"I Don't Give a Fuck" As a Life Goal

I think if I had my brain removed I'd be a lot happier.

I torture myself regularly, but now, given the fucked up state of this country, and my age - I am experiencing wild mood swings. Since the dicktatorship took over, for a while there I was ranting and raving and stressing myself to the point of literally getting dizzy, holding my hands to the sides of my head as I stood. Giving myself headaches. WORRYING.

I realized I could not go on like that so I've dialed it back a bit, but this country is in so much trouble, and my and Carol's survival and basic comfort and safety are so much in jeopardy that I'm definitely feeling fucked.

I am trying to narrow my perspective down to the things I can control, the things I'm gonna have to do for us to survive this. I have to get a full time job. This part time mamby pamby shit ain't gonna cut it. I am talking survival here, and just a few extra bucks here and there is a waste of my time. It keeps us afloat, it does not get us ahead.

Maybe I can find another way to bring in stacks of cash. Like putting my ass out on the street. I'm still a pretty sexy guy. I'm sure there are plenty of 70, 80, and 90 year old ladies who want me to jump their bones.

OK. That paints a pretty disgusting picture. Sorry.

As I thrash around looking for employment, I'm putting restrictions on the search that, if they work out, will ease my pain a bit. Maybe. I'm so fucking good at fooling myself. Justifying stupidity. Who the hell knows.

But if I'm being unrealistic and everything blows up and I end up wearing a hairnet, my liver is going down.

I have spent the last ten years working menial jobs and lying to every friend and relative that I don't mind. Bullshit. I have HATED every single job. These jobs forced me to shit on myself in my own mind. A tough way to live.

If this is how my life ends, if I am forced to work myself into the grave, I refuse to sacrifice my soul, my dignity. I have been a professional, I can be a professional again. At the very least, the pay is better.

It all rides on how stupid things get. The first time a social security deposit does not arrive, I will be driven into panic mode. Knocking on Home Depot's door applying for a cashier's job in a company that aligns so well with who I am.

Twice a month, since February, I wake up, grab my phone immediately before my feet even hit the floor, and make sure the social security deposits have landed. This is no fucking way to live. It sucks.

But so far so good. Unfortunately I have not had even a nibble from prospective employers. And I have been banging away. Companies don't like to hire people that are close to death. A dead new hire is a messy thing. And despite all the cutesy advice on how to hide your age on your resume, it is fucking obvious no matter what.

I try to tell myself that we will survive this. Just so I can fucking breathe. We have survived a lot together in 47 years. 

Some days I just don't give a fuck. Some days I shit my pants.

The "I don't give a fuck" days are better.