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What to sacrifice in these dark times

March 12th, 2009

Here’s a list of things that I allow myself in life, and the things I’m sacrificing to keep them.

I get:

  • Time.  Plenty of free time to do what I want.  Sometimes that means laziness, others it means being creative. I never get up before nine. I get a three day weekend every week.
  • The following things are always on hand at home: cheap beer, frozen pizza, breakfast food, and coffee. I eat like shit and I know it. I probably drink too much. I’m impatient with food.
  • Trips to Caffetto if the walls start closing in. If you don’t go out because you’re trying to save money, going out for coffee is a good alternative
  • A band to play shows with. This is a good alternative to a social life, and a lot of times, you get a nice package deal: you get to go out, see a show, play a show, and you get paid a little. Plus playing and practicing with other people forces yourself out of your own head.

I lose:

  • Income.  I haven’t paid rent this month yet.  Car insurance is due. I don’t save money.  It’s out the day it comes in.
  • A social life.  I don’t care what people say.  Love costs money.  I don’t go out to eat. I’ll go to a show to see a particular band, but I’m in no position to be buying anybody their drinks. I don’t do dates. Every person I’ve ever been with, we just skipped that part and went right to “relationship.” I try to be nice to people but sometimes I come off as rude or anti-social. I don’t play games and I’m not going to be someone I’m not or try to get you to like me. I try to not try too hard. I’m alone in this world and I’m trying to accept it.
  • My passenger seat.  It had to come out because my driver’s side door is stuck shut, so I had a choice: pay to get it fixed or find some other means of getting in and out of the car without giving myself a new bruise everytime. (Delivering pizza, you can easily get in and out of your car up to 20 or 30 times a day.) There’s also no air filter in my car and it’s leaking oil somewhere.
  • My mental health.  I’m not clinically depressed.  I get depressed when I get tired of fighting for my own well-being.  I get bitter when I look at society and see the kinds of work that gets rewarded and the kind that gets overshadowed.  I get upset about how successful people use their resources.  And I hate that there’s nothing you can do about it unless you become one on them.  Lately I’m reading way too many people’s facial expressions toward me as saying “fuck you, I’m better than you.”
  • Hope for the future.  I tell myself, if I’m going to be living like this the rest of my life, then who cares about saving for the future?  If this is my plateau, then maybe the end is something to look forward to.
  • Material possessions, family (breeding) and empowerment.  These are things I never much thought I’d have anyways.  I always figured that by forfeiting my chances in these areas, it would open up for me those avenues which I wanted to go down.  I was wrong.

Is it worth it?


I went out tonight.

July 6th, 2008

One of the big root causes of my depression is that I value life too much.  With all the possibilities and complexities, I’m disappointed in myself for not doing more with it, disappointed with others for perpetuating easy terrain, and disappointed with the world for degrading hope in favor of destruction and preserving the power of an elite segment of society.  It all seems really silly, half the shit we worry about, when put into the context of the absolute inevitable.  Death.

Possibility dissolves in death.   Suicide prevents possibilities worse then death.  To me, there are none.  Suffering is still experience and thus life.  The more I understand my role in the world, the more I realize how much I’m going to have to fight to fulfill it, and the further time goes on, the more tired I get.  That’s how the fantasy perpetuates itself.  If you reward fantastic thinking, realists become outsiders, and it doesn’t matter if anyone is right or wrong, only who follows.  Then you see how a flawed society can grow cancerous.  Were there such a thing as a collective consciousness, which there isn’t, we would stop to diagnose the cancer and remove it.  But society is not the sum of its parts, rather it is its average.  My difference to the world is canceled out by someone else’s, making it impossible to make any impression deep enough for me to sustain my own existence on my own terms.  But it’s the fact that my experience is my own, beginning and ending with the blood flowing into my brain, that makes it worth it.  It’s not a happy thought for me to think that that’s all that’s keeping me alive.