What do I know anyway?
I never thought I'd return to LiveJournal. I suppose a bit of nostalgia and a bit of craving my youth would be the catalysts for my return, though. Toss in a tad of egoism and we've got a full-fledged comeback!
I want to document my existence in this moment, really. That's all I ever want to do, I think. Well, that, and to talk shit. I can be quite lethal when talking shit. Although, the Lord knows I suffer a great deal for my wicked tongue. I've had more than my fair share of FML moments, let me tell you...
Well, I'd rather not tell you. That's the point of a refresh, isn't it? Google me if you care to, otherwise, here's how I'd tell it. My name is Malcolm, I'm a member of the Millennial generation, although I'd like to identify with the oldest set. I live in Los Angeles, and I take care of people in their nineties, and I live with a truly diverse set of roommates. My life is rather fucking awesome, if I do say so myself.
I have some rather luxurious life amenities, although they're rather humble by first world standards. At the moment, I am sleeping on a couch or over my boyfriend's place. I offer my bedroom over AirBNB, which has been rather wonderful. I love meeting new people, and I love first impressions, and I love entertaining.
My typical week goes something like this. I visit clients at their homes, to assist with daily living. I have a set schedule of clients, two of whom are married to each other and one who lives alone with 24-hour care. In many ways, they've become something like extended family to me. I feel ambitious enough to admit that I'd like to be with them for until they part from this world. Truly, I mean that.
I have kind of mapped my life around them, in a way. I feel as if I'm to learn great lessons from great teachers. What better teachers than those who've lived the longest lives? I don't foresee my clients living more than 10-12 more years. And that, perhaps, may be naive on my part. I am a child by comparison after all. What do I know?
I ask myself that all the time. "What do I know?" I mean, I consider myself a fair conversationalist. And I have enough sense to discern my part in particular scenarios. And given my age, and the constant reminder thereof, I find myself keeping quiet. Being routine. Observing more than initiating. Mostly because, well, what do I know?
Don't get it twisted. There will be many a bitch to shaking their head in a disapproval of my claim. I certainly assert myself when I am confident of my abilities. And yes, the exuberance of youth is not completely lost on me. But I do exercise restraint in some ways, and perhaps I need better prioritize, in what ways I am assertive, and in what ways I'm passive. But that'll be for another time.
I have done some fabulously ambitious things. More than what most of my family can attest to experiencing, that's for sure. I don't feel as privileged as I believe that I should. A feeling I attribute to my anxiety and circumstantial depression. I'm very sensitive. My identity had been formed within a high-tension environment for years while growing up, and for the longest while and as far back as I can recall, I've had thoughts of self-harm and self-degradation. Life wasn't often easy. Although, I have learned, that life is rarely easy for anyone, no matter who we are.
I don't suffer much these days from depression, mostly because my circumstances have changed a bit, by the way of environment. Sunny Los Angeles, wisely optimistic clients, and a diverse array of good natured friends keep depression at bay, it seems. As far as anxiety, I'm still a nut. I have a weekly, if not daily, mostly internalized, freak out. I'm really struggling with it sometimes, if I'm to be completely honest.
I can be a real prick sometimes. I'm often in a state of sorry for something I've done. Overall, I mean well. I'm just stressed out. I don't make enough money, but I love what I do. I don't eat much at all, and I don't like imposing myself on others. Or at least, when I do, I feel awful for existing. It's strange. I can be quite insecure. I feel uneasy when thinking about myself compared to others. I worry a lot. Mostly, I always miss my Mom. She had a knack for bringing me back down to earth.
Which brings me to the subject of Kyle, my boyfriend. He also has that knack, and he's actually the first person other than my Mom to be able to do it so successfully. I am in love with him, truly. He's the kindest, most well mannered and humbly intentioned, most sincerely thoughtful and creative man I have ever had the privilege to be with. I don't always know if we click completely, but I think we like the sound of each other's clicking, if that makes sense.
For Easter he surprised me with an Easter Egg hunt throughout my house, enclosed in each egg a sequential series of excerpts from a love letter he had written me. Absolutely genius, truly. He writes me the sweetest cards and... he works out all the time, his body is so hot. He's also very intelligent, having gone to USC, which I respect immensely.
And now, I feel truly lucky again. Writing exercise accomplished. Good night, and I am very thankful for the life that I have.
I want to document my existence in this moment, really. That's all I ever want to do, I think. Well, that, and to talk shit. I can be quite lethal when talking shit. Although, the Lord knows I suffer a great deal for my wicked tongue. I've had more than my fair share of FML moments, let me tell you...
Well, I'd rather not tell you. That's the point of a refresh, isn't it? Google me if you care to, otherwise, here's how I'd tell it. My name is Malcolm, I'm a member of the Millennial generation, although I'd like to identify with the oldest set. I live in Los Angeles, and I take care of people in their nineties, and I live with a truly diverse set of roommates. My life is rather fucking awesome, if I do say so myself.
I have some rather luxurious life amenities, although they're rather humble by first world standards. At the moment, I am sleeping on a couch or over my boyfriend's place. I offer my bedroom over AirBNB, which has been rather wonderful. I love meeting new people, and I love first impressions, and I love entertaining.
My typical week goes something like this. I visit clients at their homes, to assist with daily living. I have a set schedule of clients, two of whom are married to each other and one who lives alone with 24-hour care. In many ways, they've become something like extended family to me. I feel ambitious enough to admit that I'd like to be with them for until they part from this world. Truly, I mean that.
I have kind of mapped my life around them, in a way. I feel as if I'm to learn great lessons from great teachers. What better teachers than those who've lived the longest lives? I don't foresee my clients living more than 10-12 more years. And that, perhaps, may be naive on my part. I am a child by comparison after all. What do I know?
I ask myself that all the time. "What do I know?" I mean, I consider myself a fair conversationalist. And I have enough sense to discern my part in particular scenarios. And given my age, and the constant reminder thereof, I find myself keeping quiet. Being routine. Observing more than initiating. Mostly because, well, what do I know?
Don't get it twisted. There will be many a bitch to shaking their head in a disapproval of my claim. I certainly assert myself when I am confident of my abilities. And yes, the exuberance of youth is not completely lost on me. But I do exercise restraint in some ways, and perhaps I need better prioritize, in what ways I am assertive, and in what ways I'm passive. But that'll be for another time.
I have done some fabulously ambitious things. More than what most of my family can attest to experiencing, that's for sure. I don't feel as privileged as I believe that I should. A feeling I attribute to my anxiety and circumstantial depression. I'm very sensitive. My identity had been formed within a high-tension environment for years while growing up, and for the longest while and as far back as I can recall, I've had thoughts of self-harm and self-degradation. Life wasn't often easy. Although, I have learned, that life is rarely easy for anyone, no matter who we are.
I don't suffer much these days from depression, mostly because my circumstances have changed a bit, by the way of environment. Sunny Los Angeles, wisely optimistic clients, and a diverse array of good natured friends keep depression at bay, it seems. As far as anxiety, I'm still a nut. I have a weekly, if not daily, mostly internalized, freak out. I'm really struggling with it sometimes, if I'm to be completely honest.
I can be a real prick sometimes. I'm often in a state of sorry for something I've done. Overall, I mean well. I'm just stressed out. I don't make enough money, but I love what I do. I don't eat much at all, and I don't like imposing myself on others. Or at least, when I do, I feel awful for existing. It's strange. I can be quite insecure. I feel uneasy when thinking about myself compared to others. I worry a lot. Mostly, I always miss my Mom. She had a knack for bringing me back down to earth.
Which brings me to the subject of Kyle, my boyfriend. He also has that knack, and he's actually the first person other than my Mom to be able to do it so successfully. I am in love with him, truly. He's the kindest, most well mannered and humbly intentioned, most sincerely thoughtful and creative man I have ever had the privilege to be with. I don't always know if we click completely, but I think we like the sound of each other's clicking, if that makes sense.
For Easter he surprised me with an Easter Egg hunt throughout my house, enclosed in each egg a sequential series of excerpts from a love letter he had written me. Absolutely genius, truly. He writes me the sweetest cards and... he works out all the time, his body is so hot. He's also very intelligent, having gone to USC, which I respect immensely.
And now, I feel truly lucky again. Writing exercise accomplished. Good night, and I am very thankful for the life that I have.