Why I Want To Be Famous

 I don't think I'd actually want to be famous.

It seems like a lot of work, really, and I don't like talking much to people as it is, let alone being swarmed by them, all of them armed with cellphones and microphones asking me my thoughts on which type of peas I like or which Pitch Perfect cast member defines me as a person (answers: mushy and any of the ones whose only claim to fame is standing next to Anna Kendrick. I might also answer "Any of them who isn't Rebel Wilson"). That movie was on the TV in the lobby of the new job last night. The sound wasn't on, but it made me confused and irritable.

I spent my morning going through a series of humiliations regarding new hire stuff. On boarding online for the new nursing home job was mostly just tedious, becoming annoying only when I needed to take pictures on my phone of my ID, SS card, and a selfie and had to convert them all individually to make them a supported file type for the website. Which is already way too much work for a job that barely pays above minimum wage, but this is the choice I made for peace of mind, so whatever. Sometimes it really tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune then take arms against the sea. 

The trouble began when I needed to sign into a payroll company site for the hotel side gig. 

Now, it's important to note that I had an account with this company before, from years ago. I have absolutely no idea what any of the login credentials are, I don't know what security questions I created, I'm not even certain what email is attached, this was literally years ago. So when I tried to log in, I suddenly knew what Indiana Jones felt like as he tried to reach the holy grail, except instead of big spinning blades, it's Kafkaesque bureaucracy. I eventually caved and went to their support chat, giving them every piece of information I had, explained a number of times that all I really wanted was to create a new account and forget trying to recover a previous one (because, again, almost all the information would be defunct by now anyway) but it was still Brazil style insanity, being asked questions I really don't have answers to. 

After twenty minutes or so, after multiple assurances that we were making progress, the agent says "Nope, can't help you" and then terminates the chat before I can say "The fuck you mean you can't help me?"

The least you could do is put a baby mask on and torture me. Nothing is worse than summary dismissal. I can tolerate a lot of nonsense, but to be marginalized...that is a severe irritation. And I do not do well with irritation. When it comes to big problems, I tend to just bounce back, but irritation? Suddenly I have a particular set of skills, and you best sleep with one eye open, because I'm coming for you and everything you hold dear. 

Eventually this will get solved, my boss will call someone, whatever. But try telling that to David Banner when he's Lou Ferrigno. So I tagged them on twitter to let them know I am dissatisfied with their customer care, especially customers who don't actually want to use their service, but are being forced to. It was a pointless, futile gesture, one made entirely of pointless spite, and an AI account did say "Sorry about that, chief, what's say you and a totally human and not-at-all chatbot have a very human conversation about human matters. Like, Number 5 is alive, am I right? Ha ha, what is kiss?"

Y'know, back in my day, you just went and got a job. You did that job, you got paid, the end. Now there's a dozen payroll companies all providing what is essentially the same "service," which is to make Human Resources an administrative redundancy (and, let's be honest, it always was. Name one useful HR rep you've ever met.) and essentially farm more personal data. Over the years, I have used many of them (I still have apps on my phone for three separate payroll companies, none of them this one, and the new nursing home job wants me to download yet another) and have yet to have a good experience with any of them. All are the opposite of user friendly, a strange other world of tabs, forms, a veritable appendix of appendixes in that it serves no purpose, but if it blows up it can kill you.

Anyway, why was I here again?

Oh, yes, why I want to be famous.

Long walk.

The only reason I could think of would be for revenge.

Like, I want to be the anti-influencer. Anti-Marketing. Become a famous author and then say:

"Ahem, here is a list of every employer, company, business, and individual who has ever mistreated, marginalized, or otherwise cheated or inconvenienced me in any way. I, your beloved hero, am telling you, adoring public, not to use their services, buy their wares, or break when you see them crossing the street."

Not enough famous people utilize their fame to fight again capitalism, which has made us all helpless automatons, unable to navigate an increasingly difficult world in which we have no money, power, or free will, victims of the rough beast that slouches toward bethlehem.

It is literally the only reason I can think of for being famous, because wealth does not interest me in any way (not that a decent amount of money would make me unhappy, I just don't want mansions and car collections and any of the other misappropriations of resources the wealth elite use to violate the world and other people: they're all villains, even the ones you like, never forget that), would be to bring the very system of fame down to ruin. 

I should probably get on that.

Yes, All Men

 I am severely sleep deprived at the moment, but I wanted to sit down and throw some thoughts together on an issue that is deeply concerning and fills me with insane rage and incredible sorrow, and that is the news this week that there is apparently a website in which Men shared tips on how to drug their female counterparts so that they could rape them. 

A "Rape Academy," if you will.

Not only that, but also stories were shared in which men drugged said women and invited other men to rape them as well.

And this site that tens of millions of views.

...

I wish I could say this surprised me. 

It doesn't.

This is a difficult thing to discuss, for a number of reasons, but I feel it's important to do more than share social media posts and memes decrying it, because that requires no self reflection, no conversation, no real thought. To share a post isn't even technically acknowledgement or agreement, it simply is boosting someone else's thought, and men are far too silent on this issue.

It's a difficult subject because you worry you'll say the wrong thing, you'll make things worse, you'll overstep bounds...sometimes the best thing a straight, white, cishet male can do is recognize they have no lines in the play and should just keep their mouth shut. Normally, I tend to lean in that direction more often than not (which is the definition of a poor sentence, but this is a stream of consciousness blog, so deal with it) because I want others to have that space for their voices.

The subject is also difficult because, when a man discusses it, they have to confront unpleasant truths about themselves, but considering I've made a career out of confronting unpleasant truths about myself (makes up probably 90% of my depressing and anxious thoughts, after all), that shouldn't be too hard.

So it's difficult to talk about. But sometimes...well, that means you have to talk about it. 

I was originally going to say "I'm against it" and let others do the talking, until I saw the call to action from many women directly asking us men to talk about it, and the only thing more important than shutting up is listening.

So I listened.

For a couple days now, I've been seeing the posts, the anger, the sadness, the hopelessness. The memes, the frustration, the outcry at the silence...also the pushback. The "not all men" comments, the resurgence of the "Man or Bear" meme...just now, prompting me to begin writing, was a meme in which a woman shared a photo of herself in a hospital bed after she was body slammed in the parking lot of a gas station by a man whom she refused to give her phone number to, along with a comment from a man stating (I'm paraphrasing) that "men need to respected" and I nearly threw up.

I'm finding it difficult to pontificate on the point that "rape academy is bad." Back in high school, my debate coach told me I had a tendency to accept certain points as self evident, and that it would hurt my cases, and I don't think I ever had the ability to really correct that, so I lack the ability to explain why "rape academy is bad" because that shouldn't need to be explained. Feels pretty fucking self-explanatory.

And yet.

But I do want to talk mainly about the "Not All Men" nonsense.

Because FUCKING YES ALL MEN. 

Even you, bro, and even me.

Every woman has a story about a man, and EVERY man has a story about him. 

I'm sure I'm the subject of more than a few, in fact, and that keeps me awake at night, as it should every man.

I know that I have never intended to harm anyone in my life. This is not an excuse, it simply is a truth of myself, but it is also true that I absolutely have created spaces that were unsafe for women. I have done is a partner, as a friend, as a coworker, as an employer. I never once intended to do so, I always believed myself a feminist, a promoter of equality, and someone who seeks to actively buck the patriarchal systems that dominate this shitty world in hopes of being a "safe" man. I think maybe sometimes I have succeeded, hopefully more so than I failed, but that's the thing, right? Just a couple weeks ago, I patted my female coworker on the shoulder, and then thought for a second and apologized to her for touching her without consent. I mean, I hate being touched and yet I felt like that was okay. She accepted the apology, even though she thought nothing of it, but I still felt guilty. And yes, even something that simple is relevant. 

I acknowledge that I have failed on many an occasion, and I try to keep that in mind, take responsibility and accountability, and be better today than I was yesterday. I feel sick when I think of some things I've done and said in the past, the way my words and deeds have been interpreted, and I cringe when I think about the man I've been. I acknowledge that, even in my forties, I have a lot to learn, a lot of growing to do, and I spend a considerable amount of time thinking about it.

There have been times when I am walking behind a woman and realize she's getting nervous, and at first that feels like an insult, and then I remember the simple fact that she has to get nervous for her survival and it breaks my heart. I want to say "You don't have to worry about me, I'd die before I harmed you" but I realize that likely would only make things worse. I try not to be behind women if I can avoid it, I try not to get too close, give wide space...because if there is something I can do to make her feel even a tiny bit safer, why wouldn't I?

But apparently that's too much for many a man. Still there is a persistent "Not all men" conversation, the idea that "men are protectors" and PROTECTORS FROM WHAT?! Fucking YOU?!

And to the women out there...I'd choose the damned bear, too. If for no other reason than the bear isn't going to mention Andrew Tate or Joe Rogan when it's trying to kill me. Bear is probably smarter, too, really. 

I wish this was more eloquent. I really feel strongly about this and I don't feel like I'm getting it right. I'm getting emotional, it hurts my head, and I really wanted to make something polished and proper but it's turned into a mess, but that is what stream of consciousness gets you sometimes, and Nathaniel don't do two takes. 

In the end, the purpose is to say that I hear the women out there, I see what they're going through, and I am urging other men to do the same. Do not be silent, do not be blind, do not condone. Call your friends out, your bosses and coworkers, and do better in recognizing the space you create for those around you (hell, not even just women: the world would be a far better place if we used some basic awareness of other people around us). Because you are creating that space, guys, feminism is not "taking over," there is no "girlboss" agenda affecting your agency. Men still have all the power, you see it daily on the news as our country continues to become the most pathetically evil force this world has ever seen and, while you may not to be able to do much about the macro power structure, you have way more influence over the micro structure than you realize. You absolutely do create the space around you, and you can always do more to make that space safer. Acknowledge that privilege and use it be better. You want to be protector? Create a space where no one needs protection. You want to be the man she chooses over the bear? Be better than the fucking bear. 

And, seriously, if you happen to be one of the 62 Million (?!) men who attended this rape academy bullshit? Eat shit and die. Because while I strive to make my spaces safer for others? You sure as shit ain't included. But there is always time to rethink, atone, and act right. Acknowledge you've done bad, and try to be better tomorrow than you were today. It's not about apologies, it's about correcting the course. 

And to those affected, triggered, and frightened by this, trust me when I say that I am genuinely sorry for that, and I make the very solemn pledge to practice what I preach. I will never say that I am genuinely safe, because I acknowledge I am a product of a system I abhor, but I can say that I will always listen and believe women, that I will always try to be as safe as I possibly can be. 

And please continue to be safe. Whatever it is you have to do to feel as safe as you can be. Cover those drinks, walk to the car in groups, carry that pepper spray, whatever you need to do. 

Because Yes, All Men. And that fucking sucks.

Trapped

 Feeling particularly trapped tonight. I have this interview in the morning, which is for a job I likely will find more tolerable, but it pays nothing and is likely part time, and I simply don't know if I can manage it (even though my overhead is the lowest it's been since the early 2000's). I could be wrong, and it could be full time or at least roughly 32 hours, which is potentially doable, but I doubt it. 

Every single week, two nights a week, I am asked to work the desk alone at the hotel I work at, and it's way too much for my anxiety. I have panic attacks before these shifts even occur, and then usually have at least one while on the job itself. I am the only non-manager (and the only individual besides my direct boss) to be asked to handle the job alone, and it's more responsibility than I feel comfortable with, the environment is always hostile (loud noises, lots of check-ins and guest requests, angry guests, not to mention the multiple times a night people can't seem to figure out how to pull open a door and get mad at me about it), and it leaves me feeling very tired, stressed, and deeply anxious. 

I have made it clear how I feel about it. To anyone and everyone. Every time, I'm told "well, there are times you have to work alone," instead of even the barest amount of sympathy (even a platitude of "we're working on hiring someone" would be sufficient in at least making me feel like anyone gives a shit) or effort, which essentially means I feel taken advantage of and undervalued. 

This isn't really new, really, that is generally what happens with capitalism, but considering that I didn't originally work alone here, it really sucks to go through on a weekly basis. It makes me feel very angry and exhausted and generally exacerbates my mental health issues (which I also have made clear many times: I told them I have an actual diagnosed anxiety disorder in my fucking interview) and yet, I am at best dismissed, at worst mocked. 

So I spend my whole week dreading these two shifts, find it difficult to relax and rest, and even when not alone, I feel increasingly angry and insulted and hurt that no one considers my feelings even worth discussing, let alone making a concession for. And it's not like there aren't people who could work overnight with me. Shit, they could sleep for half of it and I'd be fine, as long as I know there just is someone else. 

And I come back to the same problems. Can I afford to take a different job? If I do, will I ever get out of the one room I rent in a city I largely can't stand? Is this all in my head? I keep working on the assumption that it is in my head, and it has kept me working through for a month now, but nothing has changed, and I'm feeling more and more disgruntled. And that's assuming they'll even hire me somewhere else. I find the easier jobs, the ones where I have less responsibility, they never seem to want to hire me...I assume I'm overqualified (and I am, let's be clear on that) and therefore not taken seriously as an applicant. I went into that movie theater last week, told the manager (who was, y'know, twelve years old) that I genuinely wanted to work there, regardless of salary limitations, because I liked the work and the environment, and he told me he might call me in for an interview but hasn't. 

I'd love to work two low paying, low responsibility jobs. Nursing home dishwasher by day, movie theater by night, low pay but peaceful mind, close to home, generally rushing around...it sounds quite nice. But these places aren't calling, aren't hiring, aren't interested. Job hunting used to be simple and easy. But then, so did getting an apartment. So did commuting to work. As capitalism tightens it's evil, republican stranglehold on America, the harder simply living becomes. So, even though a simple, quiet life seems immanently possible, it keeps being yanked out for needless reasons. 

Therefore, trapped.

It's possible I'm sliding into a depression stage of the cycle again, but I don't necessarily feel that way outside of situational forces. I don't really hate myself right now. There is also the intrusive thought or memory, that still happens on a good day, but nothing that drags me into things. I've even been sleeping a little better lately, my sleep cycle has remained largely consistent (even though I find myself wishing more and more that I could go to bed at night when normal people do more than usual the past few weeks), and social interactions with friends online (the only method in which I actually socialize with friends these days) don't feel as negative. So is this just sliding into the dark side? I dunno. It doesn't feel that way. But I can't trust my own thoughts and feelings most days, and that is a deeply frustrating thing to feel. 

I know some people know what that's like, the fundamental lack of trust in ones own mental and emotional state, but if you don't? It sucks a lot. Never being sure if a feeling is your actual intuition or just you being crazy, that gut feeling could be your instincts trying to help you, or it could just be your brain lying to you. 

So, no idea what to do, really. I know I'll go to the interview and see what's happening. At least we start there. But even if that goes well...I have to face another night alone at this place? And I know it's going to be a lousy night...it will be frustrating and filled with anxiety (and I know, because I already am anxious about it: I took a walk around the building in the warmer weather just to stave off a panic attack), and I will leave feeling worse than when I went in, and nothing will change. 

As Buffy once said: the hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. I know living in it is the one thing that makes me not want to anymore. 

Can't get no (satisfaction)

 It's been almost a month since I wrote anything, but I've been meaning to get back to it, but haven't really had the time at work (and never did get into the habit of working on it at home), nor did I really feel particularly compelled to do so...just haven't had as much on my mind, I guess? 

The upswing of depression has mostly held, anxiety has remained high, but I have been sleeping better. Most of my general frustration has been work related, but I do keep coming back to a familiar problem, which is my own strange dissatisfaction with my own lot in life.

I often find myself wishing I could just, y'know, be okay. With my life, in general. I have housing (while not great, it exists and is relatively affordable), a job that pays okay (even if it is often frustrating and fills me with considerable anxiety and irritation), relative health (?) and at least a few good friends, even if they aren't necessarily close by and/or available for regular hangouts...I mostly spend my time watching movies and television and taking edibles, and that really ain't so bad, since it's pretty much all I really want to do. Media makes me happy. All I really want out of life is to watch movies and television and talk about them with my friends.

So, why aren't I happy? 

I mean, sure, I'm lonely and would like to experience love. There is that. With spring beginning, I suppose that sensation begins to become more prevalent: the wanting of a partner and everything that comes with it. 

And, sure, I share a bathroom? That is an issue, too. 

I feel ashamed of my living situation? I'm in my forties and live in a single room in a bad neighborhood, it's not exactly spanish fly with the ladies...or so I assume, since I haven't spoken to any women I might be interested in (sans awkward maybe-kinda-sorta flirting with a coworker I have a little crush on), so I have no idea. I know I always believed that the kind of woman I'd be interested in being with wouldn't care about such shallow things like living situations, income, body hair, height, weight, and amount of hair on my head (I mean...she'd have to be) but it's one thing to believe in that, and another to actually experience it. Not to mention a ton of rejection sensitivity that had always been there, but hasn't gotten any better in my advancing age. 

Often, I find myself thinking that I should be doing better, most people my age have families and houses and long term jobs and all sort so things that I probably should have. I can't tell if I don't have those things due to my tendency to self-sabotage, my mental health issues, or simply bad luck (it's probably a combination of all of those things), but here I sit without them. And I know that at least part of it is my own poor decisions and a general sense of never being satisfied with things I do have. 

I don't know how to fix half the shit that's wrong. I don't really know how to fix my housing situation (money is easy enough to put together, really, I just haven't been bothering, spending money on things that momentarily make me happy instead of planning for any long term goals) without dealing with frustrating things like credit scores, accounts in collection (pretty sure the roach haven I lived in briefly in St.Louis renewed my lease and then evicted me, so applications for housing keep coming back with less than stellar results), and other fun things. Unfortunately, the current state of our country doesn't help much of anything, as housing becomes even harder to manage. But I can't blame it all on that.

The point I'm getting at is that I always had this thing where I look at what else I could have instead of looking at what I did have. There was always a better job, a better place, a better life...but never any sense of satisfaction with my current position. Like Luke Skywalker: always looking to the horizon, never focused on where he was, hm? What he was doing. 

And now I fear it's too late, and this is where I am, and what I am doing, and I'm worse off than ever. I made a decision when I moved into the room, that I would take my time and stand still instead of chasing the next decision, the next hurdle, the next goal. But I find that to be very difficult and stressful, to not be planning, or just to not even have a plan. I always had a plan, folks, always, and now I don't. Just podcasting, working, and trying to sleep enough to manage those things. Which is going well enough, at the moment, I suppose, even if I sometimes worry that I'm losing my voice (not literally) in a lot of ways. 

Partially, that was what this was for. To regain that voice. I probably should try to write some fiction, put together some kind of art. This situation does feel like a starving artist kind of scenario, and maybe that'll give me some confidence to figure out what's next, or at least, y'know, talk to a girl. Because, while maybe I can't change my circumstances much at the moment, I can probably do something about my confidence. 

Perhaps productivity can be the first step towards a new horizon. 

There's probably more to say (or at least a more coherent point to make), but things are beginning to get busier at work, so I should probably stop writing. 

Opinions Are Like Assholes

 March definitely hasn't been my month so far (and the lack of blog posts prove that), with work being exceptionally busy and particularly infuriating (all at the same time, preventing any usual compartmentalization I would normally employ), and social media discourse has been driving me nuts, to the point that I'm considering dropping Twitter for good (save, maybe, keeping the podcast one up...but it's not like that gets any engagement).

I don't know what it is about discourse that bothers me so much, but it really upsets me most of the time. And not because I don't like disagreements (which I don't, as I've discussed before), but due to some vague sense of discomfort that results from seeing it. 

Post-Oscars has turned into a series of nonsensical arguments and binary decisions between Sinners and One Battle After Another (either you must ONLY LIKE ONE, or OBAA IS RACIST BECAUSE IT DEPICTS RACISM or some kind of nonsense like that, or SINNERS IS JUST FROM DUSK TIL DAWN), people who apparently don't know who Paul Thomas Anderson is...and then there's the Marvel Vs DC (an argument that literally comes down to "whomever makes more money is clearly superior," which is utterly ridiculous) stemming from the release of a new Spider-Man trailer, "Dune is better than Star Wars" , an off-the-cuff joke taken so seriously that even Grant Morrison thinks the reason Lanterns is called that is because Damon Lindelof thinks "Green is dumb." 

That's just the last few days on Twitter.

The thing is, if someone doesn't like something, or just doesn't care about something, I honestly don't care at all. Even if it's something I love. But when something is patently untrue, unresearched, or even thoughtlessly discarded, it makes me feel badly inside in ways I can't seem to fully understand. Most people seem to not care very much, if at all, or engage in huge arguments over it (which is where my discomfort with disagreement *does* come in: I never engage in fights over this stuff because I fear it'll get carried away, or it'll get personal, or someone who I care about will get their feelings hurt (or they'll hurt mine), or some sort of negative outcome will occur. Certainly, no argument is going to change anyone's mind.

Maybe that is what bothers me so much. It's not so much the opinion (you can think Dune is somehow more culturally and artistically relevant than Star Wars, I don't care), but the misplaced confidence in those opinions. 

Before the internet, I don't remember this level of sheer confidence in something entirely made up, something nonsensical, something that cannot be proven or disproven. Opinion confidently stated as unassailable fact. And I'm not entirely sure where this came from, if it existed beforehand and, again, why the hell it upsets me so much. Personally, I think it's the result of "everyone has the right to their opinion" being taken too seriously. It's how we got shit like Trump. Hell, Trump even helped to normalize it: we all remember "Alternative Facts" being pushed, right? Combined with a generous helping of main character syndrome and weaponized therapy speak, set in an arena of anonymity, and the stupidest battle lines are drawn. 

And some of it isn't even honest! We have rage baiting posts seeking to stir up outrage for attention (because attention is monetized, not based on merit, so a tantrum gets rewarded), while at the same time "heartwarming" stories (I have seen the same "My niece stuck up for me at thanksgiving when my uncle said something transphobic" story repeated verbatim four times, to the point that I find myself doubting it ever happened...but maybe it did, at some point, because it's not like people don't just steal posts for their own engagement metrics) and cute pet reels are also freely spread dishonestly. 

I think maybe that's it. Dishonesty. I make two different podcasts that are pretty much literally just me sharing my opinions. But they are honest ones. I thought about them. I researched when I didn't know or understand something (but not through those insipid "Joe Dirt explained" videos, and certainly not from a video of a man nodding his head in front of a TV screen while a movie plays and oh my goddess I hate the content era and also it is CAST not casted and the next person who uses "Coldest" instead of "coolest" gets a roaring elbow to the neck), and it is explained and extrapolated on. I have never, and will never, say something just to get a response. Hell, neither podcast has a particularly large listener base because we avoid shouting about our existence too loudly or forcefully. If we switched to being controversial hate-mongering grifters, or just rage baited, we'd probably be rich. 

I can deal with certain levels of stupid in my life, if that stupidity comes from an honest place. I'd rather be in conversation with someone who simply doesn't know stuff than someone who clearly doesn't know stuff but pretends they do. THAT causes anxiety. Because it's just in bad faith. There's no conversation to be had, just a dumb, uninformed mound that is convinced it's a genius because it thought Bergman was overrated, reading is hard, and "Hollywood is cooked because look at this bad computer game cut scene my AI made." There's no conversation to be had. Just confidently poor opinions, based on whatever random thought they felt they could get away.

And the final element, I think, to tie it more to my own mental health struggles is that I cannot quite reconcile any of it in an orderly way. It's chaotic, messy, a swirling tempest of ideas that swing around mindlessly. It's the twister scene from Wizard of Oz: dog barking, I'm dizzy, houses and cows are flying by, and my mean neighbor is a witch for some reason. None of it is tied down, or grounded, just stuff thrown around without meaning. And this is the generally harmless stuff (in the end, nobody can possibly be hurt over Sinners is the best film ever and One Battle After Another  is bad except the person who has that opinion because, guess what, both films are pretty amazing...however, the idea that this years Best Picture Oscar field was better than 1975's is harmful, because you should see those movies if you want to be "good at film discourse," but that would involve challenging your horizons, and why do that when you can just rage bait and, seriously, I hate the modern internet). This isn't the "Making AI art of Sabrina Carpenter naked" or "Create a rumor that *insert female wrestler here* had sex with *insert male wrestling personality here*" stuff. 

I cannot make sense of it. It's hard. And so it makes me angry and tired and anxious because I simply cannot wrap my head around even a single element of it. I'm big on managing to find common ground, if only because sometimes I find I don't understand emotional and psychological nuance as much as I should, and have become strangely literal, so I have to re-focus, and contextualize encounters and thoughts to make them fit, which is where a practiced empathy comes into play. I may not be able to fully understand, say, the logic of an idea or behavior, but I can understand the emotional core of it, the "I think I get why you are saying or doing these things, even if I don't know the what or how" of it all. I can understand something stupid being said or done in the moment, especially now when everyone is really amped up about pretty much everything because we're all being digested by late stage capitalism. I get why you might be mad Buffy isn't getting a reboot, even if I don't know why that is causing you to say the things you are. 

Anyway, just as I think I started to find a groove, it's time for me to return to the salt mines and wish for a personal medical emergency that will allow me to leave. Still not sleeping well. 

As always, thanks for reading. May be a little more intense and annoying than my usual. 

But I just don't understand things sometimes.

How Do I Get Out Of This Chicken Shit Outfit

 I haven't been keeping up with this as much as I'd like (and I would like to, don't get me wrong, I have found this process to be at least mildly therapeutic), but work shifts have been a bit more intense lately, and that has been incredibly frustrating it and of itself. So I'm trying to maybe get into the habit of doing this at home as well, so here I am, at my little collapsible desk at home, typing out some thoughts I've been having this week.

The job is mostly fine, really. I know that is probably mostly true, or at least true enough to be comparable to your standard job. Nobody wants to work, we know we're doing it largely for no reason, the wage disparity existing in this country has never been wider and more transparent, and we're all frustrated and angry and tired at how hard we have to fight just to exist. So I know it's really not worse than any other job. I have had worse jobs in the past. Hell, this job is better than the one I had directly before it, so technically I'm still up.

But I find it so hard to just exist in this work environment. Management is clueless at best, negligent and harmful at worst, the hours suck, the clientele sucks, and I have often been placed into situations I don't feel comfortable in (nothing scandalous, mind you, I have no patience for outright abuse, no matter how low my self-esteem may have plummeted in the past couple of years), especially in terms of my mental health struggles. Putting aside everything else, working alone a couple nights this week was really stressful. The brass at work do not understand why, though, viewing the job solely through the lens of "How many check-ins does the hotel have and how many rooms are sold" and not how much stuff there actually is to handle, the stressful guest encounters, the lines that form, and they especially do not understand why this would be a problem for someone with mental health struggles. Not that anyone should particularly expect them to understand that: the world is not made for those who struggle, but for those who thrive easily, often due to basic social and genetic lottery (or privilege, which would probably be the most concise way to put it).

The stress of those nights, and the high anxiety that came with it, made me ask myself some questions that I often ask myself but never seem to follow through on.

Most of you reading this have probably known me awhile now, and probably generally remember that I have worked in hotels for the past 22 years (with a few lapses and detours), and probably also remember that I have hated it for twenty of those years. 

I have never been good with people, at least not especially, I don't do well with conflict, and the only responsibility I like to accept is one I am specifically compensated for (and share with others, or at least am supported in). The policed structure of customer service has never been one that ever really worked for me, and yet I got stuck in this clown show, constantly forced to return to it every single time I find myself once again backed into a corner by any multitude of reasons (sometimes circumstances of my own making, and I am willing to accept that fact, and sometimes just bad luck, probably a 50/50 split, taking into account over a decade of the slow decay of my mental and emotional health and self esteem), and I keep asking myself why I keep doing it, or why I accept it. I could have gotten this job and kept looking, but I allowed myself to accept that "this is what I do," becoming comfortable in my own discomfort and believing that "this time, it'll be different."

They say the definition of insanity is...well, I'm not finishing that sentence, it's a cliche and you know it anyway, but there it is. I do keep making the same decisions. Always out of need at first, but then I stop there. Need generally fulfilled, no need to keep pushing. Just keep your head down, you got this, right? 

I don't.

As I become more and more aware of my general decline (and I think I found a way to get meds, I have to research further, but there seems to be some pretty decent systems that don't really require much more than my insurance (or low enough co-pays if I don't have that insurance), and that looks promising), I realize how much the work is doing to accelerate it. 

I wish I knew exactly what else to do, but it is far past time to get out of the hotel biz and find something else, even if it involves less pay or whatever, just for the sake of my own mental health. I am considering (probably 85% convinced) cutting back to part time, at least for a time, as to limit my exposure to a toxic environment, and give me more room to myself, but that does involve some concessions I have to be sure I want to make. I also am going to bring an application to the movie theater nearby, but I'm not sure they need help and, even if they do, it probably is just minimum wage work, but I might feel happier? I liked the theater job I had before, and could probably enjoy doing it even if it doesn't pay as well. But we'll see. The hours of operation are a bit of a challenge, and I do want to try to time it in such a way that I may run into a hiring manager (I fear just leaving the application will result in it being disregarded: they likely would just assume I want to be manager, and if they don't need one...) and do some talking, because I actually am good at that kind of talking. 

No matter what, I really don't feel like I will get any better continuing this line of work. It makes me mean, it makes me tired, it makes me hate myself. My work performance has already begun to suffer in the past couple weeks and I fear the more I let myself slowly not care whatsoever, the closer I am to being fired, and that I most certainly cannot afford. But the weight of it all on me, trying to push through my own mental health struggles for the sake of a paycheck, it is absolutely killing me. It has gotten to the point that I sometimes day dream about an injury or a heart attack, just so I don't have to go anymore. And when "being at home with a truly debilitating permanent injury" becomes a cozy alterative to the life you have...I think one has to start considering a change. 

But it cannot be a lateral one. Not again. Right now I can sort of afford a pay cut, so maybe I should take that opportunity while I still can and see if I can get better. Maybe, with some meds, some rest, some hard work on myself, I can be good at employment again. There are days where I am desperate to believe there's a reason I live in a single room, eating all my meals out of a microwave, in an apartment filled with people I can't stand, in a city I kinda mostly hate, and maybe that is the meaning I need it to have. I have said many times over the past couple years that I need to retreat in order to move forward, but I felt too ashamed to actually do that. I always want to feel normal and productive and never want to admit that maybe I do suck at adulting, that maybe I do need to keep things simple, and the idea that I need to be great or even good at things is just the pressure of the expectations placed on me in my life. The shame and guilt I feel over being a minimum wage employee, that people would see me as a loser because I don't make enough money, don't have the great job and the great house and the great cause. Maybe it's time I realize that nobody but me cares about that. I certainly don't judge other people's vocations. 

Maybe I need to get over myself, accept that maybe I'm not the usual successful adult I want to think I am, and deal with myself on a more rational level. There is no shame in being average. In fact, greatness seems to come at a cost that I no longer particularly feel comfortable paying anymore. So...perhaps it is time to finally make my peace at the small, simple life. Be the starving artist I was probably always meant to be.

Just as long as I don't smell like french fry oil. Shit is gross.

No Sleep Til

 Been a few days since I've done an entry, largely due to work being crazy and my not being in the habit of doing them when at home. Not that I'm necessarily disinterested in doing them when I'm home, just that it isn't a practice I've adopted yet. I probably could have found some time to do it, but didn't really have the energy (due, again largely, to the aforementioned work load). I also have been very, very tired for days now, due to poor sleep.

That really is the main thing on my mind right now: how tired I am. I have the time tonight to do this, but the work load is still very heavy (I guess there is some sort of Basketball thing happening), I'm stressed about working some nights alone this week that are slated to also be very busy, and I'm working alone because they promoted a co-worker without, y'know, figuring out who would do her job after she had been promoted? Gonna be just one man, standing alone against the evil forces of capitalism-emboldened entitlement, and hostile anger that is foundational to modern America. Like a really shitty Buffy The Vampire Slayer who is a short, fat guy whose knees ache in the mornings and sometimes feels like giving up and dying as a matter of principle. 

And I can't seem to sleep.

I try to go to sleep many times a day now. Today, I laid down at 8am. I felt tired and sleepy, so I went to sleep. I woke up an hour later. used the bathroom, couldn't get back to sleep. I laid there for hours, trying to get there, and it wouldn't come. So I got back up. Went to the store, even. Took a sleeping pill. Nothing. 

Finally, 4pm, I fall asleep. I wake briefly due to my alarm, but not enough to get up, and I slept too late and was late for work. Every day, it feels like I am falling asleep later and later, but still getting up at the same times, and it is incredibly frustrating and exhausting. I'm just so tired all the time. And all day, when I am awake, I don't do anything productive. I'm in this zombie state in which I can't focus on anything, my mind wanders and floats like a hyperactive butterfly, only briefly landing on anything substantial or real.

Perhaps my depression cycle is swinging back into the down side, but I still mostly feel okay emotionally and psychologically (besides the stuff that is caused by being tired), and I find myself trying to remember when this sleeping issue really got started, and wondering if it did somewhat align with the depression upswing. Wouldn't that be something? Feeling better emotionally, now you can't sleep? I dunno, I'm trying to lower my caffeine intake a little (difficult when you have to stay awake all night), washing my bedding, and drinking more water. Hoping that makes a little difference. Or if it is just a phase and will eventually sort itself out (which I find does happen when working overnights). 

At least there's some free food tonight? It's not good food (it's like middle school cafeteria pizza), but it is free. I like free.

I keep yawning. Can't make my brain work very well, and my eyesight is foggy and sensitive to light. Like, I have no discernable thoughts, just autopilot. It's taking a lot of energy to type this and, try as I might, I can't see to find anything to think much about besides being tired. I know there are ideas back there somewhere (Werewolf movies, vague and probably misguided ideas of watching all the comic adaptations there are, and I mean ALL OF THEM, D&D thoughts, creative ideas...they're back there, waiting, but inaccessible, like a Princess locked in a tower, waiting to be rescued by a short, hairy guy whose knees ache in the mornings and sometimes feels like dying on general principle), but cannot be reached. 

Mostly just did this post to try and resume the practice. I find it rather theraputic, even if it sometimes does feel like whining. But maybe we just have to complain into the universe in order to stay sane.

Gonna get back it, difficult as it is, and hope for more sleep today. Thanks for listening, anyway. It's nice to know someone is, y'know?