The More Things Change [Journal 7-10-17]

Community – Somewhere Out There.

Last night, I was more suicidal than I’ve ever been – though I’d say I specifically wasn’t depressed, more numb. The reason being the current situation, and the now-pressing need to find work and move out. Yes, I could stay, now being even more tolerant of my roomies’ irrational sensitivities, but I’d prefer to relax when home. Plus, the prospect of getting my own place is a pleasant thought. Not having to clean up after filthy people, then pretend I was wrong for doing so! Not having to listen to their stupid shit and pretend their childish behavior is interesting/acceptable! Luxury.

The same thoughts as usual motivated those suicidal impulses: the suspiciously consistent and well-timed misfortunes that plague my life; the prospect of living the rest of my days surrounded by squares, and the inevitable betrayals/sabotages their kind are seemingly instinct-bound to enact upon me. Plus, living in Seattle, rent in expensive unless in a houseshare; I honestly didn’t know if I could live alone off an easily-acquired job’s pay – and don’t have a specialized skillset. Honestly, if I’d had a gun last night, I might be dead right now. That might have literally set humanity back, culturally, hundreds of years.

But, I convinced myself to live. I thought: “I can get my old job back, working as a mobile repairman. I don’t have to interact with people intimately over long periods of time there, so no one will have any reason to sabotage me. The pay will afford me a studio apartment.” I didn’t especially want to go back to that job, but it seemed like a good fit, and the best option. Plus, my friend is still there, and working together really puts me at ease. And I really enjoy repair work.

So I called the office, talked to the owner. When I quit that company, I gave two weeks notice, there weren’t any issues, etc – they even paid me for sick days and such that I didn’t take, which they weren’t supposed to. The owner also personally thanked me for following through on the notice. And the senior techs were all gracious to me, even specifically saying that I should come back if I needed to. I was actually liked there. Well, as usual, luck shits on my life.

Shortly after I’d left, the State got pissy about us working on equipment without electrical licenses. Nevermind that the company’s been doing it for over 15 years without issue. Nevermind that the equipment is too simplistic to be seriously electrically dangerous. Nevermind that we specifically call in electricians for real electrical work. Anyway, the owner said she couldn’t hire me without an electrical license, which I don’t have, and would take far too long to get. Doesn’t seem like she was lying, as my buddy confirmed they haven’t hired in a long time.

So there goes the fucking plan that pulled me outta suicide. I was mildly shocked after that news. But, like a good little soldier, after a few minutes staring blankly into space, I went out looking for other jobs. In Seattle, the minimum wage is set to slowly become 15 an hour over the course of the next couple or so years. But, all but one of the places I asked, paid 15 now. Why, I don’t know or care. What I know is that at 15 an hour, I can afford a shitty studio apartment. Which suits me just fine, presuming it has a kitchen. I will not be in good neighborhoods, but those people leave me alone, and I talk their language. As for dealing with the usual savagery, when at work: I just have to improve my social engineering.

Money will be tight, given the area’s often-ridiculous utility rates [I was at one apartment complex that charged, without fail, 159 a month for water/sewer], the 220 or so I pay a month toward college loans [which I should have adjusted, but I stupidly didn’t expect to get backstabbed again], the base rent of 1000 [if I’m lucky], etc. But I’ve never had issues with money before: gaming has taught me to be exceedingly efficient, cooking saves allot of money, and I honestly don’t spend money on anything but cigarettes, a few cheap video games, and thrift-store books/cloths. I doubt I’ll be able to save much, but fuck it.

So, if I can physically and mentally manage to work fulltime again, I should be gravy. Assuming Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb can keep their fucking hands to themselves for however long it takes to move out. I should be able to find work, despite the massive gap in work history, due to my aforementioned ruse of taking the time off to try writing professionally. Also, the work at the shelter, that letter of reference that added to my others, and the shelter owner being aware of, and supporting, the writing pseudo-lie.

I’ve got a little cash to work with if I get a job by the end of the month, and about 2.8k worth of credit I can tap if necessary [I could have raised it when I was working, even gotten more cards, but I’ve just never used it], my last month’s deposit which the owner agreed to pro-rate me if I moved out early, and my truck that should net me 500 minimum. Assuming I keep myself going, and stay away from suicide, I should be good.

Then, fucking maybe, I can properly heal up from the depression, and go on about my fucking life in quiet peace. Ah, and a new idea/emotion is stirring in me: the joy of proving to garbage people they’re garbage, through politeness – more on this later.

Cainamolagem a tsuj m’i ebyam ro. Oh, and to reiterate and clarify: if I don’t come back, one of these lunatics fucking killed me – because I fucking had the audacity to clean up after them, and behave like a mature adult. If I’m gonna kill myself, I’ll let you know beforehand.

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~ by Louis Naughtic on July 10, 2017.

4 Responses to “The More Things Change [Journal 7-10-17]”

  1. I think the general idea is that suicide is overrated… it does however make for some great conversation… albeit one leaning a little more towards morosity than is usually deemed polite, etc.

  2. I recall, watching.. no I can’t remember the name of it. But it was a documentary on slave labor camps in Korea. They were interviewing a former prisoner, whom had escaped. He said that the “[intellectual] types all killed themselves,” because of how grim life was in the camps.

    As stated in other entries: my problem is the juxtaposition between what is right and proper, and what is. If I genuinely believe that life around me cannot be just and sane, and that all my efforts are for naught, then I simply see no point in tolerating it.

    But I’m not to that point yet, and may never get to it: the autobiography section of the blog will show that I’ve faced quite a bit, and only became stronger for it.

  3. Stronger or angry? You are a tormented soul and I am left wondering how horrifying these series of unresolved life events were for you… but you are such a gifted writer !! You exceed all others! Your writing is beautiful! It is captivating, real, brutal, raw! And it inspires me to write even more not because we have so many differences as you might think but because of our similarities!! Pursue that dream to write professionally !! I look forward to buying your first novel ! And I’m glad you are still with us because you have so much left to offer in your beautiful words! And the term ” the sleeper”… reminds me of some of my favorite music! Keep expressing your life using a pen and paper and maybe someday you will see just how good you really are !!

  4. Both. But there’s nothing wrong with being justifiably angry – only in being weak enough to be controlled by said anger. And I wouldn’t go so far as to say “tormented.” “Lacking motivation,” “at the end of my rope,” “fed up,” “sick of it all,” and such, to be sure.

    And while I appreciate the gesture, no one needs to tell me how amazing I am.

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