ON EXISTENTIAL CRISES — Learning How To Autonomize My Being ;0)

Reflection from December 22nd, 2012 @ Age 31


I’m gonna tell you something.  It may not be right—or maybe it is.  I don’t care though, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that stupid asshole start the New Year off with a “fresh” start, when I have absolutely no money, huge medical expenses hanging over my head, a failed marriage because of him, etc., etc.  What an asshole.

Fuck him and his $10,000 offer.  Fuck his “I don’t believe you’re justly entitled to what you are legally entitled to.”  Fuck him.  He can go to hell for all I fucking care, for that is where he belongs.  I didn’t write that fate for him, he chose it himself.

I hate to be so angry as Christmas looms so near—and I too, would like to start with a fresh New Year.  However, I deemed it necessary that he pay me $30,000 in cash in order to do so, and he deemed that inappropriate—and so here we stand, in a standoff.  Ahh well.  My asshole attorney said it wasn’t realistic as it were, which I of course knew—but you know me, hoped against hope.  Ahh well. 

I was just watching Up All Night as I was wrapping mom and dad’s presents for under the tree, and this song came on in the background—“The World Spins Madly On,” it’s The Weepies I think.  I haven’t heard that song since way back when I was living here with my parents before.  In fact, not since way back at Lancashire at the end of law school. 

Things are circling around—I can feel it, and I know the full circle’s almost round.  But I can’t see how yet, so I will wait, because there is nothing else that I can do.  Well, no, I take that back.  I will wait, but in the meantime, count my blessings.  They’re all I’ve got, and they’re what make this life worth waiting for.  Wrap the Christmas presents and count my blessings here, one by one.


It’s difficult to not want to impose my own Will upon Adam (i.e. torture him for a while as he tortured me).  I know I can’t and that there’s no use trying.  I’m even trying to actively not do so by keeping from writing him anything further than, “I hope you made it to Peoria okay and that you have a nice Christmas with your family” (at 4:21pm).  I just hate him.  Err, rather, I hate what he has done to me.  I’m not sure I even quite know what that is, entirely—except that it left me lone and beaten down and almost dead in the hospital where he left me to die.  And yet I lived and now here I sit at my stupid desk, wishing I weren’t alone on this Saturday here before Christmas.  Ahh Christmas…  Hmm…not much else to say there I suppose.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately—mostly what seem to be rather random and impervious thoughts.  I hate to write them down because I feel I’m in the processing phase, and to try to write an otherwise incomplete thought down only lends itself to my own wretched type of overreaching.  I hate that.

I have so many things I could do on my to-do list, notably at no.1—to get my budget ready for the first of the year.  I don’t think I’m in any sort of trouble (fingers crossed), but I did open a Chase Slate credit card with 0% APR for the first 15 months, including purchase and balance transfers made within the first 60 days of opening the account (for which there is no balance transfer fee).  Sounded like a good idea to me—just waiting to see how Chase fucked me over.  They already did once by, of course, not telling me that I cannot transfer my balance from my Chase Freedom to my Chase Slate.  Of course, should have known right?  Ahh well.  So I just paid the Freedom balance, hah.  It’s sure freedom alright.

I keep, believe it or not—thinking of Anastasia in her big, fat fucking house (still!!).  It’s so retarded—I mean, it really rather makes me seem very sick to myself even.  I hate it.  I wondered if she meant this affect, and I wonder if she knew how long lasting it would be.  I wonder how she’s doing now.  I wonder if her husband is emotionally abusive too.  I wonder what it would be like to live in her life—two daughters, two dogs, gorgeous house, nice car, decent husband, alcoholic parents, no family around, locked into a job with an evil bank by, of course, those invisible yet altogether impermeable golden handcuffs.  How nice it does seem, still, from the outside.  Like the compliments of beauty from younger years past—still I feel the butt of the joke in the end.

I wonder if that will ever end.  I wonder what I am doing wrong.  I wonder if anything will ever take me on my own two feet somewhere in life, or if I am forever beholden to involuntary dependence upon others.  I don’t even really know what I mean by that, it just feels good to be writing.  I don’t even feel I have a whole lot to say—that’s for surely worthwhile writing, anyway.

I have been wanting to mention, for no other reason than its peculiar nature—that I am absolutely 100% addicted to café lattes right now.  It’s so stupid.  I spend so much stupid money on stupid lattes, and I know that I am doing it and how stupid it surely is—and yet, I just keep on right going.  My mom said there’re a lot worse things to be addicted to—which was really nice, I thought.  Kind of made me feel not so bad.  It’s pretty true too, of course.

I haven’t even updated my budget yet since the 16th, but I’m pretty sure—in fact positive, that I really just don’t have any money left.  Enough to pay my bills of course, and thankfully and I am grateful for that.  But at the same time, it’s still a little depressing—still thinking about Lainey and all her stupid money, though I now legitimately love her so in any case.

She and John, and all their dough—I wonder what I’d’ve thought about my life moving forward, had I known five years back where I’d be standing today.  I wonder if I’d have just committed suicide right then and there.  Who knows.  What’s more, who cares.

All kinds of random things, like I said, going through my mind today.  I thought of my estranged brother today—thought about getting ready and taking a Christmas card over to his front porch and ringing his doorbell to see what would happen.  Still worried about whether he’d appear with a gun to my head; doubt it, but it didn’t end up mattering much as all the further I got was into the shower.  Didn’t even dry my hair—although eventually, the air took care of that. 

Boy!  What a bore I am tonight!!  I thought about going to visit Grandma Varcho at the home today.  But then it got to be now, which is nearing toward evening—and she really gets batty in the evening so I don’t want to go.  It’s so…weird, I guess, going to see her.  I kind of hate it—she hardly even looks like herself anymore.  I hate it.

I’ve been going through all my old photographs, and really all my old shoebox kind of stuff as well—downsizing and whatnot.  With the photographs, it’s kind of a nice feeling—getting to choose what memories to keep, which to throw behind.  I like that.  I like that I get to choose what to keep from my past, and what I’d just prefer to leave behind.  It seems so simple a concept; I don’t know why it seems like such a novelty right now, as well.

I don’t really like using a semi-colon.  Don’t really know what it’s even supposed to be used for.  Sometimes I do in any case, however—just to get rid of those stupid red and green squiggly lines.  I hate those.  Hah!  I seem to hate a number of things at the moment.  Must just be in that type of mood, I suppose.

I really, really really would just love to sit here right now and tell you how much I hate Adam and how horrible a person he is.  But it just wouldn’t make me feel any better in the end, and I think the writing already shows the horror it must be to be him.  I know I don’t hate him—I just hate so very much how he treated me.  I hate how I got wrapped up so easily in someone so evil, disguised so cleverly as someone cloaked in good.  Makes me feel again, like I can so easily be taken advantage of.  Like always, ohh Maris!  When will you learn?!

And though yes, I know!  I cannot talk to myself, say such silly things!  But it’s hard not to, because I honestly cannot figure out whether I keep repeating the past or if I am still moving forward.  I don’t know where I’m at—it’s the strangest thing though.  Everything seems so unsettled, and yet, within it—things for the most part also seem pretty damn clear.

Hmm, what oh what does that mean?!?  Let me try…

Things seem so unsettled in terms of:  Will I get the job at Huntington?  Did they think I was some kind of naïve moron?  Was I totally ignorant in thinking that they actually saw something rare and unique and one-of-a-kind within me?  God, how stupidly put.  I know in the past, when I wrote like this, I thought it was horrible at the moment—but it really turned out to be quite beautiful in the end.  I can’t imagine how that could be so of today’s mess.  And my last entry, ugh!  Makes me want to stop typing altogether right this instant!  I hear myself saying these words in my head before they come out onto paper.  I make decisions in the lag time and, I think that’s where the error comes into play.  Who’s to know, though?  Aghh!  So horribly put!

This is stupid, I’ll wrap it up.  I don’t really have much else to say.  I looked for my mom’s painkillers today—at just about 4:53pm.  I didn’t find them upon my initial compulsory search, and I’m thankful I didn’t feel up to a more thorough undertaking.  I settled for some Tylenol with Codeine, err no, cough syrup that is—my dad’s from Dr. Restuccio. 

Sometimes I just feel like everything I do and say is so menial and unimportant and pointless, and like my existence is of little worth in the while.  I don’t even know what “in the while” means—it sounds like it fits, but it just sounds so very stupid.  Maybe it’s the Codeine tripping me up at the moment.  But this is how I have been thinking lately, in fragments, glimmers of beauty gone by.  Maybe though, they’ll conjure up something meaningful still after all.


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