12 June, 2009

This is just straight up griping.

It is 0930CDT.
0930.
I don't have to be to work until 1600.
This is how it is every Wednesday through Friday. I sit here, bored, putzing around the house, keeping things clean all day. There is nothing to do. I look at the clock and I count the hours until work. Then I go there and do nothing. This is what my days have become.
Later, I'm assuming that I can get some recording done but right now it's that awful interim when the coffee is finished, the dishes are clean, the emails answered, etc.
And I think how alienated things are here. I pin hopes on a job interview for a position I'm not going to get anyhow, not to mention that I'd be ill-equipped for which to relocate, because people are more like me out there. Here, I see people that look like people with whom I should hang out, but I am nothing like them. I interact mostly with people online and sometimes I get the sense that I am not like them, either.
So now I hide in the basement most of the day because I am not like everybody else and the more I recoil from others, the more I hold my tongue, the more I keep to myself, the more I don't say anything nasty to anybody, the more I am separated from them, the more they hate me.
Imagine that: I stay out of people's way and I'm an asshole.
I've never understood that but I guess that after it's been drilled into my head for the past six or seven years that it's finally starting to sink in. If you're polite, mind your manners, and choose to avoid conflict situations rather than engage in them, then you're an asshole.
You know why there's a bar on the studio door? Because I think I finally figured it out myself. I told myself it was for security, to keep the gear safe. But how do you keep the gear safe? By keeping people out. The gear is in here, safe, inert. The other part of the equation is the outside world, you see?
I'm barring people out.
Because I am not like them.
It is now 0950.
The mail won't arrive for a while but there's generally nothing in it, anyway. The kitchen is clean but that's the way I keep it. My body is clean but my horrible genetics will have me stinking again by noon. The belly is empty but it's not time to eat yet. The yard is clean but then I'm really the only one who gives a shit. I've managed to tell half of my readership to fuck off but I am not like them.
I measure my self-worth by my accomplishments and right now there is nothing to accomplish. Sort of reminds me of what Shaw said about Hell: "... a place where you have nothing to do but amuse yourself." And then just to add insult to injury, he also referred to Hell as being "full of musical amateurs". Imagine that. A musician with nothing to do.
I am twenty eight and what have I done with my life? Nearly a dozen records? Nobody listens to them. A blog? Join the club. Went to college? It's a glorified votech school.
And then people wonder why I avoid others. Because I feel like a useless lump most of the time and I know that hanging out with others would only be a drag for them. And then when I try to get shit off of my chest, I feel like my emotions are invalidated because I'm told to shut up. So I shut up so people don't have to hear about it but it winds up getting internalized and unreleased because I have no outlet. Then when it stews inside because I'm not afforded an outlet, it shows on the outside and I told I'm being a drama queen. When I finally let it out because I can't hold it in anymore, like with the cancer scare last month, then it's just another example of me being melodramatic.
Because I know that nobody wants to deal with this, I stay away. Because I stay away, it's viewed as pouting. Because I'm supposedly pouting, I'm making too big of a deal out of things. Because I make too big a deal out of things, I'm an asshole. And because I'm such an asshole, I'm successfully alienated from others again. Because this alienation is due to my perceived actions, I have only brought this upon myself.
Whether this alienation is self-inflicted, the end result is the same: I am not like them.

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