
One way I can define my depression is that I have not only not had a weekend off in almost twelve years but that I also have not had to turn down any offers to go anywhere because of it.
I've also noticed when things like Girl Scout cookies for sale come up, I am never asked if I want to buy any. I have never made a point to say I don't buy into such things, I just don't get asked. I don't even feel it's being done maliciously; more like, it never occurred to them to ask. I don't get asked to chip in for things like a going-away present for a departing long-time co-worker or to be involved in party planning (such as bringing a dish). I suppose some people might envy this particular problem, but it does get to me every now and then.
Alone in a crowd.....
I've also noticed when things like Girl Scout cookies for sale come up, I am never asked if I want to buy any. I have never made a point to say I don't buy into such things, I just don't get asked. I don't even feel it's being done maliciously; more like, it never occurred to them to ask. I don't get asked to chip in for things like a going-away present for a departing long-time co-worker or to be involved in party planning (such as bringing a dish). I suppose some people might envy this particular problem, but it does get to me every now and then.
Alone in a crowd.....
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
SOMETHING SOMETHING POST...
Wow, I haven't posted for a while. It's certainly not for a want of things to write about. I'm just not doing it. A symptom of depression? I don't feel depressed but I guess that doesn't mean I'm not.
It's strange. I have free time, roughly the same amount of time I've had since starting this blog, yet I feel like nothing is getting done in my life. I've cut things out of my life, like Opie and Anthony, which were great consumers of my free time yet I did more then. It's like what once took me a minute to do is now taking two minutes. My "work" has expanded to fill the time allotted to complete it and perhaps beyond the allotted time. Is it because we have a MUZAK player at work that I've been listening to far less music at home? I used to watch all my weekly recorded television during the week I had recorded it. I did a Babylon 5 rewatch for two months this year and while that created a backlog of television on my DVR, I had a backlog before that point, and I watch less TV now than I did when I started this blog. I also have a bunch of movies, some more than a year old on my DVR still unwatched not to mention DVDs which were purchased that are still in their packaging.
While having a girlfriend, yes, is technically taking up some of my time, Costello is not taking up that much of it, so I don't know. Is this one of those sea changes in my life? Things sorting themselves out and resettling into a new paradigm? I'm still thinking it's a quiet depression because I want to do things but I'm just not finding the motivation to get any of it started let alone done. I've been wanting to try my hand at drawing again - I haven't done so with any seriousness since 2000 so yeah, it's been a long time. I've wanted to try making a drawing which would be suitable for a Facebook cover photo but not only have I not done so, I haven't even touched one of my drawing pencils. I remember just wanting to color again but could not find any coloring books that weren't about fucking cartoon characters. I just wanted nature scenes or even cityscapes and to buy me one of those Crayola 64 color crayon boxes and have at it. Mom got me a colored pencil kit and some pictures to color in. I don't remember what year it was but I had the boxes before I moved out in 2008. They're still there...unused. I want to color them, but I haven't done so.
Maybe it's money? It's been tight since living on my own. I'm pulling a profit but not enough of a one to justify buying more than necessities and to treat myself once-monthly to Chinese takeout. I've been using my Income Tax refunds to buy fun things but the things I like are expensive so that money got used up pretty fast. I want to save at least 10% of my income annually. So far this year I seem on track to do just that, but that means I won't have any extra for spending on myself. That in of itself is depressing. It would be nice to just be able to get stuff. It makes me angry at my last roommate because I was finally at a place in my life where I could afford to start buying stuff for myself again whether frivolous or to grow my coin collection, and I did start too - first time in three years - and it felt nice...like I had surmounted a hurdle, and then my roommate loses his job and decided that having one wasn't all that necessary throwing my life back into a chaos. I've been living in this apartment long enough now where I can start seeing year over year expenses and they're not good. I don't have a lot of leftover cash and most, if not all, of that is already set aside for retirement savings or gets eaten up by inflation.
I feel my thoughts wandering on various subjects...at least my mind is still active. At this point, I'm not even sure if I want a girlfriend but I'm not acting on it because she's still new and that has been my modus operandi all my life: opposition to change until the change becomes normal and then changes to that become opposed. It's like my Dad would tell me: when I was young, I didn't want to go to the beach. I would complain the whole way there, but once we got there and I found things to do, I didn't want to leave. Yes, I was a jerky kid :-)
But I asked myself, if this does not work out with Costello, then what? And as of now, I feel like I would not try for another girlfriend. I feel like I've gotten what I had wanted and that it would be enough. I could live my life no longer wondering.
Like I said, I'm probably going through another depression or I'm being that jerk-ass kid again and soon everything will be "normal" again...
It's strange. I have free time, roughly the same amount of time I've had since starting this blog, yet I feel like nothing is getting done in my life. I've cut things out of my life, like Opie and Anthony, which were great consumers of my free time yet I did more then. It's like what once took me a minute to do is now taking two minutes. My "work" has expanded to fill the time allotted to complete it and perhaps beyond the allotted time. Is it because we have a MUZAK player at work that I've been listening to far less music at home? I used to watch all my weekly recorded television during the week I had recorded it. I did a Babylon 5 rewatch for two months this year and while that created a backlog of television on my DVR, I had a backlog before that point, and I watch less TV now than I did when I started this blog. I also have a bunch of movies, some more than a year old on my DVR still unwatched not to mention DVDs which were purchased that are still in their packaging.
While having a girlfriend, yes, is technically taking up some of my time, Costello is not taking up that much of it, so I don't know. Is this one of those sea changes in my life? Things sorting themselves out and resettling into a new paradigm? I'm still thinking it's a quiet depression because I want to do things but I'm just not finding the motivation to get any of it started let alone done. I've been wanting to try my hand at drawing again - I haven't done so with any seriousness since 2000 so yeah, it's been a long time. I've wanted to try making a drawing which would be suitable for a Facebook cover photo but not only have I not done so, I haven't even touched one of my drawing pencils. I remember just wanting to color again but could not find any coloring books that weren't about fucking cartoon characters. I just wanted nature scenes or even cityscapes and to buy me one of those Crayola 64 color crayon boxes and have at it. Mom got me a colored pencil kit and some pictures to color in. I don't remember what year it was but I had the boxes before I moved out in 2008. They're still there...unused. I want to color them, but I haven't done so.
Maybe it's money? It's been tight since living on my own. I'm pulling a profit but not enough of a one to justify buying more than necessities and to treat myself once-monthly to Chinese takeout. I've been using my Income Tax refunds to buy fun things but the things I like are expensive so that money got used up pretty fast. I want to save at least 10% of my income annually. So far this year I seem on track to do just that, but that means I won't have any extra for spending on myself. That in of itself is depressing. It would be nice to just be able to get stuff. It makes me angry at my last roommate because I was finally at a place in my life where I could afford to start buying stuff for myself again whether frivolous or to grow my coin collection, and I did start too - first time in three years - and it felt nice...like I had surmounted a hurdle, and then my roommate loses his job and decided that having one wasn't all that necessary throwing my life back into a chaos. I've been living in this apartment long enough now where I can start seeing year over year expenses and they're not good. I don't have a lot of leftover cash and most, if not all, of that is already set aside for retirement savings or gets eaten up by inflation.
I feel my thoughts wandering on various subjects...at least my mind is still active. At this point, I'm not even sure if I want a girlfriend but I'm not acting on it because she's still new and that has been my modus operandi all my life: opposition to change until the change becomes normal and then changes to that become opposed. It's like my Dad would tell me: when I was young, I didn't want to go to the beach. I would complain the whole way there, but once we got there and I found things to do, I didn't want to leave. Yes, I was a jerky kid :-)
But I asked myself, if this does not work out with Costello, then what? And as of now, I feel like I would not try for another girlfriend. I feel like I've gotten what I had wanted and that it would be enough. I could live my life no longer wondering.
Like I said, I'm probably going through another depression or I'm being that jerk-ass kid again and soon everything will be "normal" again...
Saturday, July 7, 2012
MY LIFE IS NOW A SEINFELD EPISODE...
My life at times really feels like an endless chorus of, "Well, we have some good news and some bad news."
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
FACEBOOK CUTTING ROOM FLOOR
It's been a while since I've done a Rejected Facebook Statuses dump. So let's begin, shall we?