Here’s a multi-faceted thought experiment: What if you’ll live to be 100 years old, unless you do something expeditiously stupid? You’ll live the same life you are now. When you die, you retain your experiences, then move onto the life of one of nine other people. In that new life, how much would you return to? Would you re-experience that which you disliked five lifetimes ago without provocation or strong arguments? Would you take on everything?
My fears are always lingering, like when we peer out from behind the curtains of our mind’s eye out into the void where an unknowable creature lumbers, and yet, where are they really? Is it in the truck that swerves too close into your lane because of the sharper curve in the road or because of the first rainfall in weeks? Is it the passerby that might become aggressive? Do fears have a physical address?
I have nearly two shelves in my refrigerator dedicated to caffeine. Those energy drinks, along with a coffee machine with enough for some time, are like my mind’s way of saying I’m not really over with addiction. It’s just transferred to something less harmful, perhaps. My gut has felt rotten occasionally for a few weeks now. It might be hunger. It might be excessive caffeine. It could just be not scheduling enough time for sleep.
I was joined on my morning commute by a grasshopper. They are weird little creatures, especially in pre-dawn morning hours, looking like malformed aliens of some distant reality, or ourselves on bad days where instead of addressing our root issues or practicing self-care we lash out at others, but maybe less ugly. This one had rested on the lower left part of my windshield and hung on as I drove out of my apartment-mansion complex.
There are mornings where I wake up to the screaming of yesterday’s thoughts, their agonizing recreations of contorted events plaguing my routine. I know it’s all imaginary, but sometimes, like the ants that appear out of nowhere and after I clean up after them only to see them still there, it’s difficult to turn away to continue my absurdist façade. These are the “some” days that are worst than “most.” Here are my coping mechanisms.
I noticed something curious after starting to consume the low caffeine, high high-fructose corn syrup concoction, taken about 30 minutes after a 30-minute nap concluding my workweek: I felt uncharacteristically starved. I scavenged my fridge for carbohydrates. Nothing seemed to satiate this hunger perhaps provoked by this red syrup or perhaps by my disregard toward my mind’s eye and body with consuming such garbage even for a casual experiment. Why the sudden fascination with energy drinks?
I’ve found good things about every job, gig, or whatever I’ve ever had. Whether my colleagues made the bosses tolerable, the location allowed some fun exploration, or the work was satisfying enough, when my mind flashes visions of the stairwell at this company or the workbench of that company, I always feel a melancholy nostalgia until I remember the rest of that job and how this one’s worst is better than some gig’s best days.
It costs 37.36263736263729¢ per day to run Better Zombie. The roughly $400 I spent over the past 3 years have yielded more positive results than anything else I’ve ever spent on myself. It took me almost 30 years to realize that I enjoy writing more than playing videogames or any other recreational activity, and once I did, vistas have opened for me to navigate and control, yet not just in regards to the mental and physical processes of writing.
With increasing consistency, I’ve been getting worse and more diverse headaches than in recent memory. They are the sorts of headaches where, having awoken ready to live your best day, you’re struck down. It’s punishment, but with an unknown cause. On days like these, plans are irrelevant, writing is a chore, and anything more than being awake for a few hours is a pain. This headache is like an invisible spike impaled my right eye.
The can of soup cost X. The gasoline cost Y. The materials required to make my lunch cost A, B, and C; sometimes more, sometimes less. The apartment-mansion costs Z daily. When we are granular with our spending, we realize how much potential for regret there is over how much money we’ve squandered on this or that. That’s too bad, right? It’s easy to say we should focus on our future. What about financial vicissitudes?