Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Mountain Climbing

It's not enough to get into housing and return to work, insofar as getting my shit together is concerned. Everything has to change: drinking, sleeping, diet, hygiene, handling money, even how I choose to amuse myself and with whom. It's tantamount to somehow yanking yourself up in the air by your ankles and upending yourself, or at least that's how it feels; impossible and distressing in its beyond-awkwardness. Of course, on paper anything can look pretty understandable and doable — which is why I'm going to keep this self-improvement inventory at home in my spiral notebook — but without a life coach or gut-wrenching resolve the inertia of even flagrantly self-destructive habits can mock and weary like a winter stroll through the Alps.

The reason I say this, is that I seem to have found myself a job that inclines toward nursing dysfunctionality. I wouldn't have too hard a time muddling through half of the rest of my life sauced, not even if I were to eventually become a full-time cook or production baker. Not that all restaurants are wagon circles manned by haggard survivors of a daily bacchanalian Bataan Death March, but many are and this one certainly is. To illustrate: yesterday evening I visited the Maquessa's (the cook I usually work with) apartment and proceeded to stuff my face with spaghetti and a bottle of wine. But, I really shouldn't be doing that; nor is it wise for me to get so cozy with my co-workers, I imagine — another thing that happens a lot in restaurants, usually resulting in petty but nonetheless unnecessary and disruptive calamity.

My guess is I'll be doing my squats and brushing and flossing daily long before I successfully Magellan my way through all the drunks, boors, and freaks to an edifying millieu. As good as I am at amusing myself and being by myself, even I get bored and lonely; and, unfortunately, when you find yourself in the loser class of society only losers are attracted to you and want to spend time with you — in my case it feels like I'm stuck with either drunks or twelve-step cultists, neither of which have much to offer me. Ultimately, though, it's best to remember that no company is better than bad company. A hard cirriculum to stick with, one that many balk at.

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