Moving, And Going Nowhere · 5:53pm Dec 31st, 2017
Christian here.
Funny how I still feel the need to verify which brother is writing, even though I'm he only one who's used this account in years.
So, big news first, I just moved. Was living with two roommates for almost a year, but their lease was expiring and I frankly had gotten sick of them both, so now I'm back on my own again. But anyone who has ever gone home hunting knows that any place that leases usually requires potential tenants to make at least three times per month than the rent, and with the honorless, ignoble line of work I've pigeonholed myself into with an annual income considered to be below extreme poverty, any of those were out of the question. I could have gotten a cosigner, but my younger brother outright refused to help in spite of the fact that I let him live with me for next to nothing for over a year (selfish fucking ingrate), and while my grandmother was willing to help, she's too technologically retarded to fathom the mad genius level wizardry required to download a PDF file from a fucking email, resulting in me losing out on what would have been an ideal location.
I did manage to find a place that only required twice the monthly income rate to rent, and even that I only just barely qualified for. Now I live in a tiny studio, consisting of only a bedroom, a bathroom, and a minuscule kitchen so small that it doesn't even have an oven.
It's affordable, at least; a stable roof over my head, and for that I am grateful. But what worries me is the mental degradation that will begin to beset me again from the isolation and living a life devoid of direction or purpose. Last time I was living completely alone was back in 2014 to mid 2015, when my philosophy took an as of now immutable turn for the nihilistic; I started morbidly musing to myself if I went missing or flat out died how long it would be before anyone even noticed that I was gone. And now, every morning when I return to my secluded abode--the monastery to the failure of my life, that the burden of blame which rests solely upon me becomes more crushing with each passing day--I load up the track 'Adam Jensen's Apartment' from Deus Ex: Human Revolution before I even step through the door.
It's a track you should be familiar with; I used it at the end of chapter four, when Twilight came to the resignation that she would be trapped isolated and alone in limbo for the rest of her existence and what is one of if not the most emotionally low moment of the story thus far.
Oh, and I load up the ambient, extended, hour-long version of it.
I feel like I'm losing myself. Each day that passes widens the fissure between me and sympathy or even regard for anyone I have the displeasure of interacting with. For every guest that comes up to me to ask their stupid fucking questions, I dismiss with at least a "Fucking idiot..." whispered under my breath as they depart. I stick buds in my ears when I'm out in public to give the impression I can't hear the outside world, even if I'm not listening to anything, just so I don't have to respond to anyone, and I've outright snarled at people who can't take the fucking hint that I don't want to fucking talk to them. My work performance is starting to suffer from suffocating apathy; I'll loaf about, without bothering to put in any more effort than necessary to get the minimal amount of work I have to do finished, if even that. I've even been getting hyper infuriated about otherwise, menial things, like quickplay games in Overwatch when there's always that one fucker (or two) playing Hanzo or/and Widowmaker (poorly), and we don't have any tanks, and no one that hit the fucking slanty-eyed weeaboo magnet Jap who's getting free damage, and no one is even trying to kill that Swiss fucking cunt even though killing her will make killing the rest of their team easier but now she's got her fucking ult up and now she just fucking resurrected everyone that took fucking three ults to kill and now we all lost and I hope you worthless retarded mother cunt fucking shit-for-brain wastes of flesh like salt because the Dead Sea isn't as venomously bromidic as I am.
Maybe this is just me venting, because even if anyone does have something meaningful or profound to say, I'll more than likely just blow it off. Because nothing changes, just rearranges for me, this time, for all time.
But of course no one gives a fuck about a loser in his late twenties who still has the mentality of a teenager; they just care about the story he's writing. Well, it's going... extremely slowly. What with all the writer's block involved with trying to figure out how to write the most ambitious entry written for the story while my apathy further encroaches every aspect of my life and I've been immersing myself in video games just for a fleeting, empty sense of accomplishment (and dopamine) isn't good for creative endeavors. I used to (sometimes) write on my phone while commuting on the bus to and from work (yes, I'm that pathetic), but now I live two blocks from where I work, so even that is falling by the wayside.
I do intend to finish this story, I really do, but it's getting hard to convince even myself to carry on... and no, that's not just because the series is taking/has taken a irrefutable nose-dive.
Though after I moved, I did say I was going to get my drivers license, then get a better job. I also need to start writing a script for my review of My Little Pony: The Movie, because there's no way in fuck I should be allowed to live with myself if I don't leave that monolithic monument of mediocrity with a few scars from my own hand, because it fucking deserves them.
...
... but after I get Orisa's "Puppy" emote. I need to have my priorities straight, after all.
- Christian 'Welcome home, Mr. Jensen' Harisay
Optimistic nihilism, brother. It swallows a whole bunch smoother.
Instead of pushing away the idiots, tolerate them. Force yourself to see things from their perspective and intelligence level. It really is all about perspective
You'll feel a whole bunch better.