Loss, Acceptance, and Reality

This is going to be a short one, as I have work to do.

For the time being, I'm done fighting myself. I've put myself in this position, so I'm going to try working with it.

I bitch because I thought the job I took three months ago was going to solve all my problems.

Well, I did help some, but it created many new ones, the most monstrous of which is a tremendous sense of isolation.

I am a social bastard, which is to say I LIKE being around people. It's why I was a damn fine bartender or record store clerk. It's why I liked living in Vermillion under the circumstances I did. There were always people around to do things with, many of them agreeable.

My big cure job, which I do enjoy, by the way, keeps me at work while all of my social contacts here in Minneapolis are actually active. The job itself is very isolated by nature. I sit with headphones on for eight hours and smoke cigarettes to talk as an excuse more to interact with people more than actual desire to smoke.

How's that for a fucking realization? Cigarettes are no longer the main reason to smoke.

Anyhow, the whole point of what I'm blathering about is that for three months, I've been trying to go to bed because no one is up past when I get home from work. The harder I try to go to bed so maybe the morning can be productive, the more likely I am to waste my life on the internet till six or seven in the morning, sleep only till ten out of guilt, resume internet uselessness, go to work underslept and repeat.

Well, goddam, son. I'm rebuilding my half of the apartment tonight. Obvious, eh?

Get shit done after work, get a sense of accomplishment, sleep at least somewhat fulfilled, and go to work a little more lively.

That's the plan, chief.

That's the plan.


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