Journal Entry 10-9-16

Sweeney Todd – No Place Like London.

Forgive me Internet, for I have sinned. It has been 8 days since my last confession. I’ve had one cigarette since then, and seek to absolve my crime. Aside from interfering with writing, the absence of nicotine has been tolerable. But fuck me is writing hard without cigarettes. I’ve spent the last 2 days rewriting.. maybe 20 paragraphs of 4 posts. Ridiculous.

That aside, nothing exciting to report. I spent about 5 hours of today without internet. As usual, it was a bottomless nightmare permanently damaging my soul. The cause of this catastrophe was one of my roommates, whom has difficulty interacting with tech-service.

He was changing the internet password, and it went south due to rampant incompetence. The pass has to be changed monthly, because the manchildren withwhom I live, and sell internet access to, have difficulty paying their cut on time. I don’t know what I did to deserve my life.

Work’s  been fine. I’m of course getting physically fitter, and mentally fitter from that. The constant social engineering required to manage my boss and coworkers is tedious, but with only 3 people to manage in a labor environment, its relatively tolerable. I still take days and hours off whenever I feel – usually working 24 hours a week.

The boss had me manage an offsite job with one of his other employees – a druggie burnout. While superior to having the obsessively micromanaging boss there, the burnout is nevertheless a problem. I have an affinity with the lower classes, but still, more engineering is required of me.

I detest engineering hopeless causes. Simply detest it. There’s fun to be had in exploring concepts involved with human nature, but its not remotely worth tolerating people whom need to be parented. As they say: “Anyone smart enough to be a politician, is smart enough not to be a politician.”

Metacog’s going slow, as depression’s lessening has subsequently lessened my motivation. And I figure, with little-to-no chance of finding suitable company, there’s little reason to make self-improvement my life’s work. Instead, I distract myself while hiding from the boorish world.

Video games, shows, books, music, cooking. Anything to take my mind off my situation. I’ve recently adopted listening to, and watching, more songs and movies about -successful- love. I find it silly, as they’re usually so sappy, dramatic, and naive, but it allows me a moment or two to imagine my dreams fulfilled.

The activities don’t make me happy or content, but its fun – distracting. I’m afraid that the distraction won’t remain effective forever, however: it seems that, more and more, I’m simply losing interest and going back to metacog. Perhaps the knowledge that the distractions will end, and I’ll return to my empty life, diminishes my enjoyment. Also that, simply, I cannot truly forget my life.

Perhaps also, my aging body, with its new aches and pains, is guiding me away from distraction and toward metacog. It seems the cigarettes masked the magnitude and permanence of numerous problems. Oddly, I had a nose-bleed without cause, the other day. That’s never happened in my life, though it was good to be reminded of the once familiar sensation.

Funny, now that I’ve more or less successfully quit, I am in desperate need of them: I have nothing else that satisfies me; maybe that’s why I always smoked. Every day, I ask myself how much longer I want to put up with life alone, how much longer I want to live in a world populated by savages. Ah well, I’ll keep trying as long as I have it in me, then find myself a gun.

Though the thought of committing to suicide offers an interesting question: with no commitments left, what would I do? I suppose blow it all on hookers and good food; there’s nothing else I really want. Suppose I could do some hard drugs, though I never have before.

Ha, imagine that – me on hard-drugs. Maybe I go a little crazy, repay some of the bullshit humanity has been kind enough to constantly leave at my door. That, actually, is a comforting idea. Course, much as I’d like to, I doubt I could: behaving akin to the masses is not an appealing concept. Lucky idiots; I could repay their debts, and the accumulated interest, in full.

Journal Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on October 9, 2016.

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