deleteduser50890
Banned
I'm having mood swings because I'm moving soon and I hate it.
This guy makes some excellent points. I especially like the one about how everyone is being primed to be a victim. And when you really take a long hard look at things that is exactly what is happening.
What better way to weaken the masses right out of the womb!
And media is especially guilty of this. For example, look a normal day of television. You get Dr. Oz telling you that gluten and cholesterol is going to kill you, then Dr. Phil comes on and tells you that your spouse is gonna cheat on you, then the local news comes on and tells you that someone is going to break in your house and steal your shit, then the world news comes on and tells you that Isis is going to get you.
Now imagine a lifetime of these daily messages and this is only TV! This doesn't even take into account all the noise the average person encounters out in public. The bitching and moaning, the road rage, the crazy co-workers, bill collectors, sales people...
Now among all of this where is anyone being taught how to be happy? And we wonder why people are unhappy. Could it be that nobody has ever taught them what happiness is?
Which is what I was getting at in my previous post. It wasn't so much about my own happiness per se but just looking back there was nobody who taught me how to be happy. Not a one. Nor were there any good examples of people to emulate. Everyone was a low grade miserableness.
And I think if you really asked people you'd find that most people were raised by people exactly like I have been and even worse!
Street harassment makes me want to attack someone sometimes.
Looked at the ol' bank account today. Yep, glad to see it's still practically empty.
I'm trying to upgrade to living pay cheque to pay cheque.
Right now I'm living pay cheque to five days before pay cheque.
Well, I just spent an hour and change digging through two boxes of old flea market junk, and when I say junk, boy do I mean junk! I found a few keepers and a handful of fixers, but most of it is headed straight (and in some cases straight back) to the thrift shops . . . someday.
I'm pretty good at sorting through stuff and picking out things to donate, not so good at moving them out the door. The rough-looking gang of boxes and bags loitering aimlessly in my front room gets bigger and more menacing every month. Box upon box, mounting ever higher. There's a real danger here, not only of spontaneous avalanches (they'd never find my body), but also the even greater risk that I'll get a mind to dive in and pull half the stuff back out to keep after all. Chronic indecision is one of my many faults, and fairly high up on the list. Waffles are for breakfast, but I can do 'em all day long.
Even worse, if the "management"—I put it in quotes because these clowns couldn't manage a good fart—decides to favor me with a surprise inspection, I could be in some serious dutch when they find my apartment in such a state of disarray. Tiny minds see only what's before them, never the method behind it or the progress implied. Much as I loathe this grubby place, the thought of being summarily booted out, useless junk in tow, with little warning and nowhere to go fills me with unspeakable horror. It's one of my greatest fears, and a major cause of stress in my life. I want to leave, no question about it, but it has to be on my terms, and fit to my schedule.
So here I am, and here's all this stuff, and this place ain't big enough for all of us. Somehow, someday, this shit's gotta git.
Well, I just spent an hour and change digging through two boxes of old flea market junk, and when I say junk, boy do I mean junk! I found a few keepers and a handful of fixers, but most of it is headed straight (and in some cases straight back) to the thrift shops . . . someday.
I'm pretty good at sorting through stuff and picking out things to donate, not so good at moving them out the door. The rough-looking gang of boxes and bags loitering aimlessly in my front room gets bigger and more menacing every month. Box upon box, mounting ever higher. There's a real danger here, not only of spontaneous avalanches (they'd never find my body), but also the even greater risk that I'll get a mind to dive in and pull half the stuff back out to keep after all. Chronic indecision is one of my many faults, and fairly high up on the list. Waffles are for breakfast, but I can do 'em all day long.
Even worse, if the "management"—I put it in quotes because these clowns couldn't manage a good fart—decides to favor me with a surprise inspection, I could be in some serious dutch when they find my apartment in such a state of disarray. Tiny minds see only what's before them, never the method behind it or the progress implied. Much as I loathe this grubby place, the thought of being summarily booted out, useless junk in tow, with little warning and nowhere to go fills me with unspeakable horror. It's one of my greatest fears, and a major cause of stress in my life. I want to leave, no question about it, but it has to be on my terms, and fit to my schedule.
So here I am, and here's all this stuff, and this place ain't big enough for all of us. Somehow, someday, this shit's gotta git.
Ugh, I'm sorry GB. I know what that's like. My heart has broken countless times over boxes of books and stuff that I've accumulated over the years.
I try not to keep much around now, because of break ins... They've stolen everything I've had, twice in the last six years. So now... I live with few valued possessions.
Living on a lease is difficult. Especially if management consists of douches.
I am sure that you have some pretty awesome treasures. I'd help you look through it all if I could.
I like to think—fantasize, really—that I could maintain a tidy home (with professional help, perhaps) were it not for the enormous mass of debris I've allowed to accumulate. It's a lot more than just the flea market stuff. I honestly don't know how some of it got in here. I must have brought it in myself at some point or other, but in many cases I can't recall doing so. Seems like it snuck in when I wasn't looking, maybe through a door carelessly left ajar, then found a dark and dusty corner in which to hide, breed, and multiply.I quite good a keeping reasonably tidy these days. The prospect of a supprise visit by the landlord actually helps me.
I think I let myself go too far with daydreaming and now I might become too attached to the person I was daydreaming about. I tried to stop when I realised I was probably starting to go too far but I think I might have been too late. I have to find something else to daydream about.
By the way, I sort of use daydreaming as a way to reduce stress and take my mind off stressful things. I like having my mind wander around. I usually only do it before bed and when showering though.
Flour-less pancakes. Fail. Not sure if because they're actually disgusting, or because I can't cook.