overwhelmed
what's to be done? Here I am, less than two weeks out from being homeless, and I can't make a decision... I really don't want to move twice. I can put everything into storage and couch-surf until S&K find the perfect home [or until I do, I suppose] - but the hassle of getting mail, and email, and needing that one thing that's buried in a box somewhere in a storage unit.. fuck.
Then again, the added expense of living alone isn't really appealing - about $200+ per month that I can speculate. I'm already constantly living just beyond my means anyway. This won't help. Added to which, SZ is rather like the very last connection to my old network; the supposedly-lifelong group of people that was always just 'supposed to' be there. I guess I was the last one to figure out how inane of a concept that really was once we were turned 30. The rest of them got it.
Ditto my juvenile fantasy version of myself. Everyone else modulated. I still imagine something happening that matters, that affords me the freedom to create, to be compensated enough to want for nothing, to have an influence. Christ, that's a pipe dream.
My depression is such now that I can't really conjure the energy to focus on how much I hate everything. Just certain that, sooner or later, the end will be in front of me with a sigh.
On the rare occasion that I feel inspired, or a willingness to connect, to try -- that sensation is snubbed almost instantly. Time is such a commodity that the realization hit me a few weeks ago that there would never be collective time between the live of the people in my life that actually matter for us to accomplish anything at all: scripts, music, hardly even a worthwhile conversation. Why? Because of money. Because of domestic duty. Because of broken fan belts and long-standing social obligations and Significant Others. Because of fatigue and dollar-worship and fear.
Speaking of fatigue - I'm sitting here, after more than enough sleep and a largely unchallenging day; nodding off at the computer at 5:49 PM. I suppose I could go to sleep and fuck off all the responsibilities sitting in front of me for one more day. But I dare not. I am already uncertain how it will actually happen....
Would I be okay living alone, fiscal concerns notwithstanding? My mother seems to think not. Therapist ambivalent. I waver. Certainly, it's a lot easier to dive headlong into a deep suicidal funk with no one there to snap you out of it. But everyone is really gone to me already, you know?
I better try to get back to the packing.
Then again, the added expense of living alone isn't really appealing - about $200+ per month that I can speculate. I'm already constantly living just beyond my means anyway. This won't help. Added to which, SZ is rather like the very last connection to my old network; the supposedly-lifelong group of people that was always just 'supposed to' be there. I guess I was the last one to figure out how inane of a concept that really was once we were turned 30. The rest of them got it.
Ditto my juvenile fantasy version of myself. Everyone else modulated. I still imagine something happening that matters, that affords me the freedom to create, to be compensated enough to want for nothing, to have an influence. Christ, that's a pipe dream.
My depression is such now that I can't really conjure the energy to focus on how much I hate everything. Just certain that, sooner or later, the end will be in front of me with a sigh.
On the rare occasion that I feel inspired, or a willingness to connect, to try -- that sensation is snubbed almost instantly. Time is such a commodity that the realization hit me a few weeks ago that there would never be collective time between the live of the people in my life that actually matter for us to accomplish anything at all: scripts, music, hardly even a worthwhile conversation. Why? Because of money. Because of domestic duty. Because of broken fan belts and long-standing social obligations and Significant Others. Because of fatigue and dollar-worship and fear.
Speaking of fatigue - I'm sitting here, after more than enough sleep and a largely unchallenging day; nodding off at the computer at 5:49 PM. I suppose I could go to sleep and fuck off all the responsibilities sitting in front of me for one more day. But I dare not. I am already uncertain how it will actually happen....
Would I be okay living alone, fiscal concerns notwithstanding? My mother seems to think not. Therapist ambivalent. I waver. Certainly, it's a lot easier to dive headlong into a deep suicidal funk with no one there to snap you out of it. But everyone is really gone to me already, you know?
I better try to get back to the packing.