Merry Christmas, Emotions. [Journal 12-25-17]

The White Buffalo – Highwayman.

I seem to regularly make journal entries discussing emotionally impactful events, then forget to thoroughly address my overall emotional state – which seems more important to me. Oops. I try changing that.

Though perverse minor social events occur constantly at work, I’m trying to prevent it ruining my mood and derailing my thoughts with hatred and sorrow. Yes, I’m surrounded by peasants, and drown in the corruption they exude. Yes, my life would be absurdly better in the company of real people. But becoming emotional over the situation accomplishes nothing, so I’m kind of.. just getting bored with the anger and sorrow?

It’s a strange emotion, to me. I still hate these shitbirds; I’d happily bury most of them given the choice; but.. I suppose I feel like I’m literally babysitting. I’m the only adult, and I have to stop the kids from getting themselves killed and breaking everything – because that’s what an adult does. I don’t take pride in it; I certainly don’t take pleasure in it; I’m definitely not rewarded for it; it just needs to be done for there to be anything resembling order at my workplace.

I think that’s the nature of the emotion: tolerating these peasants just needs to be done; no reason to feel any emotions about it – like cleaning a room.. though I like cleaning. Lol. But so, along with doing far more work than I should be due to my coworkers’ idiocy, insanity, and selfishness, I also social engineer them into choosing to grow the fuck up.

I’m essentially, subtly, pointing out these animals’ own savagery to them, juxtaposing their childishness against my upstanding behavior. Do it slow enough, and they respond with shame and guilty, rather than the lashing out that I’ve regularly inspired in the past; another reason for their not lashing out, is that they desperately need a real worker to hold that shitbox together.

Why bother with all the engineering, instead of just hiding behind a face of polite and distant professionalism? Misplaced hope, I suppose: I hope they’ll grow up, and thus my life will improve with their maturation. Plus, it’s a great outlet for my anger: I enjoy proving I’m a better person than peasants who let their filth pour onto me, rather than stooping to their pathetic behavior of tick-for-tack – both through cleaning up after their laziness and incompetence, and through showing them their corrupt and immature natures.

Em. Other than that.. cigarettes have been making me feel like shit again. I’ve been smoking about 4-6 a day since the last journal post. Thankfully it’s not sharp kidney pain, and my regular lung-pain is still tolerable, but I’m feeling more and more exhausted, stiff, achy.. and as if my chest is going to burst. The combination of high physical workload, high emotional and mental stress, and cigarettes, is ruining my lungs/heart. Wanna quit, but it’s hard given my life being very emotionally taxing.

On that note, I am feeling better overall. The main reason for this is my new apartment, giving me solace from pustulant imbeciles – whereas I previously lived with persistently bothersome roommates. Finally being able to relax and sleep without interruption, being able to cook and eat at my discretion, and not constantly being submerged in savagery, let’s me recover. Still pissed about my fucking pathetic hot water tank, which I was told was much better, but I’m tolerating it.

As to the specific shape of my emotional state: like with my coworkers, I’m learning to tolerate my life; all the bad just needs to be dealt with; I’m trying to learn to not care while dealing. I try to hope for a better future. I regularly, accidentally, recall good memories, which causes pangs of emotional pain – this never used to happen. I cry when I can, I metacog when I can; I’m usually too wound up with work and life’s infinite bullshit to focus. Suicidal impulses are down.

I’m getting more and more attached to the idea of seriously committing to writing professionally, but I’ve still yet to really write anything down. While the idea of having a passion that could eventually pay off gives some comfort, I assume the fear of losing the comforting dream keeps me away: what if I try writing, and I either don’t like it, or am not good at it? Then what do I have?

Well, on another fine Christmas, it’s not family, friends, or a woman. To be fair, Mr. Fister invited me to his home again, and I turned him down so that I could take a FOUR FUCKING DAY BREAK WOOOHOOOOO!!! I feel guilty, as he’s a good friend to me, but damn I need this. I got me a turkey to cook and a bunch of fixings, and I’m gonna do a new Let’s Play With My Heart. I’m hoping it’ll be fun.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on December 25, 2017.

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