you still have to wait for things to occur in their natural time.
but if you're dead, i guess there's no pressure involved.
ahh, to be careless and young again. maybe just careless.
it's interesting that 2 months has passed since my last journal entry. i've just been skimming along, blithely unaware of life, reading and listening to audiobooks, watching a few bad movies, burning a few dozen dvd's, counting days of things that have no intrinsic or immediate value. i'm quite aware of every hour that passes, and it's not bothering me as much anymore. it feels like 3 weeks, but it's been 8 weeks. in another 8 to ten weeks, i might be in sydney, moving into my other grandmother's unit. but i'll be home, a real home. fending for myself. i should probably get a room-mate though, it's just going to be messy if i have to live without considering other peoples feelings, i have the tendency for it, a bad habit, no habit at all. i might just be too aware of my failings, but i dont dwell on it. i'm just aware of them if i need to consider it. i can imagine that infuriates people, but i never really put emphasis on feelings, they change, and i change to suit the occasion too much to consider it a personal failure.
the only comfort i have, today, is, that when im 75, i'll still be working and i won't mind it. i don't know what i will be doing, but im sure i'll be just as content and comfortable as i am right now. my subconscious is still pushing, writhing, wrapping its hands around my throat, wanting all those natural things. chaos, change, a semblance of urban happiness, a job, a wife, kids, fat wads of cash to spend on sex, drugs and cheap thrills, but in my current state of mind, im blithely happy to be nowhere at all. it's a strange world to be occupied in thought, doing nothing, and enjoying it.
in some part of my mind, this is what death is equivalent to. living absently. the continual state of hibernation. i think of this because of the weather outside. it's a brisk 7'c in the fading light comgin in from outside. if i stand in the daylight, it's a pale, concrete white in the sky. a few placid, strangled trees with no leaves stand solid and chilled, shivering in the breeze with serene droplets holding to the bends in the limbs of the trees. the air and the ground is cold, wet and dusk is approaching, the shadows on the ground indicating where the sun would be behind that dull shine. there's no taste, no smell outside besides the faint damp weather and the stillness in the air.
it's also strange to be aware of just how far AU$10k/yr will stretch. in US dollars, i guess that's $6k/yr.
when i was 16-20, i partially considered being in the windfall of a position that ushered in $10k per week. it's possible, but i dont feel convinced of it. i'm still struggling with the fluid model of capitalism from the ground up, i see the way it works for everyone, and the economics are fine, but there is some gaps in the flows of money, that deep recess where insurance and the stockmarket evaluation of funds, and the simple vanishing/valuation of money once it hits banking and lending institutions. the little i know of it, makes me reticent to even deal with people who channel funds, the opportunity to just openly create money is invalidating any value it might have had, to my opinion. it seems, that if you can control enough of the safeguards, you can create and destroy the global economy in a single afternoon, maybe an hour. and every country in the world leans on the international economy of loans, trading and general commerce to establish their value to others. a house of cards in a locked room, with 20 men who swear it still stands, convincing you and themselves at the same time.
From 21-25. ive done nothing at all, that bright future of entrepreneurship was burned in my eyes, terribly disillusioned with the world of ego and corporate capitalism and business. i still embrace and appreciate it, but i can't feel empathy for it, a broken institution that rejected me, and i rejected it. i still think i can work within it's walls, but i still have too much hatred of the white collared world to be involved in a serious attempt to seek a job. anywhere, anything else, i have no problems with. but all i see is 9 to 5 when i think of the workforce, and it's stifling, draining, that i could work for 5 years to achieve even less for myself than i have right now.
i'm also still writing small stories. mainly though, they are written in my head alone. so many jumbled ideas, and not enough patience or solid 'something' to continue or flesh out a character into a more fluid and beliavable character. it might also be a feeling of remorse, a loss of individual recognition, and a fear of failing that stops me. i used to write a lot more and i kept a lot of it around. but one day, i just removed it. i barely remember when or why, although i keep memento's of nearly everything else. as if a switch or a tap was turned, and i lost my surge of creativity, no ideas flowed, and all those absent thoughts just stopped.
anyway, i have to fill my current responsibilities. i'm not totally removed from life. yet.
Current Mood: blah