Monthly Archives: January 2012


Someone I know [or maybe I read it on tumblr] once said that there are great, wonderful, fascinating people in every state but in 48 of those states, the people don’t use where they live to describe or define themselves. And that the people LA and NYC have been some of the most boring people he has ever met.

I don’t know I guess it made me reevaluate what I’ve been thinking and what I’ve been wanting. Well, not so much made me reevaluate as much as bring to mind the extended reevaluation that had already been going on for a couple years now.

I’m already really cynical, and have been for quite some time, and I have a tendency to scoff at bright-eyed kids who dream of moving to LA or NYC for whatever stereotypical reason and of course they all try to justify it and make it sound like their reason is somehow different than everyone else’s, that they’re an exception. But it’s all the same, they’ve fallen for the same delusion that these cities are magical, they’re different than where they are now, it’s only in these cities that they’re dreams of stardom [or whatever else] can come true, and that they would finally feel at home with the people or the culture because it would all just be so much better than where they are now.

And I guess, when I say I want to go back to CA, I can’t really fully tell if it’s actually because it’s where I grew up and because I love the coast and the weather or if this is just me longing for a location that’s going to change my life and being in denial about it like the aforementioned bright-eyed kids.

tl; dr It’s difficult to distiguish between when I actually want something because I want something and when I want something because advertising or society or culture or whatever else tells me it’s what I should want because maybe I do know when I want something I’m just very reluctant to want it wholeheartedly or to dedicate myself to it fully because I don’t want to feel or look like a fool or a puppet when I realize that I did all of that just because someone convinced me that I wanted something I didn’t actually want for myself.



Talking myself out of buying things is hard. I don’t even want to do it. I want to buy things, I want to get new shoes and loose cardigans, I want to go on long drives and waste gas, I want to buy over-priced delicious candy, I want to buy the good whiskey instead of the cheap stuff that makes me ill.
I want to get things to pile on top of my feeling so I stop feeling them. I want to get things to fill up these gaping crevasses in my life.

I resent myself for wanting things, physical things, instead of experiences, instead of life, instead of relationships, instead of happiness. I hate myself for opting to substitute temporaryisms for happiness. I hate myself for settling for instant gratification instead of investing time, money, thought, anything and everything at all in my future.

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I don’t know why can’t shake it this time, why I can’t even function in spite of it this time. At least before, I did things, albeit, half-heartedly, but I still did them. Now I can’t even do, I can’t even feel, I can’t even be. The only thing I’ve managed to do, feel and be is miserable and guilty, so goddamn guilty, for wasting time, money, thought, life, space, everything that could have been something but is now deteriorating into nothing because I just couldn’t.