Wow. I don't know. Dave and I discussed the death of the middle class. I do not have the commitment or the will to be like the wealthy or powerful. I cannot drive that direction. Which leaves poverty I guess? It doesn't bother me, it's just a strange acknowledgement. What does it mean that I'd rather write absurd fiction than chase a position worth more in yearly salary? Is this just an absurd decision of youth that will end in tears? What if it is? I don't know. It looks to me like what most people do to "opt out" of the "Oh Shit What Am I Doing With My Life Crisis" is to not think about it and roll with whatever mediocre job pays best? It's like you're either one of those hyper-motivated climb-the-rung-types, or you're a half-assed sorta-chased-my-dream-then-did this type. Such a dichotomy is oversimplifying of course, but still. Isn't it sort of that? What the shit?
I wanted to end this babbling in some sort of profound note, but shit damn I ain't got nothin' son. It's just a weird place right now, and there's all sort of rationalizing going on that makes me want to punch someone in the face and blow something up, which I guess explains a lot?
Well not really, but it would have been a good sort of ambiguous is-Chris-siding-with-anarchists/crazies/t