Ripper Street S5;E6 – 15:30 [Journal 11-8-17]

Hozier – Cherry Wine.

So, I’m pretty suicidal.

Work continues to suck. Chef made some changes to get Blackass to leave me the hell alone, as well as lighten my load some, but that doesn’t really change anything, given that the source of the problem is a company full of shitheels.

So, five days ago, I told him that I would be quitting: that he could take it as a normal two weeks notice, or adjust my schedule to 2-4 days a week, and that I’d give him as much notice as possible once I find a new job – which might take months.

He happens to be in that day, but it was the middle of the rush, so we barely talk, and he says he’ll be back to talk later in the night. He doesn’t come in later. I’ve seen him three times since, and we haven’t talked about the problem.

I didn’t except more from him, so that’s not really the motivation for suicide; it’s constantly being surrounding by morons whom, at their best, are tolerable. During the “depression vacation,” it was merely the realization of humanity’s savagery that kept me hiding from the world; now, I have to regularly be burdened by it while working at absurd speeds.

So, at work, I deal with what I hate most in life – bad people constantly diminishing the quality of my life while I have absolutely no power to stop them. Then, when I get home, I have to deal with whatever fresh hell my mildly schizophrenic Landlordess is obsessively creating – today, it’s halving my available shower time, which is a sadly important thing to me.

So, same as usual motivations for suicide: helplessly watching worthless people ruining everything around them, including my life, and themselves. The good news is I don’t think I’m actually depressed. Oh, I think it’s important to note that I’m note drinking – I only did that for a week or so, at work, after closing; I stopped because I was becoming dependent. I am smoking though.

But, due to the absurd workload, I’m physically and mentally fit – still chubby though. It’s just that I’m constantly dealing with these fucking savages – watching everything turn to shit. That being all that I ever see, with the exception of entertainment art, I just don’t really.. care.

So, again: I’m not in emotional turmoil, I’m not in physical or mental pain.. I just don’t get much return on my investment of energy: I deal with savages, who will never be anything more than detrimental to themselves and everything around them, and what I mostly get in return is more of their completely irrational expectations.

So, then what? I’m just looking at my life like.. I guess a spreadsheet analysis? I just don’t much care to live, given the small amount of joy I get out of life vs. the ceaseless and ever-increasing bullshit. It’s strange to me; I’m not numb to my situation. I’m just tired, and see no rest in the future. Just doesn’t seem worth it, is all, and I’m not afraid of death.

But, I’m not pulling any triggers yet. I’ve got.. maybe 4-5 thousand, so enough to quit this job, and hopefully move into a new place. Maybe things improve, and I feel like life is giving back. Maybe I change my mind, spend a lazy afternoon building a zipgun, and kill myself in this schizophrenic’s shower – as a final “Fuck You.”

She’d probably be the first person I’d ever “gotten back” at. You people don’t deserve me. You deserve sterilization and a boat to the proverbial Australia, where you can celebrate your depravity unhindered by your delusions of decency.

My apologizes to Australia.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on November 8, 2017.

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