It occurred to me that the claustrophobic geography of this country is the biggest reason why everything sucks. Why there is so little cultural diversity, why popular opinion really is popular opinion, why it's near impossible to just meet a genuinely interesting person without going out of your way to do so... and even then you'd be lucky if you do. Everything's too close dammit. There isn't the depth of culture or the range of landscape or the spaces inbetween to guarantee any kind of tangible difference in attitude. Obviously, if you want to get microscopic, it's there, but true diversity is in no way fundamentally present. With such a tight-knit populace, social-programming is very easy to achieve through media. I read some of a magazine for the first time in an age today. It was a woman's magazine, and the three minutes I spent with it told me exactly why 98% of the girls I meet in this country are so sexually-backward, hung-up and painfully boring.
Anyway, I hate this place. When I moved into my new apartment recently, back in this town again, I vowed to give myself 1 year to achieve something significant, or drop everything and move on. I've also recently given my life a time-limit too, as I said before. What do I mean? To remove any ambiguity, I plan to suicide in a little over 2 years if nothing is any better. Dec. 31st, 2006. What's the point? The threat of my depression taking my life is an unwanted distraction and is wearing me into nothing. So I reasoned with it and said it can take my life for sure, but only after I've had a fair chance to beat it. I guess the urgency is an important motivation.
I figured the reason I'm in this funk is because most of the time I'm either down or up in extemis. When I'm up, the paper-thin veil of false euphoria is enough to reassure me that life is just dandy, so I make no effort whatsoever to improve it. When I'm down, it takes every effort just to not die; the thought of actually doing something pro-active to dispel the darkness so monolithic I cannot move, I cannot act. And the times in between, the times when I'm neither, that's when I get anything done. And these days, I'm getting that balance once a month. Maybe twice. It's not enough.
I'm in five bands now. It's farcical. The one I care most about is fourth on the list so far as activity goes, but only becasue it's special and I don't want to fuck it up by rushing it. Plus, two of the bands above it on the list are so darn easy we did our first gig with an hours practice - an hour before the show - under our belts. And it was successful. Punk just isn't hard in any way. But it is fun.
If I move, I'll possibly jeapordise four of these bands. The most active of all, I'd try to keep alive, but I figure so long as I have my pet project, I'm happy. So, I might move to London next summer. That's the point. Take my one personally significant band and hit the biggest show in the UK, shit or bust. It'd leave me a bit over a year on the old suicide-clock to succeed sufficently to keep the wolf from the door. Something has to. And you're not here any more.
Anyway, I hate this place. When I moved into my new apartment recently, back in this town again, I vowed to give myself 1 year to achieve something significant, or drop everything and move on. I've also recently given my life a time-limit too, as I said before. What do I mean? To remove any ambiguity, I plan to suicide in a little over 2 years if nothing is any better. Dec. 31st, 2006. What's the point? The threat of my depression taking my life is an unwanted distraction and is wearing me into nothing. So I reasoned with it and said it can take my life for sure, but only after I've had a fair chance to beat it. I guess the urgency is an important motivation.
I figured the reason I'm in this funk is because most of the time I'm either down or up in extemis. When I'm up, the paper-thin veil of false euphoria is enough to reassure me that life is just dandy, so I make no effort whatsoever to improve it. When I'm down, it takes every effort just to not die; the thought of actually doing something pro-active to dispel the darkness so monolithic I cannot move, I cannot act. And the times in between, the times when I'm neither, that's when I get anything done. And these days, I'm getting that balance once a month. Maybe twice. It's not enough.
I'm in five bands now. It's farcical. The one I care most about is fourth on the list so far as activity goes, but only becasue it's special and I don't want to fuck it up by rushing it. Plus, two of the bands above it on the list are so darn easy we did our first gig with an hours practice - an hour before the show - under our belts. And it was successful. Punk just isn't hard in any way. But it is fun.
If I move, I'll possibly jeapordise four of these bands. The most active of all, I'd try to keep alive, but I figure so long as I have my pet project, I'm happy. So, I might move to London next summer. That's the point. Take my one personally significant band and hit the biggest show in the UK, shit or bust. It'd leave me a bit over a year on the old suicide-clock to succeed sufficently to keep the wolf from the door. Something has to. And you're not here any more.
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Dude, this is exactly what I'm going through. I'm either extremely happy with life and not wanting to change a thing, or I'm so miserable I don't have the energy to change anything. I've recently sold all my belongings and I'll be leaving soon to travel around America. I've found some odd jobs in Florida as post-hurricane clean-up and a blueberry farmhand. I'm scared to death, but hopefully it'll change my outlook on things a little. I'm only worried about my friendships I have here... I really love my friends, but I'm terrible at keeping in touch. Woah...how'd you do that? You just got me to pour my heart out. My instict now is to erase all this, but then I'd have just wasted the last few minutes.