Starting this at 12:23 PM (the noon one), you can look at the timestamp to find out when I finished.
I'm sitting in the bathtub sideways, my netbook placed on a chair out of range of the water, listening to the Turtle Island String Quartet's rendition of Dave Brubeck's Blue Rondo ala Turk on repeat. Why? Because it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do with too much nicotine in my blood, having stayed up most of the night playing Borderlands. I've changed the look of the blog and taken it off my Twitterfeed account so as to avoid the whole process of my messages being forwarded to Facebook, and thus my family and other such undesirables. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate the random idiots who read KaizoPapercraft and add me as a friend on the book of faces, but they really don't need to read what I have to say here.
No one does.
That being said, I've decided to re-purpose this travesty into a live journal of sorts (say, that'd be a clever name for a product like blogging, eh?), because what else would be more narcissistic, and we must always live up to the ridiculous titles we choose for our interweb endeavors. And yes, it occurs to me that this was originally intended for just such a purpose, and it also occurs that I'll have forgotten all about my resolution in 24 hours time. I still have the hardcover journal I got when I was 9 years old. At first, the entries were short, bland, only a few days apart; still excited to have a book of blank pages with Dinotopia art on the cover, for no purpose other than to record my thoughts. As time progressed, the entries were spaced out by months, and eventually years. The last time I saw fit to put pen to overly-glossy page was in high school, over 6 years ago.
But now! Oh my, we have such wondrous tools. Why, I can take a low-resolution picture on my cellular telephone, and in moments post online for no one to see. Who needs flying cars when we can share pointless information at lightning speed? A glorious future to be certain. I’m positive this new toy will hold my attention, not like all those old ones, promise.
So why the tub? Not sure. It seems to be my ultimate recoil. I’ve done some of my best writing in the tub. Hell at this point I’m not even sure I can write anywhere else. That particular habit started last winter, while I was drafting the last philosophy essays I would ever be required to write. Mainly it was just a nice warm place to get some work done without all the distractions in the living room. It goes further back than that, though. I used to get sick quite often in middle school. Allergy to a particular, nearly-omnipresent meat preservative. Spent quite a lot of time in the bathroom, expelling the contents of my digestive tract. At some point I realized that the tub was a nice relaxing place where, should the need arise, I only had to crawl a foot or two to hang my head over the commode and heave until satisfied. Not that it was ever satisfying… I’ve seen alcoholics decide to go vomit, and walk out of the restroom looking downright cheerful. Good gods that seems like the worst sort of existence.
Anyway, a live journal that isn’t on LiveJournal. As I write this I only know one person who might possibly read it within a day or so of publication, and not by stumbling across it or inquisitively clicking a link after seeing that I host more than just KaizoPapercraft, as per my Blogger profile. You see, about two months ago I was literally cleaning out my closet when I happened across old pictures from my time served in band in high school. Glancing at the images of my on-and-off girlfriend of four years, I got the devious notion that I should send her some casual, non-committal message over the face books. We hadn’t spoken in over 4 years. Within 48 hours we were right back to where we were in high school, and at this point I’m fairly certain I’m going to marry her in about 5 years’ time. Funny how little, seemingly inconsequential decisions can have, in fact, the most drastic of consequences.
So, why start writing again? Combination of several elements. First and foremost (let’s be honest here), I’m bored, hopped up on chemicals, and I need to occupy myself so I don’t fall asleep mid-day…again. Beyond that? I read through Transmetropolitan again. I think Spider is who every aspiring writer should idolize. Though the critical point about reading through them again is, the ending is terrifying, right up until the last few pages. While in conversation with said no-longer-ex-girlfriend, the topic of “What would you do if you found out you only had a year to live?” came up. My immediate response was to begin writing. Wouldn’t tell people, wouldn’t mourn my own passing. I’d start writing and not rest until I was sure I got all of my ideas down on paper.
So I suppose I’m writing because, I know this is what I want to do, what I need to be doing constantly, and I’m usually not. So we write. We write about anything and nothing. We record our daily bullshit so that we feel strange when not writing. Develop a habit so strong that you won’t be able to break it, even if you try. Sounds nice, huh?
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Well then. Where to begin? Other than…you know, the beginning of the post, which is, at this point, long gone. How about with the current predicament?
I am unemployed.
I graduated this last May. Baccalaureate in Philosophy, minor in Japanese. Obviously I didn’t have a career in mind when I chose the field of study. In fact, that’s a bit of a funny story:
During my freshman year I was having the classic identity crisis, having been told I must choose a major by the end of my sophomore year, effectively being told to choose my destiny by age 20. I was officially listed as a Computer Science major, and hated every minute of my only class on the subject thus far. I was on the phone, panicking in the general direction of my mother, when she told me, “Employers don’t care what you studied, they just want to see that you stuck it out for four years and got a degree.” I trusted her opinion, as she’s a VP for an insurance company and looks at a handful of resumes every day. At that moment, I looked up at my dormitory bookshelf, at the philosophy paperbacks my dad had given me for no real reason. I was enjoying Introduction to Ancient Philosophy, and acing it without trying. It just sort of clicked. Four years later, I have a degree in a completely useless, but fascinating subject.
So really I’m just looking for any job that will pay the bills. Surprisingly difficult in a town full of college kids when the economy is shit to begin with. I even got turned down by Walmart when I had a moderately influential contact at the store vouching for me. Walmart. Fuck me that was depressing.
Anyway, the plan right now is to save up money and move out west. Vancouver is ideal, but I’ll take Seattle or Portland. That general area. The plan was to stay here in Denton while I saved up cash for the transition in about two years. Having been looking for any job since April and turning up absolutely nothing is not helping with this plan. In the last few months plans have changed for other reasons (namely that chick what done got back into my life). Her plan (when she gets home from the Peace Corps in December…oh yeah, didn’t I mention that? She’s out to save the world one asshole at a time), is to get herself back in school, probably University of Houston, and get a Master’s. Not being able to find employment while simultaneously living on my mother’s dime, combined with my potential wife moving back to Houston means I’ll be doing the smart thing; that is, moving back in with my mom so I can save up metric shit tons of currency while Elizabeth finishes school. Even on minimum wage, I’ll be able to put away like $500 a month living with one of my parents. I’d definitely prefer living with my dad if I had the choice, but he’s in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, where employment options are as enticing as Denton. Plus my mom has a pool.
So I’m doing the sad, nerdy, cliché thing, moving back in with my mother. Probably would’ve done it after graduation, but my sister just split up with her husband, and has been living with my mom while she builds up 6 months of work history to qualify for a house loan. She’ll be hitting the 6 month mark in September (as in, the month starting tomorrow), which means I’ll soon be shifting back to (ugh) warmer climes. Also the deadline to renew or terminate my lease was the actual day of graduation, and I had no idea what my future was looking like, so again panicking in the general direction of my mother, I was told to sign another 6 month lease and, should I need it, she would help with rent. Incidentally she was not happy when she had to start putting money in my account again a few days ago.
But it’s not all bad. Originally I had wanted to stay in Denton until I moved out west for my (few) friends here, namely my pal Ian, with whom I am working on the development of a new role playing game system. Not 6 months ago, I was sure we’d have something ready for playtesters by now, and publishing shortly after that. We’re still sitting in more or less the same spot we were 4 months ago, and with the addition of his new girlfriend, he has less and less time to work on game. We’ll get it done eventually, but at this point it looks like it will be years down the line. For the best, really. Gives use time to refine. They’re actually planning to move out to Portland in about a year’s time, so maybe we’ll have the chance to work on things face-to-face again after I leave the city.
In any case, my mom’s place is very nice. I’ll have a private room upstairs, access to an acceptably sized pool (with hot tub, I’ll need to see how well I can write while sitting in that), and be living right in the middle of a considerable commercial area. Lots of job opportunities within bicycle distance. Plus, there’s a Wushu center like, just down the street. Gonna have to get myself signed up for some of that. Elizabeth has been invited to stay with a friend in Houston proper, which is really only an hour away from League City, where I’ll be residing. I should be able to survive the next few years in comfort and convenience, if nothing else.
That being said, I’m losing my fucking mind.
Have you ever had no obligations all weekend? You say, “Wow, all this free time, I’ll get so much done!” Then you end up sitting on the couch watching TV, overwhelmed by all the options? Paralyzed by choice. Now imagine that’s every day of the week for 4 months. There’s this term, “cabin fever.” Ian has to drag me out of the apartment on Fridays, just to make sure I’m not dead. He shows up and I mutter, unshaved and disheveled, “Is it Friday again already?” The only way I’ve been able to mark the passage of time is with weekly airings of new TV shows, which, thankfully, I torrent. If I had cable, I think I’d just melt into my armchair.
My sleep schedule is just…gone. You see, with nothing to get up for, I slowly push my bedtime further and further back each night, dragging my wakeup with it. Eventually, I wind up completely nocturnal. I spent an entire Christmas break once, never seeing the sun in the sky. I’d wake up at 6 PM, just as it was setting, then go to sleep at 6 AM, just as it was rising. I play video games all night, trying to keep the volume of my stereo just loud enough to be enjoyable, just quiet enough not to piss off my neighbors. Since classes started again, I’ve been wearing my headphones at night, just so I don’t interrupt their beauty sleep for the new semester.
I bought a hookah about two months ago. Probably a bad decision. I smoke all night, playing ModNation Racers. I’m up to 2-3 bowls a day. Full bowls. I bought some fancy shisha recently. Supposedly the stuff “royalty and celebrities” smoke. Read some forum reviews which claimed it had a very potent buzz. I never felt a damn thing. I’ve gone through a 250g tub in about two and a half weeks. I know I basically grabbed a trashcan lid and hurled myself down the slippery slope, but the way I look at it I’ll be forced to cut way way back when I move in with a parent who knows nothing like she does how to make you feel guilty. I’ll be forced to smoke outside, or near an open window with a fan on. For the best, really.
I think in the last few days, I’ve finally managed to get myself going toward a normal sleep cycle. Bit of a miracle, really, which is why I’m typing this up now, not taking an extended nap. I need to push through a tired afternoon so I can be flat out exhaust by 10 PM. The Final Fantasy XIV open beta was scheduled to begin tonight, and I figured that would be all the motivation I needed to stay up, but they decided to postpone it, and now I’m nico-caffeinated, and needing something to hold my attention so I don’t crawl into bed (and no, caffeine doesn’t keep me awake. In fact I’ve always had a weird relationship with caffeine. It sort of helps regulate my sleeping habits…holy shit, I just realized I started drinking caffeine again last week, right around the time I started getting back into a normal routine. God bless you Dr. Pepper, and your teeth-rotting magic serum).
…
Haugh…it’s getting to the point where I can’t concentrate. I either need sleep, sustenance, or smoke.
I’ll continue this another time.
