May 31, 2017

Categories sober

1:29 PM: It is uncanny the degree to which I still seek martyrdom while being fully aware of the futility, and worse, the misappropriation of life, in it. There is no reward in self-sacrifice, save for the times the sacrifice is the reward in and of itself. Helping others, even at a cost to oneself, perhaps, especially at a cost to oneself, feels good. But this is not the sacrifice of which I speak. No, I am lamenting over the wastefulness in bearing burdens for the sake of bragging rights. Of wasting years at a job one hates for some perverted sense of virtue. Recently, I have mentioned a multitude of times in several discrete social circles that my money is being spent for me, much to my dismay. I have been working a great many hours, earning a great many monies, yet have no great savings, and I still wear the shoes I wore as a student several years ago. I believe it was clear in each diatribe that I did not want for shoes so much as I felt slighted somehow and I endured the encroachment nobly. The tirades are heavy in humor, but I am not so sure this is the only reason no one has mentioned that the circumstance is entirely self-created and self-perpetuated. No, I believe it is because nearly everyone self-slights and expects a pat on the back for doing so.

It should be noted, for future perspective that I have been reading Melville, and I cannot seem to help myself in writing as I have been reading.

It should also be noted, for future perspective, that last night, while lying in bed, just before attempting to seduce slumber, I bought a pair of fucking shoes.

3:32 AM: I had the opportunity today to be indignant over circumstances or relentlessly self-debase for my part in said circumstances. I failed to do so and instead repeatedly asked myself how I could wrench the most fun out of the day. While I did not threaten to reap barrels of the stuff, my day was far less shitty for the attempt. After missing my exit and subsequently setting myself back a half-hour during a day I started several hours too late, I nearly punched the steering wheel and began a downward spiral of animosity. I would grow increasingly fitful until I justified some smokes at the end of the night. Instead, I decided all of that was tiresome and I relinquished my acrimonious habituation. I observed shenpa and said, “fuck you, shenpa. I’d rather not today.”

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