The coffee was a minor mistake. I thought the energy spike might could help with my focus, but I forgot how iffy riding the spikes have been since I cut down on my sugar content. I really should, in principle, back off to herbal teas and juice, again. The last thing I need now is polar wobbling. I wound myself up tightly, and the force of the stress pushing from all directions took over, and I spend a couple hours worrying about my future, mostly in the short-term and in a monetary nature. I read too much on the Louisiana disaster from online news, and I was overridden by a desire I've had lately, to figure someway to get to Houston, and talk my parents into hosting me while I volunteer at the Astrodome. I've been honestly evaluating it, but that is not where I want my head to be right now. Rational thought like that is more an illusionary front for my desire to both make a difference, but run like hell at the same time. The attraction is made all the more powerful in proportion to my repulsion of subjecting myself to meaningless work and another uniform-cum-straightjacket. I thrust myself against the seemingly impermeable wall, not unlike the one I nearly fell to pieces breaking through only a few months ago, and I was over-reaching myself dangerously. I turned to combined power of sitting on the loft's edge, looking quietly out the upper windows at the boats, followed by a lengthy application of heat to my back and neck, while finishing the The Diamond Sutra (just the sutra itself, being only a few pages, while the commentaries go on for hundreds more pages.) My anxiety loosened its grip somewhat, but I still have a driving want to froth here about my frustration with finding a job and all that.
I am fighting the momentum dragging me downward toward the thoughts of how little I feel like I belong in this world, a world I was never meant in which to find peace. The solution is so apparent, to make my own world, but even that rings hollow and incomplete. So much of my life can be summed in my fruitless quest to install my meaning over an unaffected world, to somehow adapt enough to fit in, and to undermine where I can. There are no more real gains to be had with this. It's still fear thinking. I've turned to relativism to attack the objectivity of the "way things are," but I've come to believe dogmatically in the objectivity of my subjectivity, a zero-sum game. I have to face the deep flaws in the means by which I evaluate my choices in life. Those too, are a zero-sum game. A precarious balancing act of rationally balancing gain and loss to minimize hurt and maximize survival. It's really a lousy way to live, since I've turned my fear of risk of loss of self into a formulaic means to avoid sticking my neck out. Yes, I've taken some major risks in my life recently: moving to San Francisco, leaving college, holding down a full-time job, moving again to Seattle. Yet these risks were inescapable to me, under the current way I think, and I could overcome them. Now... I'm not so sure anything more is possible under the weight of my intellectual logical fallacies born of pain and ego.
Tuesday I am supposed to begin looking for work, since I really don't have the time to wait for unemployment. My reserve funds are dwindling much more quickly than I expected, and I have yet to pay my monthly bills. But, I'm not ready. I'm nowhere near ready. I need time to let the breakthrough come, to finally let myself completely shatter. I can't see any other way to change unless I accept the total disengration of self that has been necessary a half-dozen times to make the progress toward what is really my most supreme dream, and my most awkwardly simple, to feel anything. I've wanted to believe there is another way than to keep having to hit bottom before I can climb up, but it doesn't feel possible right now. I barely held my act together when I slammed my way through the last wall. It took everything I had to ride out the hours of nausea, the days of total vapor lock, and the weeks of blind emotional havoc, including striking out against anyone in my path. Maybe I'm wrong, and this is not what has to happen, but what else do I know to expect? It's hard to explain to anyone how soul-clenching is the question, "What do I do know?" Sometimes I want to cry, but when I do, it is not sorrow, but mostly hysterical anxiety. I don't even really know to cry, really. And I really do not know what I am going to do. I already owe rent for September.