My head isn't real clear about a lot of things a lot of the time. Last night I had to send a rather apologetic email to a professor of mine for having missed an exam due to having gotten the date wrong. I even knew what the date was, but my mind just didn't focus on that fact that the date was yesterday.
Another time I was talking on the phone with an ex-gf who's in grad school and I couldn't remember what year she was going to graduate. She told me later that she was on the verge of never speaking to me again after that. But she told me later that she had come to understand what was up with me after watching a tv show about pathological liars, where they were described as in a sense being unaware that other people exist.
I have all this anxiety about jobs and money, cars, bills, expectations of me on the part of others. It comes together in my head and gut like a sticky blob of tar. I walk out to get my mail and I love the openess of the air and daylight but I don't let myself stay in it, I go inside and worry about things, work, money, looking for jobs, not knowing whether I should admit on applications that I've been fired for surfing the net at work, cars shaking themselves apart, mechanics asking me if I'm sure I want to do the repairs because the car is such a POS, but I need to have it for the jobs I sometimes have. I have my bike, but what if there's a hurricane and I need to get to work? Do I sell the bike and get the car fixed, get religion so I can pray that something else doesn't go wrong with it? Or buy another car and hope that that one lasts better than this one did?
I do have a temp job and a funcitioning bike and my employment prospects have some glimmers of hope on the horizon. But the anxiety is sort of a continuous siezure of worries about things the overwhelms your mind in a murky obsession, dark cloudy sticky heavy dread of disasters waiting around the corner to pounce on you just when you thought you were safe.
I have a tendency to dislike my writing compared to that of others. It seems to me that a lot of other people have a more limpid and poised style, reflecting how their thoughts are so clear and logical compared to mind. Mine are this great knot of tied up knots of emotion that I feel in my gut; and maddeningly obsessive analyses of the things that have been said to me and that I have read and that have happened to me, me trying to untangle the gordian knot that you tie yourself and your heart and mind into when you just don't deal with things. For me life is like one continuous process of that trial Prince Baron (timothy dalton) has flash gordon take where you stick your hand into that stump, it being a test of your bravery, cuz that giant scorpion thing might sting you. every job listing, every envelope containing my bank statement or a bill, every time I take the car into the shop for an oil change or to get inspected, or going to the dentist, is a hole in a stump and some of the holes have scorpions in them, and it's all I can think about, like a heavy draght of molasses weighing in my guts, tensing my neck and leaving me in a sort of blurry semiwakefulness to lots of things that people who can handle things are more fully alert to. I wish I was one of those people who could handle things well enough to be able to bring himslef to deposit a check in the bank wihout being afraid or what the receipt reports of my balance.
And I know full well that there is absolutely nothing that anyone can do for me, and that I just have to pick myslef up and deal with it. In a certain sense there is absolutely no point in having written this, as some might point out there are people who have far more serious problems than I and that I am perhaps beneath contempt for having let myself get into the condition I'm in. Decadent, a child. I don't know whether to hate the world or myself, or what to think of the world when I see beautiful spring days like today but my mind cannot get over how demoralizing the ugliness and tedium and desperate need for things to work that is the world of jobs and money. Healthy people can somehow sort these things out and be OK. At least I am assuming that there are in fact healthy people and they they can do things that I would imagine that healthy people deal with a lot better than me.
Maybe I'm too pitiful to be worth reading but I guess a journal should at least be honest if it's to mean anything. So that's my shit for today. Thanks for reading if you have, maybe you know something I don't already know, tell me.
Another time I was talking on the phone with an ex-gf who's in grad school and I couldn't remember what year she was going to graduate. She told me later that she was on the verge of never speaking to me again after that. But she told me later that she had come to understand what was up with me after watching a tv show about pathological liars, where they were described as in a sense being unaware that other people exist.
I have all this anxiety about jobs and money, cars, bills, expectations of me on the part of others. It comes together in my head and gut like a sticky blob of tar. I walk out to get my mail and I love the openess of the air and daylight but I don't let myself stay in it, I go inside and worry about things, work, money, looking for jobs, not knowing whether I should admit on applications that I've been fired for surfing the net at work, cars shaking themselves apart, mechanics asking me if I'm sure I want to do the repairs because the car is such a POS, but I need to have it for the jobs I sometimes have. I have my bike, but what if there's a hurricane and I need to get to work? Do I sell the bike and get the car fixed, get religion so I can pray that something else doesn't go wrong with it? Or buy another car and hope that that one lasts better than this one did?
I do have a temp job and a funcitioning bike and my employment prospects have some glimmers of hope on the horizon. But the anxiety is sort of a continuous siezure of worries about things the overwhelms your mind in a murky obsession, dark cloudy sticky heavy dread of disasters waiting around the corner to pounce on you just when you thought you were safe.
I have a tendency to dislike my writing compared to that of others. It seems to me that a lot of other people have a more limpid and poised style, reflecting how their thoughts are so clear and logical compared to mind. Mine are this great knot of tied up knots of emotion that I feel in my gut; and maddeningly obsessive analyses of the things that have been said to me and that I have read and that have happened to me, me trying to untangle the gordian knot that you tie yourself and your heart and mind into when you just don't deal with things. For me life is like one continuous process of that trial Prince Baron (timothy dalton) has flash gordon take where you stick your hand into that stump, it being a test of your bravery, cuz that giant scorpion thing might sting you. every job listing, every envelope containing my bank statement or a bill, every time I take the car into the shop for an oil change or to get inspected, or going to the dentist, is a hole in a stump and some of the holes have scorpions in them, and it's all I can think about, like a heavy draght of molasses weighing in my guts, tensing my neck and leaving me in a sort of blurry semiwakefulness to lots of things that people who can handle things are more fully alert to. I wish I was one of those people who could handle things well enough to be able to bring himslef to deposit a check in the bank wihout being afraid or what the receipt reports of my balance.
And I know full well that there is absolutely nothing that anyone can do for me, and that I just have to pick myslef up and deal with it. In a certain sense there is absolutely no point in having written this, as some might point out there are people who have far more serious problems than I and that I am perhaps beneath contempt for having let myself get into the condition I'm in. Decadent, a child. I don't know whether to hate the world or myself, or what to think of the world when I see beautiful spring days like today but my mind cannot get over how demoralizing the ugliness and tedium and desperate need for things to work that is the world of jobs and money. Healthy people can somehow sort these things out and be OK. At least I am assuming that there are in fact healthy people and they they can do things that I would imagine that healthy people deal with a lot better than me.
Maybe I'm too pitiful to be worth reading but I guess a journal should at least be honest if it's to mean anything. So that's my shit for today. Thanks for reading if you have, maybe you know something I don't already know, tell me.
I hear what you're saying.
Something to say... how about, it's not what you know, it's who you are.