EASILY ENTERTAINED BUT QUICKLY BORED
I’ve always had issues with writing. You can see this on a weekly basis. One or two articles filled with joy and glee and others obvious forced when I had little to say. Not that I don’t always have something to talk about so much as half the time I’m just not up to transferring it to words, or I’m just bored with the subject. My enthusiasm level varies with sleep, the last time I got lucky with the wife, coffee ingestion and etcetera. This has been the case from day one. However, I’m noticing another factor involved. By no means a mid-life crisis- which is for pussies- I just find myself bored in general with my life and writing isn’t filling the void like it used to. For the last twenty years I’ve lurched from one problem to another. Losing the kids, new and renewed attacks financially from the ex. Finding two new wives, going through one issue after another with them. Trying to live more frugally all the time out of necessity. Two bankruptcies, near homelessness, trying to leave the rat race both in work and in a place to live. It has all been one ball of needless stress brought on by the asshatedness of low life scumbags. But at least it had one side benefit which was I always had a goal or a challenge. Since this Spring I’m kind of up in the air. I find myself rudderless.
I’m not struggling for money. I’m not helping to bail out my kids. The wife decided after five plus years she doesn’t want to leave me after all so she is almost agreeable to be around, without the engineered drama. I don’t have any projects around the homestead ( other than rain catchment, and I’m dragging my feet on that, afraid to even start ). For the first time in decades, I have no challenges. I’m bored. And let’s face it, I only have occasional bouts of glory on the writing. I’m really the victim of my own success, having solved all my problems. I could create some. If I insisted on gardening that would occupy me the rest of my life. Saving for a well, conditioning soil, rodent problems. Blah, blah, blah. The thing is, I’m not passionate about that. It would be exactly what it sounds like-make work. It is intentionally complicating things to give yourself the illusion of purpose and achievement. I’d see the charade immediately. Starting a business? I suck at that. Just witness my how much I make writing. Best writing around. But it ain’t much more than book buying money ( I’m even getting bored with reading. Most of it just reiterates what I already know ). But more importantly, I just can’t get excited about the race and fight for financial success. What is the point? Money will soon be worthless. If I got a lot of money and bought farmland, that would just be a lot of hard work for the first warlord that came along and stole it.
I think this is what causes so much trouble. Folks want to have a challenge, feel bored, and stir up trouble to solve the problem they created. I wonder how much of the political shenanigans are a result of this? Politician Douche Lick feels bad for stealing money from a fixed cattle futures scam, is a little repentant in having dozens of political opponents killed, then tries to make a grand historical statement saving the children with nationalized health care. She wants to feel good about herself and after being the queen behind the throne, what else is there to accomplish? So she starts dabbling in Machiavellian intrigues all over the world. Screws all that up, one of her opponents poisons her in a coup attempt, she looks like a cancer victim and quits politics. All because of boredom and the need of achievement. With Muslim immigrants having been given false birth certificates, being given false grades to appease disadvantaged urban ghetto Skittles Eaters quotas, and being handed Senate seats on the way to a fixed election, things are even worse. They are bored, and must prove how worthy they are ( after you start a couple of wars, even that Nobel prize looks fixed to you yourself ). Unfortunately for the other 300 million of us, then that means the proof is how much of a bankers toady they are, we pay the price.
So what’s my point? I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll try something stupid and different with this blog. Perhaps I’ll just blow off some steam and get over it. Perhaps it was just what’s on my mind today and you are being subjected to it. On to happy fun news. My pain and suffering. Yesterday is a holiday, so I only worked a half day. Looking forward to reading a new post-apoc novel ( I know, I said reading was starting to bore me. It’s still better than my other alternatives ), I thought I had hours of fantasy emersion ahead of me. Alas, after bathing and other chores, it started to pour buckets. I’m talking, the heavens opened up, not our usual few drops measuring in the thousands of an inch. I go to head downstairs to the pit and there is a standing puddle of water almost up to the door ( I have a dip down at the bottom of the stairs, then a step up to the door, as a cold air trap ). I bailed for about an hour precariously perched on a slab of wood over a shoreline of mud. The thing must have been six inches deep. The battery was complexly underwater ( the battery is buried to insulate over the winter ). After scrapping and squaring the steps and making a deeper hole at the bottom by removing the mud down to dry dirt, I solved the issue. Groovy, my first flash flood. The thing is, coming into town this morning, professional builders and landscapers had far more damage done to their work than I had to my amateur attempts. So I don’t feel bad. Tomorrow, better writing on survival type projects ( since I already wrote it over the weekend I can guarantee it ).
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