It's
been a bad week. Or maybe I'm just in a bad mood. God the
band that just started playing at this goddamned bar is fucking
terrible. I wish I had realized they were playing before I
ordered my food. The belligerent 60 year-old expat groupies
they've attracted are even louder, but only slighter more on key..
and Terry has just pointed out that we're sitting in the middle a of
a fucking memorial service. I'm an asshole sitting here with a scowl
on my face in the middle of a bunch of people come to celebrate a
deceased life.
Apparently
I saw Terry last night, but I have almost no recollection of the
occasion. This weekend I rented a lake house with Hugo and some of
his friends from the city. We got all drunk and apparently came into
town to dance at the one night club in Pana, and then returned home
when everything closed at like 1. What bewilders me though is that my
memory seems to have returned as were headed back to the house. I had
been hitting it off with a couple of the girls, but when the time
came to make a move I received an unexplained rebuff. I assume I must
have somehow been an ass but I'm usually fairly perceptive about
those things and she had been all over me before I suggested we take
a walk down to the lake.
The rejection was still fresh in my mind when I woke up this morning, but the confusion had evolved into an anger. I still have absolutely no rational to justify the emotion, but it was there. I wanted to understand. I couldn't. In my mind I moved on. Rejection happens. Often. There are millions of possible reasons for it and its rarely something worth dwelling upon. But even though I stopped thinking about it, the feeling persisted. Although now I was just angry at myself and the way I've been living my life and the anger became a kind of hardened resolve. This brings me back to my bad week.
The rejection was still fresh in my mind when I woke up this morning, but the confusion had evolved into an anger. I still have absolutely no rational to justify the emotion, but it was there. I wanted to understand. I couldn't. In my mind I moved on. Rejection happens. Often. There are millions of possible reasons for it and its rarely something worth dwelling upon. But even though I stopped thinking about it, the feeling persisted. Although now I was just angry at myself and the way I've been living my life and the anger became a kind of hardened resolve. This brings me back to my bad week.
My
work at Mayan families has been largely unsatisfying and this week
has been exemplary so. I dislike going. I rarely show
up on time. I get very little work done. I feel guilty about this and
it makes me anxious about what the people there must think about me.
I am not connecting well with most of the staff, and though I can't
say I've put forth a tremendous amount of effort into building
relationships there seem to be invisible barriers that I don't know
how to get around. Maybe its just my aforementioned guilt from
being a shitty worker, but I can't help feeling there's something
intrinsically broken inside of me preventing me from relating with
anyone on a meaningful level. I'm closest with Jessica and Hugo. But
my relationship with Jessica feels a bit awkward because I think she
wants more from the relationship than I do, and I can't shake the
feeling that Hugo and I wouldn't hang-out so much if I wasn't so
generous in paying for everything.
Everyday
after work I feel inexplicably stressed and my primary conduit for
relieving myself, this week especially, revolves around browsing
Reddit and playing computer games (namely civilization 4) which keeps
me up all hours of the night causing me to sleep in and start the
whole damn stress cycle all over again. The things that I really want
to be doing with my life, Meditation/Yoga, exercise, studying
Spanish, meeting/hanging out with people, and most importantly
working on my photography and writing projects; never happen. Or only
very rarely.
Last night I started Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. The first few chapters made me want to buckle down and spend 8+ hours a day writing.
Last night I started Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. The first few chapters made me want to buckle down and spend 8+ hours a day writing.
That
brings me back to my mood. I'm still under its “fuck-this-shit”
influence (though its been softened a bit by the last few cuba libres) and I still don't really understand it. It's like something
in me has snapped. On the one hand its nice because I don't feel
anxiety or apathy or even like I'm overwhelmed, my usual
psychological companions. I posses a nearly tangible disdain
for my usual forms of procrastination and idleness. I feel no
temptation whatever to surf reddit or play games. I can't remember the last time I was so
ready to get shit done. On the other hand, I hate everything and
everybody. I have zero patience for anything and don't want to see or
talk to anyone.
Other
things on my mind: Two completely seperate people who were supposed to come out
and visit me canceled this weekend. I'm not totally surprised as they
are both pretty flaky people in general who are always over
committing (kinda like me) and I guess I should feel relieved that my
next few months aren't gong to be nearly as packed now, but the
timing of it, I don't know, I guess my ego is kind of tender and I'm
having a hard time not taking it personally. Also not my best week
financially. It's not something I should ever worry about, but it doesn't
help.
....
I
just woke from a nap and and feelings have evolved from anger to
depression. I have 3 days left working at Mayan Families and I
feel like a failure. I feel like I've failed to achieve what I
wanted with my time here. I feel like I've failed at
relationship, both in building new ones here and sustaining those
from my past. I feel alone and I feel doomed to a cycle of failure
and isolation no matter how how well I education myself or how hard I
fight against. As soon as I finish my time at Mayan Families, my
parents will be here. I'm pretty sure I was excited about this
before, but now I dread it. I feel miserable and I feel guilty for
feeling miserable. I'm obviously in a shit mood. Last week anything
was possible. Today, who gives a shit?
I
actually picked up and read the stupid self-help book my mother
packed into my DHL package, Change Your Brain Change Your Life.
The whole thing is basically a promotion for insanely expensive
SPECT brain scans (photon emission computed topography). According
to Daniel G Amen, I likely suffer from an overactive deep limbic system. Coincidentally this is also often considered one of the main factors of PMS. That sounds about right. The solution? Anti-depressants, positive thinking, and maybe a little exercise. That's some cutting edge shit right there. The fucker wants to charge you $3200 to scan your brain just to confirm what you probably already know, "You have some slightly irregular brain chemistry". I want sue his ass for duping my mother into buying this stupid 330 page infomercial.
Anyway, my dad is going to be here in 3 days. I'm starting my antidepressants now.
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