Dec 15

 Absolutely slammed busy at the moment. Cramming work, non paid work, and various house hold bits in where I can fit them.

For the moment, my energy seems to be - remarkably - holding up, despite the fact I am taking the piss, not getting a lot of sleep, and burning until at least 5am.

My stress has gone up. Work. No sooner I am doing an extra day. More stuff gets piled on.

On reflection, it doesn't matter how much time there is, there is no winning the whole, oh, just an extra day and we can make more progress. No. Just more shit gets lumped on.

Eh well. It's ok for the moment. It's a blast from the past. And by ok I mean, I am coping with it. It's absolutely not fucking ok at all in terms of what I want to be doing, and work management, and attitude to giving me shit to do. It just really, horribly, smacks of a backward step of just, yayyyyyyy, lets just shovel shit out of the door at Johnny again.

Fuck. That. I do not want to spend my dwindling years shovelling others peoples dribbly fucking shit out of the door, helping those that are hard of thinking, to think a little better.

I've spent enough time in the creche.

Friend visited yesterday. Mostly he talked at me for the better part of 8 hours. He does that. Info dumping as he calls it. Because, in his own words "you're someone that understands and is at least vaguely interested in what I'm saying". Heh.

We talked about all sorts. He went through his work. Some interesting data points. The average age of death for a partner in EY was celebrated as having recently increased. From 62 to 63.

Yikes.

As my friend said, not exactly something to celebrate. He said he knew why. Everyone worked themselves to death. 7 days a week.

It's interesting that a hardcore workacholic place like EY, with data that reaches decades into the past, shows you that it kills you. Considerably quicker than anything else. More than what you eat. Or how much you exercise. The dirty secret that a capitalist production lead society will never want you to know.

Another data point. My friends hourly rate is £1650. Thats £13k a day to you. £250k per month. Of course he doesn't see that money. And there's often discounts for block time. But yeah. Pricey. The even more shocking thing is, that although that sounds a lot - and it is - it's insignificant compared to the money earned by finance in general. By the worlds wealthiest. All those people skimming money from the top of everyones productivity. No wonder wealth inequality is so out of check.

It was good to see him. He looked good. Eye surgery done. Blood pressure monitor. Heart rate monitor. An increasing narrowing of foods he can eat. Eh. So it goes with all of us. A dwindling as age increases. More knowledge, more wisdom. Less capability.

Looking back on it, the ever present fallacy in belief, is that at some point in the future, when you're a bit older but not that old, everything is better. Sorted. Money. And Wisdom. And all the things you are striving for resolved.

In actuality everything is a moving target. There's never a resolution. It's the fallacy of youth to think that it's just a case of doing X for Y until you achieve Z. It doesn't work like that. It's just one long string of S. Until it stops. There are milestones and all sorts of things that happen on that long string. But they are more hindsight kind of steps than achievement forward kind of steps. More like things happening to you. Than things you have planned for and completed.

As my friend was visiting, I gave him the bulk of my RPG book collection. A pristine set of big hardback books for all things RPG. Lovely. 20 or so I think. I am slightly torn about giving them away. On the one hand I spent time and money collecting them. And, in their own right they are beautiful. And full of so much cool imagination and world building and all sorts. Magical. And. I like them. So. It feels a little like giving away something you love. On the other hand. I am not using them. They sit there, collecting dust, for years. I am, in all likelihood not going to use them either. Limited energy. And so many things to do. And it makes sense to give them to someone who will get use out of them. And love them just as much.

So I gave them away.

Which is, the right thing to do. "Right". But there is a thread of melancholy in there for me. Eh. It's a good thing. Don't hoard shit. Don't be possessive about shit. Let someone get use out of it. The crazy alternative is to sit there like a dragon, ontop of a hoard of tat. And when you die. Someone comes in to throw out all your "junk". That pattern repeated over and over. The relevant beloved objects of someone. Are just so much junk to someone else. The material. In the end. The material doesn't really matter. It can be hard to understand that. Our tendencies tell us the opposite.

Took Athena to the vets today for her booster shot.

She is old. And. I can't really see time passing everyday, because I am with her everyday. But. At the vets. It was noticeable. Showing her age a lot. She's still good. But. Yeah. Old. Also.

Whilst sitting there. Ok. Just. Zen. I thought. Oh. The last time I was here was Ares. This was his last walk. This was the last time he butted his head into mine.

And oh no.

That familiar grip tightened around my insides, squeezed my heart. Oh no. The sadness descended. The body responded. Ok. Ok. Ok. Snap out of it. Breathe. It's shit. Yes. Come out of it. Don't dwell. Let it go for the moment. Breathe.

I blinked away a few tears. Breathe.

It went away. But not entirely. My mood shifted lower. All things. Slowly decaying. Nothing but sadness.

Ho hum. Jeez.

Anyway. Athena is good for her age. Her teeth are not great. But for her age, they are fine. She has lost teeth. Broken some. Figures. She has many many dents and dings at this point in her life. She has definitely played hard.

We came home, and the gloom followed me. Suddenly acutely aware of how old she was. That she may not be here for another yearly checkup. Of who I am. Where I am.

And yada blah.

You know. I can do a real fucking number on myself. A master of despair. I can pull out the threads of misery and craft you something wonderful as easy as you like. A special talent. For making myself incredibly bone achingly sad. It's not that any of it is wrong. It's not that I am manufacturing problems or inflating issues. It's there. It's real. I just. Unlike a lot of other people. Have great difficulty at times ignoring it.

Anyway.

Ho hum.

It is hard to be happy. To stay positive. Even with a fair wind behind you.

Despite all that. Despite the melancholy dogging my steps today. I am, in the main, ok at the moment. It fluctuates. I am certainly not long term consistent. But for the moment. I am ok. I am finding it comfortable in my quiet space. That giving up on humanity. Kind of.

I mentioned it to my friend. That I had been in a funk. Mood. Change of disposition. Shift in mindset. About humanity in general. My attitude.

No one seems surprised when I say it.

He nodded. You've been positive for a lot longer than most people he said. People generally don't try, don't keep going like you.

I laughed darkly. I get it. People could see me and declare HA. SEE. You have become a cynic at last !

My friend said it wasn't about a cynic. And that I had just tried a lot. And now I wasn't. Not cynical just run out of energy.

Uh huh. Maybe.