31 May 2010

Narcisus blinked.

It's a long slog between enlightenments. Purpose is parsecs away. I didn't even get into that goddamn fucking skills link job search program. Like, as if I WASN'T one of the 10 out of 20 applicants that could really benefit (ie, get one measly low wage job) from some job search training, instead of applying under coercision or for gratuitous reasons - okay, I'll accept welfare instead. So, I will resume looking for work, and dress nice for interviews, and not "nice" in a gay way, but in the stupid normal way, that may tilt the odds slightly in favor of getting hired for a position where nice clothes will be ruined in the first five minutes. But I will not get my hopes up anymore.

I feel pretty sick tonight. This phase of guilt and depression is lasting longer than it usually does. But I've been here before, it's like artillery raining down on the battlefields, I'll just sit here in my wet trench and aspire to trenchant wit, and something will come down the pike that might offer a reprieve, eventually. Sounds like some of my Nelson friends are having their own crises. Well, folks, I can empathize.

I kind of put myself in a predicament, by getting into all this sobriety stuff. I told on myself. Now it seems kinda premature. Like I should have had to be told, should have gotten into real trouble, like near-death. Now all my fun must answer to the promises I made, although I try not to make promises any more, it becomes a grotesque parody. My fun – yes, it’s not that fun anymore. That’s the situation I meant to set up for myself, so I could stop myself from going any further down the path that could lead to near-death, or beyond it. Smart thinking, I guess, even though it necessitates so much guilt and drama, and not fun movie-style drama, but just white trash jerry springer drama, which is even worse because my friends and family are not white trash, but nice people, and the juxtaposition is so, bleh.

Hi frequency, shrill, hummingbird sugarwater abuse. And I can’t write about this anymore. If I hear the word addict, I’ma gonna scream. I’m gonna do some more tidying up. I’ll sterilize later.

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Maybe I do wanna be a sucker. Maybe it's better than a pointless sense of superiority. Miserable sense. Maybe better to get suckered in ...