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Everyday Paranoia of the Creative Mind

Everyday Paranoia of the Creative Mind

I need a new outlet for all the stories my imagination creates to keep itself busy.  Am i not social enough or am I too social for my natural self?  Or maybe I still have PTSD from childhood and all the social “training” I had to go through to behave in public.

Take being taught to be polite and considerate as an example.  Being considerate assumes that you predict what others consider to be considerate.  Do they really care if you don’t step way aside in the grocery store isle?  Maybe, but no one knows for sure.  No one can read minds, but if we are all trained on the same rules then we can move around each other with less collisions and more confidence.  So not true.  So I was taught to be considerate, now I am moving out of every one’s way but no one is moving out of my way.  Some people just charge right on past and actually get mad at me when their arm brushes mine.  As if it didn’t take two.

I guess I took social rules too seriously to the point where I missed the phase when I was supposed to be bending the rules to learn which ones don’t really matter after specific ages.

I often ask myself why I care what someone else might think.  I really don’t.  But my imagination like to make up stories with real world people in them for its own entertainment.  What if so-and-so really meant “this” even though quite clearly with the entire context of the situation taken into account, they rally meant “that.”

When my imagination goes wild it takes me along for the ride cycling through every emotion possible to make sure I didn’t miss anything.  I usually end up coming right back to where I started, assured of my initial experience of the situation.  But that interim week while I delve into the ether of my mind so afraid that what my imagination comes up with might be true is an emotional roller coaster that I prefer not to ride.  I don’t like highs and lows, I prefer sustainable plateaus or gently rising slopes.

Maybe I am bored, or maybe I just need to finally learn how to actually write.


On Luck

On Luck

Daydreaming is one of my favorite past times.  That and sleeping, probably because it involves dreaming.  I can’t read anyone else’s mind but I feel like I’m more of a space case than a lot of people I have met.

It’s not robotic to be in perfect tandem with the flow in life.  It requires a specific logic to stay pointed in the right direction.  Emotional people find it boring to look in because they don’t feel the luck.  The luck might be an illusion.  Maybe when people feel lucky it is just an emotion that happens to be fixated on specific activities.  Those activities might be detrimental, but the emotion of luck being on your side is intoxicating.  Luck shows up and simply lights up the way.  Suddenly you feel lighter and more at ease because everything you are looking for is just given to you.  The outcome of every decision yields dividends.

The optimism gets scary.  Like all those times you were having too much fun to notice the cliff you are dancing next to.  Going up that high, especially for the first time brings about severe doubt at oneself and my greater macro environment.  I look around in amazement thinking at the fact that it is possible to be this happy.  I did not know.  I thought it was something worth striving for.  It’s happiness at so many things.  The doubt starts analyzing it deeper to prepare for an even greater apocalypse than was every thought possible.  The what-ifing.  It pairs up with fear to show me the potential outcomes of losing major pieces of my happiness pie.  It’s goal is to find the source of the happiness, to prioritize what gets protected most in the event of a catastrophe.  It scans all the major people in my life and imagines they die.  Freaky as hell.  The thoughts make me feel like those outcomes are possible soon.  It takes effort to let those thoughts go.

It’s expensive to live here.  It has always been expensive to live here.  It shouldn’t be so surprising that people spend so much money that bills overwhelm them enough to make them cry.  It’s like some sort of self flagellation for being alive.  It’s a luxury to just live here without ever having to think about money.  Don’t cry because you’re not one of those luxurious people.  There are so many other areas in life that I’m actually luckier in that there is no sense in dwelling on the one area not maxed out right now.  Besides I had that for a few months.  A few glorious months of pure freedom from my self, my career, my problems, etc.  I’ve tasted it.  Doing what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it.  Luck lite the way into it, through it, and forward to a higher plateau.  Up here weight is less heavy.  I don’t know that I am any stronger than before.  Wiser yes, wise enough to realize that I’ve landed in a lucky spot.  The world changed and I was holding my hand out like usual and this is what is going on this round.

My many depressions

My many depressions

Depression comes in many forms and at many different types of times.  It doesn’t usually just start one day and then suddenly leave me like my exboyfriend.  It blends in and out of life, feeding off my decisions, exposing the badness of them quietly.  My subconscious brain can only deal with the growing depression for so long before she starts expressing her need to change habits and routines.  The problem is that she doesn’t speak in verbal language while I am usually so caught up in adapting to my external world that I fail to notice that she’s saying anything at all.

The depression exploits this internal communication gap by hyjacking my sensitivities to perform in tandem with my subconscious brain’s attempts to alert me that I need to change my ways.  Subconscious brain says we need to go to sleep early to be well rested for work.  Depression has me over sleep my Alarm anyway so I’m late.  Was being tired early, sleeping excessively, or waking up late the subconscious brain signal?  I usually can’t tell.  So I adapt.  I find a balance in this push and pull.  Depression often has root in my external world anyway so I’m even further under its spell.

Depressions attract other depressions who further suck my energy, though for shorter periods of time.  Had the underlying depression not been in place, these devils would have been shrugged off and barely even noticed.  But they are instead brought straight in like a virus to show me how much worse I could feel about myself due to current external factors.  Truth is, there is always, 100% of the time something to feel bad about.  But I only choose to see it that way when I’m under depression’s spell.  Those jerks leave me alone eventually and my emotions settle down to the happiest I can be which is still depressed but with an extra feeling of relief.

I only know this because I’ve seen it many times from the outside.  During rare breaks of purity, happiness and free time are so abundant that even my subconscious brain is strong enough to keep all depressions far far away!  Only then can I look back and see extactly what was causing the dark mental fog to linger over me.

Each depression was different, some made me a sad drunk or an angry drunk.  Some were caused purely by a single person whom I now avoid with the utmost joy.  Jobs bring their own depression but not all of them.  Some big depressions join forces, like debt and a job.  My most recent escape.

These were unique in that the debt depression lasted the duration of the debt, six years.  Whereas the job was only the last two of that.  I feel the most relief from the job depression because it is receding much faster. My boss no longer has any control over me and he finally realized that.  No one is watching my time.  I come and go as I please.

The debt depression will continue to reveal what it has stolen from me over the next few months.  The growing list thus far includes my vanity, sense of style, generosity, stuff maintenance, and the ability to just visit with people.  The most difficult to grasp is my dreams for the future.  I stopped creating them.  I was so miserable and overwhelmed with loss that I focused all my energy into getting out debt.  I simply couldn’t afford to be myself if it meant living with that depression any longer than I absolutely had to.  I gave up a lot of myself to pursue this goal, but I would have given up just as much had I never embarked on it in the first place.  This was my chance at achieving a higher level of happiness.  It’s working, slowly.

I’m finally here, able to grow again my way.  I just need to figure out where to go from here.



Mindless minding

Mindless minding

If love is really attachment 99% of the time then why isn’t it romantic to say “I’m deeply attached to you?” Must be because when someone has put so much effort into a person who is missing that ever so crucial 1%, people get offended.  Being offended is a defense mechanism for extroverts who have been exhausted by the same people they crave attention from.  These individuals also would rather not accept responsibility for the fact that they willingly spend time with people who treat them like shit.  Just because everyone in their world treats them like shit doesn’t mean that everyone in the world treats them like shit.  A huge weakness of mind. A mind that not only can’t postulate other worlds, but also cannot see that other worlds (aka cultures) exist on earth.  Yet another reason to believe that earth is hell.  Intellect is a product of many, many things.  A true blessing is to have the DNA, Environment, Culture, and Freedom to express and build upon your intellect.  Some people seem destined to lack all those buckets.  Those people are spread across all families of all races and cultures.  You have to want to be smart.  You have to want to be successful.  You have to have the brains to see what is happening in the world at all levels regardless of what the media is telling you.  Climate change is just another media version of: The sky is falling!  Of course, the oceans are rising, where do you think Atlantis went when the ice age ended?  That same ice age we had last.  It’s not new.  Pollution, yes its a problem, the extent of which many people claim to understand better than others.  Why wouldn’t everyone want to live in a pristine, clean world?  That should be enough.  Beyond me.  Science, in all its honestly, is socially driven by modern problems and curiosities.  Atheists love to use science as evidence for their cunning rationality.  It’s just an acceptable excuse to avoid conflict.  Truth is many people do not need to belong to tight groups in order to feel fulfilled about their existence.  Many people do not need people at all.  This over-socialization while being forced to sit in a desk listening to lectures until the age of 18 or longer in order to afford anything above poverty-level is child abuse.  Abuse is rampant in our society, thankfully less so than 100 years ago, but still personal freedoms are not tolerated well.  One must dedicate their most precious asset (time) to achieve ever changing status in order to have nice things and live in nice environments.  Through all this we live.  We get by.   We exchange our old, beloved, obsolete knowledge for the hope that new knowledge brings.  We keep moving, keep on with the hustle.

The Freedom from Wants

The Freedom from Wants

It’s a constant struggle this habit of wanting things I don’t have.  Being aware of it is not enough to stop it from happening.  It’s ingrained deep into my sense of who I am.  I am one who scans my environment for items I identify with. I am therefore compelled to harness those ideas until I have fully merged with them.  Then it starts all over.  I am now the person who I needed to become and now I must do it again to become the next person I need to be.  Problem is this is all so exhausting and the opportunity cost is impossible to measure.  Some wants take forever to achieve.  Some wants are easy but cause longer term wants to be put off.  The juggle is constant and annoying to the point where I’d rather just not want stuff.  I’d rather just be happy with who I am because the attainment of one object often comes along with many more unforeseen objects. No want is just a simple thing.

The Future

The Future

All the cool stuff is happening in the future right now and I am stuck in the present just watching it all happen over and over and over.  All my possible futures are happening right behind my eyes and all I’m doing is sitting here watching and waiting endlessly for my turn to play life to its fullest again.

I find myself noticing how I have forgotten what it is like to be a child.  I’ve been strict and committed to the idea of never forgetting from about the age of 4.  I say 4 because 4 is the age I don’t remember being, yet I remember learning this idea prior to remembering the age of 5.

Now that I know that I will have another break from employment obligations my brain has instantly gone back into summer vacation mode.  A job hopper’s dream, dream, dream come true!  This will be the first time between jobs (out of 15) that I get paid to take a break from work.  My ego is stroking itself repeating, “I’m so good at this,” over and over and I just watch and laugh carelessly in agreement as if it were actually true.  It’s not because I’m good at this.  It’s because of random timing.  I just happen to finally find a “permanent” job two years before that job was being moved out of state and it just so happens that I will get bought out of my “at-will” employment agreement.  This is really a “please don’t sue us” or a “statistically, if we buy you out of your job you are less likely to be a problem in the future” payout.

What does this have to do with summer vacation?  Summer vacation is when, not only does your environment not change, but your standard of living also goes up for those three months.  While not on summer vacation one must adhere to the norm of civilized educated society by showing up at a location at a specific time and paying attention to/remaining in that specific location for a specific period of time.  None of that happens on summer vacation.  None.  On summer vacation I sleep when I want to sleep, I eat when I want to eat, I talk to people when I want to talk to people, and best of all I drive when I want to drive. I am essentially my true self.  Not this mercenary self who is well aware her student debt needs to be paid off in order to move forward in life.

It’s the need to be a mercenary that has created its own survival personality.  This is survival in its simplest form.  I should be grateful that my survivor personality is not a staring victim of war or a self defending warrior of a warring nation.  No, mine is one of a bored middle class adventurer.  Very first world problem, thank. god.  But that’s what I’ve got and thats the biggest problem my almost unemployed brain wants to go with.  The fact that playtime is nearing in 100% of it’s truest form (of the likes I have not seen for more than a decade) and I have forgotten how to play.

For years my hobbies have been dwindling out of my everyday routine.  All my favorite toys are collecting dust in my closet or under my bed.  I think of them often but am too put off by the amount of work it takes to play with them.  I’d rather not start than get half way through, not finish, but still have a huge mess to clean up.  That’s what she said 😉

I’ve seen no point in continuing activities that aren’t going to actually and practically get me ahead in the world.  I haven’t had the mental energy to juggle too many ideas at a given time.  I dislike my day being full of scheduled activities and feeling obligated to clean off my to-do list.  I’m an essentially sick of many things that used to fly me away into happiness.  They say that is a sign of depression.  If so, I’m the happiest depressed person that I’ve ever met.  Maybe I was depressed and didn’t know it and suddenly I’m not depressed and have forgot the extremity of where I was a few weeks ago before I found out that I have the opportunity to be myself again (for a long time) very, very soon.   In that case it wouldn’t matter, at least not until I’m back down to a level that relates, which would be in the future where apparently not only cool stuff is happening.




Achieving a constant state of flow is expensive, both directly in terms of cost and indirectly in terms of opportunity cost.  Because of this inherent cost, I have gotten myself into a good enough state of artificial flow.  During my week I feel a sense of achievement in making sure my boss is happy with my work.  He is easily pleased and I am actively learning something new almost everyday.  I also have family and enough friends to keep me occupied in my free time.

Then comes the weekends where nothing is planned.  I catch up on sleep, then complete most of my to-do list.  Once all that clears away I am painstakingly aware that despite all the goals I have achieved, all the knowledge I have attained, and all the money I have saved in my retirement account, l feel as though I have gotten no where.

I feel so lazy at the thought that despite all that work I still feel empty like a hamster on a wheel.  I accomplished all my dreams.  I feel so grateful and fulfilled that I have been able to do all these things that I needed to do to evolve into who I am today.  So why the hell am I so bored?

Nothing is keeping me in the flow.  Goals feel like just more shit I have to do because I accomplished all my goals, I rose above and now all that goal accomplishment energy has no true goal to apply itself to.  Any new goal is just me trying to find the next subject or topic that will keep me engaged in the world.  Something that captures my attention and holds me to it all the way to the end.  Sadly, no.  I can’t find flow.  Even in books.  I can’t find a new genre to get into.  I miss the captivation of a new subject to master.

I have things to do, I just don’t feel like doing them will get me anywhere.  I’ll still end up on the other side of that goal in the same place trying to find the next thing that will take me some place exotic.

I could pay for another degree or plane ticket.  I could, but once that trip is over, like all the others, I’ll probably be sitting right here again, bitching about how all my work has done nothing but keep me occupied while time passes.  My flow is fragmented, all the pieces are living their own separate lives and I’m just juggling all my various skills and abilities trying desperately to get them all together into something that keeps me happy all the time.

Hope and Reality

Hope and Reality

“I just want the pants!”  The phrase that plays in my mind whenever I think of performance inabilities.  I was taking a pattern making class at a community center in a suburb of Auckland, New Zealand.  The woman who exclaimed the phrase had been to several Saturday pattern making classes because she was a very wide-hipped and narrow-waisted hour glass.  The kind who never in her life had a pair of pants that actually fit her shape perfectly.  She was on the verge of tears, trembling lip an all, as she yelped out that echoing phrase.  Making her own pants was the last option within her budget.  Despite hours of hope, all hope was lost.  It suddenly became clear that nothing she could do was going to fulfill that hope.  The dark cloud of despair entombed her face and never left for the rest of the class.

Maybe it is the budget that kills us.  Yes, if we had all the money in the world we would be able to let someone else deal with the stress of finding us pants that fit.  First world problems.  The ability to dream and see in one’s mind that a different reality can exist for us is monumental to our survival.  No one can stay sane if they are aware that every day of their future is likely to be just as shitty as the one they have been experiencing for the last God knows how many days.  No one.  I must envision a brighter future.  I must see how my inputs into this waste of time will convince someone that I am capable of moving on to the next level.  Beating the boss takes stamina.  It takes wit and intellect.  These’s people are dense and narrow minded because they need to be to keep their cog of the wheel operational.  They can’t just let everyone pass go and collect $200.  You have to pass their unacknowledged tests to pass go.  That’s life.

Problem is, passing Go takes time.  The amount of time passing Go takes is different in different cultures.  Some cultures understand the real world.  Some cultures understand their own real world.  To a person who has traveled and lived in the “real world”, this idea is confusing.  Imagine taking a multiple choice test for an online college course.  No lectures, just a text book to rely on for information.  One test question asks, “The best way to make a profit is to buy low and sell high, true or false?”  What is your answer? You can rationalize that both answers are correct in some way or another.  But according to the text book that you are being tested on, the answer is “true”.  Not because your life experience has told you that it is true, not because your friends agree, but simply because in the context of this specific life situation, the text book explicitly says that on page 279.  A+ for you.


The Wicked Witch of the Underworld

The Wicked Witch of the Underworld

Somehow we ended up driving into the underworld.  Not knowing where we were, we made a u turn and continued on our way home.  A wicked witch followed us out though.  Something in me knew it too but I kept shrugging off as shadows and road noise.  At home that night I felt her presence and went into the back yard pondering where the safest place would be.  In fright at the dark clouds swarming fast on all horizons, I turned and ran back into the house and up the stairs.  She flew around me in a swirling gust.  I thought I had escaped her as I burst out onto the balcony and climbed onto the roof.  Feeling myself floating I grabbed the flag pole rope and held on in one last attempt to stay grounded.  “It’s no use,” she shrieked, “I’ve already given you the poison.” Her words echoed as Kevin’s sword flew through her apparition, its reflective light joining into my swirling, darkening vision.

I eventually awoke, realizing that my sleeping beauty fantasies were never something that I wanted to be true.   Blinking my eyes, I expected the vague form of Kevin hovering over me to bring me relief, but it didn’t.  “Kevin! Why do you look like that?” I exclaimed.  His Claymation face looked sad.  I reached up to his face asking him if it is really him, when I noticed my own hands had the very same cartoonish texture.  Frightened, thinking this must be a dream, the memory of the witch’s attack came back.  “But how did you get here?” I asked him as he showed me the mirror, “I thought she was only attacking me.

“She was.” He explained, “But I couldn’t fight her off and wouldn’t let her take you alone.  So I let her take me too.  I couldn’t be without you.  “What does she want with us?” I asked.  He didn’t know.  For weeks she has just been flying around like a mad spirit muttering spells as she experiments with the new power having us around gives her.  “She’s been gone for a few days, maybe that’s why you’ve woken up.”  My memory came and went over the next few days so it was easy to live in the cottage as if we always did.

But at random times a memory would come to mind.  “Do you still work at a bank?” I asked Kevin, half knowing his answer but feeling compelled like a child to ask anyway.  “Not since we’ve been here, no.  We’re prisoners here.  I have no idea how to get out.”

One day Kevin began to get spacey and forgetful of what words he had been trying to get out.  He fell into a conscious muttering sleep as the witch flew in.  “Good good, awake awake.  Get up!” she ordered.  I stood, shaky on my claylike legs under her spell.  A salt shaker appeared in my hand and I started sprinkling Kevin with salt as the witch flew around in apparitional ciaos.

The tornedo of wind put me into a black out and I awoke on horseback.  My hands tied in front of me with Kevin walking at my side, looking more and more Disney than Claymation.  We were slowly following the witch’s caravan through a small town.  Children were pointing in awe as the adults hustled them away from the road.  A band of teens threw rocks at us, threatening to break Kevin’s shoes, which were made of half an egg shell each.  Angrily he lunged at them.  Had his shackles not held him back, they probably would have been too scared to throw one last rock.  Egg shell shards spew in all directions, disheartened he turned to me.  “You have to try to remember, remember home.  It is the only way we can get out of here.” “Home…” I whispered as I woke up, Kevin snoring at my side.  I breathed a sigh of relief that it was all just some sort of dream.