What is life, anyway. We speak of dreams, of goals, but there is a purgatory waiting for us from now until their achievement. After living through the purgatory time and time again, it’s understandable when I get a little wary of the next goal.
So. My life. I’ve been reading some books. Mostly about ideas. Sometimes math.
My life is fuckin pathetically boring. I work. I have a good job. My life is “good”. In the sense that it’s regular, stable, predictable. All things I struggle to embrace. Life is stability, but creation is chaos.
This weekend I did absolutely nothing on Saturday. I read. I listened to books on tape. I slept in. I worked on some GMAT for an hour or two.
Saturday night I picked up G and we came home, made guacamole, and watch a movie. I can’t even remember which one. As we went to bed she wanted to make love, and I didn’t, so she got up and went outside to have a beer and smoke a cigarette.
Recently I haven’t really been in the mood for sex. I don’t know if its my overall lack of enthusiasm for life, or low T, or my lack of desire to fuck myself since I’m so out of shape and haven’t been working out. But her sex drive is always through the roof. And she can get whiney and sappy and just needy, and it turns me off. Let me chase. Seduce me a little babe. Don’t just melt all over me. It gets old.
Sunday morning I made breakfast. Then we fucked good and hard. Then we got my motorcycle ready, got it washed and fueled up, and embarked on an 8 hour trek to the pacific coast, through red wood groves, stopping at little dive bars or deli’s or nature walks along the way. It was resplendent weather. Radiant and rejuvenating.
We got home and watched Generation Iron 2. I think I saw it already, but I wanted her to see it and get a glimpse of what that underground world was like. She wasn’t into it. She loves my masculinity, but she isn’t a big fan of huge muscles.
I didn’t want to fuck again. Oh well. She was mad, and did the whole cigarette and beer thing again while I passed out. We woke up this morning and fucked again. She was happy. She just needs dick to feel good and secure.
Anyway… I’m in an unhealthy place. I’m not like, sad. Although, I’m depressed and unsatisfied. I feel dead inside. I long for stimulation, for meaning, for purpose. The thought of a secure, unstimulating job just wrecks me.
A part of me thinks about working for this company for years to come, and I think how blessed I am. Then I think about how this is my life, and the only one I have, and how sad that it. That i’ll slave away to play this game, this debt game, this paycheck game. For how long? how long must I play? I can realistically pay off $50k a year. That means in 2.5 years I’ll be debt free, and 34. Not cool.
I need to write more. More poetically, with more reflection, not just typing stream of consciousness.
I posted on Craigslist about a secret society, about a game. The rules? Protect the game. Promote the game. Enjoy the game. I got several people asking me to play. I think what I’m gonna do is come up with a game where people receive instructions where they go to a location and find a cache left by someone else which contains the next set of instructions. And the game keeps adding one person after an iteration, and soon there will be hundred of people going on adventures, planting caches of instructions for others to find. At the end, the instructions have them meet at a location, and everyone unknowingly meets.
I need to think about this… and plan it. It sounds complex, and it is, and it’ll depend on everyone collaborating and working together and doing it.
I may just begin my planting something somewhere and giving someone instructions to go get it, like an easter egg hunt. Could be fun! And stimulating, and alleviate boredom.
But what I really want to do is start a cult, or a secret society…