If the quantity of dollars you have can amount to the number of problems in your life, I have exactly 151 problems, plus 31 cents of a problem. It’s interesting to have such a small amount of money to your entire name, it changes the feeling of money. It makes it more itemized, like each literal dollar in my pocket feels like an object. The idea of money is no longer an idea, not some swirly metaphysical theory but an actual number of items you can see, like the way you’d look at how many books you have on a shelf. In a split second, it makes it feel more manageable. Then you come back to reality and realize you are shit and so is your life.
I’ve spent most of my days running from myself. I fear the darkness. All this financial insecurity is fertile ground for the darkness to come back with a vengeance. I fear its presence and it’s invasion of my body. So lately, all I’ve managed to do is wake up everyday with a minute by minute escapism plan. Activities to keep me distracted from myself. Makeshift solutions to long terms problems.
I just need some reprieve. I might guess what feels the shittiest about it is the knowing sense of isolation and when that’s not there it’s replaced with the sense of being a burden.
I’ve kept up this relationship with the tiny Greek in a blazer. I have this ridiculous, brute and mindless love for her. Coupled with an apparent and complete ego-centric reference system for morality. Fuck. It’s quite lovely if you don’t think about it. Which I excel at. Then when you think about it you realize you are shit and so is your life.
There’s a couple of phrases that I continuously hear in my mind. Trusted friend #1 says: “Don’t lose your integrity.” Trust friend #2 says: “Don’t be a pussy.”
I tell myself I’ll do these things tomorrow.