I’ll be in a different space when this publishes. Different job, different experiences… different lifestyle? The space I’m in as I’m writing this in late August is mostly a negative space. The veneer is nice and I’m meeting great people that are generous with sharing themselves, yet deep down, it doesn’t feel right. There are malaise and disquiet rumbling underneath my psyche. Why isn’t it good? Let’s explore, to help the “me” of October 13th.
Let’s start with that: ennui.
I’ve been going at this career path for 10 years now, and a thought crept in as I was deciding if I should write this: I didn’t study for 4 years, and put myself through 10 years of precarious situations, learning from many greater minds than myself in this field, to sit in that chair at work and pretend to be busy all day. Why pretend? Because, surely, the alternative will be a talking to by a passive-aggressive perfectionist about how I should do this or do that – oh wait, I was told before not to do this or that by this same person. I am not to be trusted under any circumstance.
What a fucking drag, man.
Work shouldn’t have this kind of hold on us. We should, when work is done, focus on what makes us happy. For the well-adjusted people out there, it’s easy to turn that off. For me, and maybe for my sober friends or people knee-deep in their alcohol or drug of choice out there, we can’t turn that off. Work invades my psyche. I can’t bill for the thoughts that creep into my mind. They prevent me from wanting to go to work sometimes, and occasionally those thoughts will devilishly guide my fingers in the form of a sick day email. I’m sick enough on most days. It’s not that suddenly I just got a cold. It’s that my tolerance weakened to the point where that cold that had been lingering all week just became too unbearable.
Because sometimes it’s just so damn hard to put up that same front, wear the same mask, and pretend that everything is fine. I just wanna say fuck it and just go back to bed, or watch some anime, or escape into some nice story setting where things make sense, there is no chaos, and things follow an internal logic. The unexpected is quickly accepted within a story. Life is this gooey thing that we can mend, control, bend, guide, befriend, follow, or that. It’s not a great feeling when you’re going along and some extremely violent thought pops into your head. When they happen frequently, that’s when it’s time to slow down. But how do you slow down when speeding up is the only way to get out?
Maybe that’s why people accept their lives?
If nothing can be done about the fire, get burned at work or where ever, then go home, do what you can to chill out, rinse, and repeat, right?
I fight to change that.
This career is good writing fodder. Yesterday morning, I woke up with that slight dread of going into work and in crept Jane’s side of the Sammohini Arc of “The Story” like a demon that had just let itself in after the holy water disappeared in the side of my mind palace. What a vicious story! I almost feel bad for her, except, this is how it unfolded in my mind and really, let’s be honest here: 80% [or 60%] of this is autobiographical.
Let that sink in for a moment before we dive in deeper.
I don’t think I’ll call it the Jane Arc – if only because her story is so closely tied to Sammohini’s story – or more realistically, her stories will be so violent and apprehensible that I’m not sure how they could be marketable.
Let me provide some context.
The boss at my current contract reminds me of the worst boss I’ve ever had, except, the current boss doesn’t have the balls to go all in like Mr. X did. If you can imagine an abusive relationship where gaslighting were the norm, amplify that. While I hate to inflict those sorts of situations on any character, it is through those stories that I might receive catharsis myself, and if there’s anything positive to say, they will take place before any of the current appearances by Jane. This is her experience with the Upper Eville Library, mirroring mine, where fiction is used to tell a greater truth, about how we all just want to do our best but can’t, so after a while, we just say fuck it and rebel against our true nature by slacking off or generally being a terrible employee.
Is that all?
I’ve been feeling sick off and on for the past few months.
That might be because of stress and lack of sleep. This gig’s been great for a few areas, but it’s also taken a toll on my health and my general sense of well-being. I am writing this right now with a major headache behind my left eye. It’s probably just me pushing myself too hard. I woke up 17 hours ago and have been basically working ever since then, with short respites here and there. I am unhappy with this situation. Let me have more of this time. If there’s nothing for me to do, let me go home early. You don’t have to pay me. My time is more valuable than these last few hours, that’s what I always think, but there’s nothing I can do about it, because if I leave this job early, who knows where the next job will appear? What if this is the best I can get?
There will be no victims here. You are not a victim of your circumstance. I am not a victim of my circumstance. We may have terrible experiences. They should be what propels us toward acting in our best interests. What enables us to find peace. Ideally, we should be like dogs in a constant zen state, not worried about the past that binds us or the future that binds us, but in a state of bliss that we just are what we are in our current moment.
I didn’t really arrive at any greater truth.
There wasn’t any big message to be had, but it was still nice to write this without a word count constraint, just letting the ideas flow from my head on the keyboard and displayed up not the screen. I think we’ll end this here.
See ya tomorrow at 7AM.
|Sources: My professional experiences, I guess.|
|Inspirations: Figuring out what’s wrong. You tell me.|
|Photo: Seattle skyline|
|Written On: August 28th [30 minutes]|
|Last Edited: August 28th [0 minutes]|