The Road To Hell
Complaining about the weather in 2014 seems to be the norm. As much as I would like to appreciate the cooler temperatures and lack of overbearing heat and humidity, all the rain, cloudiness and lack of sunlight has been deeply affecting my psyche. I never realized how much I relied on the sun for mental wellness until I endured this past winter, only to have a genuine spring and summer robbed from our area by the lake and its affects.
Right now it feels like a late September day outside. Autumn has always been my favorite season but I am just not ready for it. The gray, miserable view out my window only agitates my tenuous grip on stability and teases my depression.
As the work week started yesterday I endured a severe (if not common) sense of pointlessness in my job. Sitting at our new office yesterday, going through the motions. Anytime a suggestion of making a major change at one of my clients came up, I felt my body clenching and the stress levels inside me peaking. I only just want to get by at work... I don't want to do more. I don't care about the future of my clients. I just want to make it through to the end of the day and go home.
Our Monday meeting was followed by yet another trip to the Greek restaurant a few buildings over from ours. I just endured about 3 years of lunch every Monday at the same breakfast place in the South Loop. I had to deal with constant food poisoning and general states of nausea every time I entered the place. The promise of this new location was the endless array of options for lunch in our new suburban area.
This will never happen of course. The Boss already seems to be contently orgasmic with this Greek place and now I am cursed to endure endless Mondays with these people I work with slurping grilled squid off their plates. The nausea was quick to set in yesterday. And I don't just say I am nauseous to paint some flair onto my distaste for this place. I say it to mean I really do become physically ill sitting at the table smelling the foul odor of their seafood dishes.
The future is about as bleak as it ever was there.
Now I am "working at home" today but not really doing much of anything. Just feeling the pointlessness of it all again. Hoping against hope no customers bother me while at the same time swimming in waves of anxiety over the fact I have not even submitted my time from the beginning of July yet. And I will need to figure out or make up what I did for half of those days since I pretty much did what I am doing right now: Nothing.
I think for the most part people want to live a life of meaning. Now whether that meaning is something personal, or selfish, or charitable... it all depends on the individual. I wish I could have some meaning in my life. I try but fail.
The project at my sister's house was supposed to bring some meaning to my life, while I did some good for my sister and accomplished something for myself. It has instead been an arduous, unending disaster and waste of effort. Completely thankless. Perhaps if I had the time to dedicate full, consecutive days to it I might make a dent. Instead, I am going every few weeks to see her dogs destroying what efforts I've made. My depression smashing up against hers, causing me to pull-back in defense lest my misery become intertwined with hers.
Earlier I was reading about volunteer work at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I've followed news from the site off and on for a few years now. A couple years back I considered sponsoring a family there. But, with my own pathetic financial situation I knew I could not make that commitment. Even as I since wasted countless dollars on frivolity in my life instead of focusing on relieving my debt.
There are volunteer programs there where one can take a "working vacation" and spend a week doing construction and other projects on the reservation. Unfortunately, the cost of volunteering alone is almost $500 and that does not include the cost of travel out there. The hilarious irony that volunteering and charity of time costs too much money to give.
I do think "well, there are probably people right here in Chicago who could use help"... but I feel such contempt for "the poor" around me here. Clearly, perception can be ridiculous. But, I don't hear the natives on Pine Ridge constantly whining about their state like I do from the poor people (I see up close) in Chicago. Perhaps, while I adamantly protest against any white guilt or privilege towards other races here in Chicago, maybe I feel some white guilt towards natives?
Somewhat ridiculous considering none of my ancestors were here to oppress the Native Americans. And when they did come, at least assuredly my Irish ancestors were not treated very kindly. But, we are not allowed to mention that sort of racism these days... because, while other races can whine about their treatment from 100, 200 years ago... I can't reference mistreatment of my ancestors because of my "white privilege"... apparently.
I just feel some connection with the native people. I do not know why. I do not think it is guilt. I have always found what I have read about their cultures fascinating. The idea of the world where they lived before Europeans came here seems like a utopia to me. Am I influenced by a Hollywood idea? Do I not know what I am talking about? Who can say. I just wish I could know that life, that past. It seems the closest thing to how we were meant to live I've read about.
Thinking more on life, purpose, poverty and all that I was thinking of how connected I am to all my physical possessions. It seems very logical to me I don't need any of them, but at the same time I feel a strange fear of losing them if I were put in the position of giving them up for some other life. It seems silly, but there it is. A flaw in human nature I suppose. All my DVDs, all my music... I don't "need" it to have a quality life, yet the thought of giving it up.... I guess I'd have trouble doing that. So, what does that say about me as a person and my character.
I have lots of "ideas" about the kind of person I wish I was. The kind of "good" I'd like to do. But, in the end I am complacent and corrupt. I'm not better than anyone else. All I have are intentions... my whole life is a list of intentions. How much have I done? And what is the value of the things I have accomplished?
I spend much energy (and considerable coin) playing the lottery. A pointless endeavor if there ever was one. I know full well that money is not the solution to a better life, yet I fantasize about being rich so I can quit my job, not be a prisoner to my debt and, in theory, be able to live this grand life of adventure and charity. Yet another excuse. There always seems to be something to blame for why I cannot do the things I want or be the person I want to be. All the worse because I am fully aware of the condition.
Being aware I suppose is a blessing though. I would not want to be going through life blind and unaware. I may see myself as merely in the back seat, looking out the window on some drive I am not controlling. I don't think that is completely true. I've done things in the past, whether they could be branded "good" or charitable or self-improving... it is really up to each situation and my interpretation of it. And whether or not I choose to believe there is also a greater force in the universe evaluating what I do.
I know I do not live the life of a saint. I am no missionary. I may not be much of anything. I am only rarely even the guy who takes the handful of his change from the console of his vehicle and dumps it into the cup of some beggar on an off ramp. I don't trust human beings enough to want to give all that often. It reminds me of a quote I like that has been ringing through my head the past 20 minutes:
"I hate mankind, for I think myself one of the best of them, and I know how bad I am."
Right now it feels like a late September day outside. Autumn has always been my favorite season but I am just not ready for it. The gray, miserable view out my window only agitates my tenuous grip on stability and teases my depression.
As the work week started yesterday I endured a severe (if not common) sense of pointlessness in my job. Sitting at our new office yesterday, going through the motions. Anytime a suggestion of making a major change at one of my clients came up, I felt my body clenching and the stress levels inside me peaking. I only just want to get by at work... I don't want to do more. I don't care about the future of my clients. I just want to make it through to the end of the day and go home.
Our Monday meeting was followed by yet another trip to the Greek restaurant a few buildings over from ours. I just endured about 3 years of lunch every Monday at the same breakfast place in the South Loop. I had to deal with constant food poisoning and general states of nausea every time I entered the place. The promise of this new location was the endless array of options for lunch in our new suburban area.
This will never happen of course. The Boss already seems to be contently orgasmic with this Greek place and now I am cursed to endure endless Mondays with these people I work with slurping grilled squid off their plates. The nausea was quick to set in yesterday. And I don't just say I am nauseous to paint some flair onto my distaste for this place. I say it to mean I really do become physically ill sitting at the table smelling the foul odor of their seafood dishes.
The future is about as bleak as it ever was there.
Now I am "working at home" today but not really doing much of anything. Just feeling the pointlessness of it all again. Hoping against hope no customers bother me while at the same time swimming in waves of anxiety over the fact I have not even submitted my time from the beginning of July yet. And I will need to figure out or make up what I did for half of those days since I pretty much did what I am doing right now: Nothing.
I think for the most part people want to live a life of meaning. Now whether that meaning is something personal, or selfish, or charitable... it all depends on the individual. I wish I could have some meaning in my life. I try but fail.
The project at my sister's house was supposed to bring some meaning to my life, while I did some good for my sister and accomplished something for myself. It has instead been an arduous, unending disaster and waste of effort. Completely thankless. Perhaps if I had the time to dedicate full, consecutive days to it I might make a dent. Instead, I am going every few weeks to see her dogs destroying what efforts I've made. My depression smashing up against hers, causing me to pull-back in defense lest my misery become intertwined with hers.
Earlier I was reading about volunteer work at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I've followed news from the site off and on for a few years now. A couple years back I considered sponsoring a family there. But, with my own pathetic financial situation I knew I could not make that commitment. Even as I since wasted countless dollars on frivolity in my life instead of focusing on relieving my debt.
There are volunteer programs there where one can take a "working vacation" and spend a week doing construction and other projects on the reservation. Unfortunately, the cost of volunteering alone is almost $500 and that does not include the cost of travel out there. The hilarious irony that volunteering and charity of time costs too much money to give.
I do think "well, there are probably people right here in Chicago who could use help"... but I feel such contempt for "the poor" around me here. Clearly, perception can be ridiculous. But, I don't hear the natives on Pine Ridge constantly whining about their state like I do from the poor people (I see up close) in Chicago. Perhaps, while I adamantly protest against any white guilt or privilege towards other races here in Chicago, maybe I feel some white guilt towards natives?
Somewhat ridiculous considering none of my ancestors were here to oppress the Native Americans. And when they did come, at least assuredly my Irish ancestors were not treated very kindly. But, we are not allowed to mention that sort of racism these days... because, while other races can whine about their treatment from 100, 200 years ago... I can't reference mistreatment of my ancestors because of my "white privilege"... apparently.
I just feel some connection with the native people. I do not know why. I do not think it is guilt. I have always found what I have read about their cultures fascinating. The idea of the world where they lived before Europeans came here seems like a utopia to me. Am I influenced by a Hollywood idea? Do I not know what I am talking about? Who can say. I just wish I could know that life, that past. It seems the closest thing to how we were meant to live I've read about.
Thinking more on life, purpose, poverty and all that I was thinking of how connected I am to all my physical possessions. It seems very logical to me I don't need any of them, but at the same time I feel a strange fear of losing them if I were put in the position of giving them up for some other life. It seems silly, but there it is. A flaw in human nature I suppose. All my DVDs, all my music... I don't "need" it to have a quality life, yet the thought of giving it up.... I guess I'd have trouble doing that. So, what does that say about me as a person and my character.
I have lots of "ideas" about the kind of person I wish I was. The kind of "good" I'd like to do. But, in the end I am complacent and corrupt. I'm not better than anyone else. All I have are intentions... my whole life is a list of intentions. How much have I done? And what is the value of the things I have accomplished?
I spend much energy (and considerable coin) playing the lottery. A pointless endeavor if there ever was one. I know full well that money is not the solution to a better life, yet I fantasize about being rich so I can quit my job, not be a prisoner to my debt and, in theory, be able to live this grand life of adventure and charity. Yet another excuse. There always seems to be something to blame for why I cannot do the things I want or be the person I want to be. All the worse because I am fully aware of the condition.
Being aware I suppose is a blessing though. I would not want to be going through life blind and unaware. I may see myself as merely in the back seat, looking out the window on some drive I am not controlling. I don't think that is completely true. I've done things in the past, whether they could be branded "good" or charitable or self-improving... it is really up to each situation and my interpretation of it. And whether or not I choose to believe there is also a greater force in the universe evaluating what I do.
I know I do not live the life of a saint. I am no missionary. I may not be much of anything. I am only rarely even the guy who takes the handful of his change from the console of his vehicle and dumps it into the cup of some beggar on an off ramp. I don't trust human beings enough to want to give all that often. It reminds me of a quote I like that has been ringing through my head the past 20 minutes:
"I hate mankind, for I think myself one of the best of them, and I know how bad I am."