I finally got to that physician assistant appointment, and I do not know if I can say that was a good idea. A haircut could have probably taken care of my contact dermatitis. The need for them to build a profile of me has led to me being borderline anxious, and in turn, I realize all the stress I am dealing with now as my family is settling into the true retirement lifestyle. Being challenged to lose 10 pounds in a month led me think that I took on the bank's health insurance just to be judged.
I will give her some credit, she is hoping that I get healthy enough to no longer need such high amounts of medication. My past doctor was a live and let be kind of guy. Her efforts were so appreciative that "nihilism helps" was not one of my responses.
Fortunately, the two cats are very helpful. I went to bed last night with the feeling that everyone has lost faith in me and recalling that my family has not had faith in me since I chose to leave the path that lead to Caterpillar offices. Skimble wants everyone he cares about to feel good all the time. The annoying little shit. The real compassion was displayed by Eva when she made that somewhat inconvenient leap on to the living room's twin bed to comfort me as I fear that I will be left to a depressing adulthood since my parents seem to be hinting to letting me totally fend for myself.
The more depressing thing is realizing that I am thought of as a trust fund baby. From an outsider's perspective, how else would you define me? My feeling is my folks may have realized it when I actively defended Black Light Matters. No white spawn of one percenters should have any business ignoring the difficulty acknowledging systemic racism will cause them.
The spread of economic equality means blacks and browns will inevitably move to the burbs and nice small towns. This would result in whites having to accept their cultures and surrender their paranoia and conservatism. Why cannot they be desperate immigrants who are cool with Goya who wanted to emulate us?
I do not think I act like a spoiled brat. What I am is a clinically depressed person who everyone thinks just needs to get over it. Accept my depression and how life is not fair and focus solely on stockpiling money that does not go towards my rent or insurance. It will be miserable, but someday, there will be retirement to enjoy. Adulthood is not fun, but what is the other option?
According to my physician assistant, journaling can help.
I am in a very misunderstood place and that has been all of my adulthood. You need to try and understand, not give up me.
And that is how you transition from my depressing life to 1972's "Silent Running". It is a film about people giving up on inconvenient things despite the beauty that they offer.
When it comes to beauty, I do not think I offer much. Just call me the reincarnation of Louis the Drone. If only I had space on my robot wrist to memorialize him.
Silent Running
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