My life is Currently A Joke, by John Castillo

Hi to all,

Pause Tallies: 1, 2, 3

If you must know, it isn’t that I have writer’s block. I’ve just developed an insatiable appetite for video games, junk food, and doing the bare minimum to get by on a daily basis, with no real aim in life beyond mere survival within a modern capitalistic context.

It’s clearly getting in the way of my life. I seldom write much (again not due to a lack of inspiration), but simply because I lack the discipline to do so. My room/ studio is a blank canvas that I am reluctant to decorate because I want it to look exactly right. The only issue is, my desire to make it so completely prevents me from actually doing anything- a constant theme in my life if you’ve ever read my older stuff. Whenever I want to make progress or move forward, I sort of just want to fiddle with my phone: maybe I want to put on a song, or eat a snack, or just go look outside to see if it’s sunny or cloudy. My mind wanders.

I have a view of an alleyway out my bathroom window, and the opposite window inside looks out onto apartment doors. I just feel trapped by commitments imposed utterly by the self. No one could care less, but I feel like they do. It’s a type of phantom anxiety. I know it isn’t real, I know it’s all pretend, but the conviction- perhaps out of sheer boredom seems inexplicably profound and concrete to me. It’s like drowning outside of the water. A fish out of water I guess, except I’m not a fish.

I want to become a teacher because I am already here. My life isn’t where I want it to be right now. I have lived in this studio for two years and for the last two years I’ve wondered how I am going to make it out alright- how I am going to create wealth and have an impactful, meaningful life. But everyday feels the same. I log onto Pokemon showdown. I eat high sodium, high caloric snacks. Or I go out to eat unhealthy food.

My mother has been in and out of the hospital and the psychiatric ward for over a month now, and I am the biological father to 15 children, maybe more. One of them is ten and a half years old and calls me ‘dad,’ which clearly freaks me the fuck out in every sense of the term. I occupy very little space in a cramped space within a very large world. I am a closeted claustrophobe.

It’s weird. So much of my life has gone to not going over the edge: not becoming a narcotics user, alcohol abuser or rabid, street-lurking degenerate; however, I have played the role of role avoidance so much that it’s made me more or less weary of really doing anything with my life, whatsoever. So goes the modern conundrum and wider narrative arc of the 21st century individual. He wants to become something and make it, passively existing in hopes that one day it will simply just happen to him. He just has to wait until destiny strikes its blade, or that the wheel turns in his favor and he is finally chosen out of a sea of the lost souls, the lowly duds, the generic audience of human existence. His self-importance is so inflated, that any meager efforts to lift himself up- be it through the lackluster (but clear) goals and expectations of his society are limited by sheer stubbornness. Why do I have to improve? I am perfect the way I am. But he is dying inside. He is insecure in more ways than one. He eats snacks for all meals except breakfast, because he understands the value of a good breakfast.

Indeed, I am too lazy to provide myself with a good enough dinner and lunch, that I go out and eat. And I know what you’re thinking (not really) and you’re thinking ‘well, John, and least you don’t do Door dash or any other food delivery apps to deliver said high caloric low nutrient meals.’ And I say to you: I don’t want to order in because I don’t want people to know where I live (even though I have a phone that tracks me 24/7). I am a recluse.

I want to need something so badly, but the truth is I do not. Probably I will end up blowing my retirement fund, but I really don’t want to. I would like to have something in there, as I progress through my 30s, which go by rather quickly.

I miss when I took care of myself. I am trying to figure out what sparked my brief, mediocre rise and subsequent fall from health-grace. It feels like I am too high or too low.

Well, when I do this I will get there. When I finally do this then I will get to do that. That’s what kept me in debt long enough to realize that it wasn’t a six figure salary that would pay my debt off. It would be me and me alone. And that’s where I am now. Maybe the fire is just not close enough to my ass yet.

Peace be with you.

Love,

John