I fucked up at my freelance job. Again.

More repeat offenses in the guilt book. More affected peoples…

….,,,,,!!!!!!!!!!!!111111!!!!!!!!1!1!


 

I am working for someone giving them basic IT advice, and I had them buy a 6 TB hard drive to copy over 5 TB of files to organize and look for duplicates for tomorrow so we could organize them in one go. Ideally, this would’ve made things faster.

However…

I told him he could buy a USB drive and use it with his USB 2.0 port…even though….

Even though, just googling USB 2.0 speeds….

moving 4 GB of files takes days…

DAYS…..

 

D A Y S

 

to move.

 

 

I don’t know why I didn’t catch this.

 

I did say it was a last resort, as I knew it’d be slow and to first look for  USB C – compatible drive with a Thunderbolt converter. (These are much faster transfer protocols.)

 

But I shouldn’t have even gave him the option of buying 3.0 or 2.0. As I explicitly did. Multiple times.

 

Fuck.

 

And it was at 11 PM at night when he started spam texting me that it wasn’t working, and that (like I should’ve known) his Mac was giving estimated completion times of upwards of 24 hours.

 

I really thought 12 hours would do it.

 

I really thought it would.

 

Fuck.

 

Damn.

 


 

Now what?

I see him tomorrow.  And this is after a couple months ago when I had him buy a laptop within his budget that was too slow to play Fortnite. Way too slow. And I apologized, and told him I would do some other things for free.

How can I prevent this?

I need to be more methodical.

But how?

 

 

How do I deal with myself right now?!

 

I have to be calm…

 

Take a couple breaths…

 

Take care of myself.

 

And then I can assess the damage.

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Going in strong…

Finals are tomorrow…

I have a chemistry final and a programming final. The programming test is done online, which is nice.

(Ironically, the test is supposed to be open to take until Thursday night, but the online window in the quizzing software closed Monday. My instructor responded to my email and said yeah it should be open still, and that he’d look into it..)

I know I’ll do ok, and I feel like at this point my score will drop the longer I stay up…so I should start going to bed.

I feel like I should write something longer because it’s WordPress (and that’s the social norms I’ve observed), but I don’t need to.

I’m just going to go to bed.

 

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I have finals this Wednesday.

And a couple assignments due before the end of the quarter.

And I don’t want to do anything.

I feel…like shit.

I know I’ll do them anyway, but I feel like shit. And it’s because I haven’t been taking care of myself. Even though I really have been trying. But I’m having such a hard time continuing to put in the necessary effort.

Tomorrow, I’m waking up super early no matter how tired I feel. I’ve been able to go to sleep earlier if I force myself to wake up early the day before, no matter what time I go to bed. And I’ll be done with my computer after this post. (Whenever that is..)

 


 

On another note – the past couple days, I’ve been thinking – and I don’t know if I want to continue going to college before I get a job programming. I want to earn more money so bad. I’ve been living off the bare minimum, and I have not been budgeting well at all. And I enjoy writing code that I care about. (Key words – care about..)

But I want to learn more, and broaden the tools I can use to find jobs. I want to be an informed citizen.

But to be honest, even though I’m not ready to date, I want to be more date-able sooner rather than later. I want to start a career and find the love of my life. Kind of.

And I also want to travel…

Want want want…

 

I don’t know what I want.

I do need to finish this quarter. And I do need to take care of myself. I can do that.

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I like someone “too much.” Again.

I feel unhealthily attracted to a friend that I do not match with.

Just like four years ago, I’m once again running wild with an imaginary reality where my self-worth is defined by a girl.

But maybe this time, I can stop it before it gets out of hand. Will I though…?

I’ll start from the beginning…

 


 

About five months ago, I reached out to an ex-college classmate after seeing on Facebook that we lived in the same area. I didn’t (*cou-* don’t *cough*) have many friends in the city since I moved, and we got along in college fairly well. And, admittedly, I was also semi-partially just kinda sorta browsing for potential wife material at the time, and saw that she was single. (It is 2019, after all.)

(That’s my lame millennial explanation, anyway.)

But I was also really looking for friends. Can’t a guy look for both?!

The first time we met up in person, it had been after I’d finished a brutally pathetic Tinder stint; so bracing myself in the case of a scenario where I would again latch onto the nearest female energy pulse, I’d decided that I wasn’t going to date for at least a while, and led early in the conversation with “I’m not dating right now.” (And honestly, I’m not mingling for reasons for another page of word vomit.)

 

And things were ok. For a little bit.

 

We were friends. It was exciting finally having a friend in the darkness that is this city.

 

But then – my lizard brain started to inch its way into the driver’s seat.

I thought I started to feel something. I thought I noticed her turn toward me a little more comfortably during bar trivia. I thought she may have been setting something up by inviting four of her friends who were couples (and the semi-awkwardness leading up to the event when I also invited a couple of my friends). Or our exchange when I gaily offered to share my mac and cheese. Or the anxious back and forth texts that overall felt like we didn’t want to scare each other away. Or our conversation the first time we met up about the impending apocalypse. Or her saying she was afraid I ghosted her when I took so long to follow up on our initial Facebook conversation. Or her asking me if I wanted to ride share with her back to our college town; and me agreeing to do it.

I thought there was a tiny spark of…chemistry. And my mind started to ponder.

Wait…is she cool?

Could I get along with her?

Is this real?

Do I feel comfortable talking to her right now?

Can I relate with her? Am I dreaming?

And then, just like that, like a raft with an invisible leak—POP! *fsssssss…*

Out-of-context fantasy and contrived realities started to ornament my already risky interpretations of our exchanges so far. I was slowly seeping away from reality, into my consciousness once again. Or, to put it bluntly: I let my mind and insecurities get the best of me, substituting my own sense of well-being with pleasurable interaction and fantasy with someone else.

 

My communication tone changed. I started to text them a little more often, bugging them more about their availability, and overtly opening up my own. The ongoing biorhythm, dance, shifting tides between us – or, whatever you want to call that anyway – started to look more like a one-sided plea for interaction. I revealed a bit of my hand – a set of cards that I wasn’t fully admitting to myself that I still wanted to play.

 


 

And suddenly, we’re on the road. Hours of conversation ensued on our way to our college town. And at this point I’m hypnotically doggy-paddling over to her raft, abandoning my own and the leak I had created. The conversation evolves to talk of the future, which of course I bring up.

 

“Ten years from now, I want a house. And I want a garden,” I say.

What about you? Do you want a garden in a house when you’re older too?”

“No; maybe a small one. I don’t want a house. I want to live in an apartment. Yeah, but a small garden on my porch.”

 

Oh…

 

An apartment.

That’s what she wants.

She sees herself in an apartment, ten years from now.

 

I couldn’t do that. I ideally would want to start having kids at an age (and in a mental state) where I can actively be involved, and be in great enough physical shape to keep up with them. And that age is within the next ten years. And being active means having a place to be active. Like a yard.

(But if I can’t afford a house I will 10000% do an apartment. Whatever I can comfortably afford. My mom paid for a 3 bedroom house just for the two of us in a nice neighborhood because she’s crazy. So either way, basically the opposite of my childhood. Fuck that shit.)

Point is, it dawned on me – that maybe they weren’t the future significant other I wished them to be in my head. Maybe they weren’t that hybrid mythical creature I have fantasized. Maybe they were their own soul after all.

And I realized that I was so hypnotized by my own fantasy; that looking back, there was never a leak in my raft to begin with.

Indeed, I had created “the leak”. But only the idea of there being a leak in the first place.

 

Even to this very minute, I hold the fantasy of her close to my chest, while I simultaneously try to pry my hands away from it. Away from this logically impossible present, and foolishly reckless future; yet also so close from this dreamy present, and so contrarily enticing future.

 

A part of me – the child self (or “puer aeternus,” as Carl Jung would say [male “eternal child”, or puella aeterna for females]) – a raw, real representation of my young woes with all the adult of me stripped naked and bare, is what is behind that vice grip.  It is an identity that is me, a part of me, holding on for dear life until the last possible second, hoping that she can be my ultimate solace at an arm’s reach.

 

“Give me something!!!!!!!!!!” It screams.

“I want you so badly!!!!! More than I’ve ever wanted anything!!!! I want YOU!!!!””

 

And I do. I really fucking do, on some level. I can’t deny that. And another, more mature part of me knows that it’s…it’s not real. I know it’s the equivalent of falling in love with a celebrity. And I want to cry thinking of how tragic the pursuit is for her and myself now, and everyone involved in my past imaginary escapades.

It’s…not real.

Yes. That’s right.

It’s not real. It can’t be real.

That image in my head of me dating her? Or the image of me making an advance via text in our tango and regretting it later? They’re not real…

I’m sorry, child self.

But I won’t. I can’t. Instead, I will re-invigorate my platonic ways in real life. I won’t let myself “have” her, if that makes any sense. Whether that’s the fantasy version, or if she actually does end up somehow wanting to date me. I will say no to both, and return to my center. Even if that means a period of no immediate interactions.

Because even if things would work out in reality, I’m not ready right now.

I’m pretty sure they’ve stopped having that sort of interest anyway; that is, if they ever did have any serious inquiry about seeing me as more than a friend. And I’m glad.

(Kind of…see above.)

 


 

I’m almost halfway through my twenties, yet I feel like I have gone through this type of story so many times before. And in the moment, it feels like my world always revolves around someone – someone that I’m not even very close with.

It’s not meant for me. These imaginary, powerful dreams I have of relationships with people I’m not dating are just that – dreams. Maybe things like that will happen for me. I certainly hope so. And maybe they won’t. But living life in pursuit of them, escaping life to imagine them, and abandoning my own foundation to get it is not only not right, it’s immature. For myself, and for the person on the other side who probably just wanted a friend to begin with.

But dreams…

What can I dream about then?

I can dream about being a rock star. Or being a comedian. Or a famous musician. A traveling programmer. I can dream about a future relationship. Work toward it, even.

 

But I can’t abandon my raft.

 

I will stay with it instead; and keep on floating on my own structure throughout the ebb and flow of it all. I will learn – no, re-learn to love the good parts of me, learn to love the parts of me that I give other people credit for, and learn to care for the parts of me that I give myself shit for.

What if I stopped trying to run from my fear of looking at my whole self? What if I could look at my soul straight in the mirror, and not look away? What if I stay on that raft, and take care of it as if it’s the only thing I got?

Can I do all of that?

Yes. Yes I can. I have to.

this is all I got. right here.

 

Yet a lot of me wants time to perfect everything I’ve been working on, time dedicated to just practice living itself!!! Ugh…

 

But I’m never going to stop…living. Not until I literally keel over and die. I have to feed myself. I have to ingest fluids. I can’t wait for that. I have been eating poorly, and turning the other cheek from my health for way too long. And human companionship is not a substitute for actual food.

 

 


 

 

Well, I guess this is where I conclude this. Incomplete allusions to malnourishment and all.

 

Here’s to feeding myself. And to using that energy to have trust in myself.

 

au revoir.

 

 

*:・゚✧

 

 

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A Weird Night

Last night I went out with some friends to play some bar trivia.

The night before, I stayed up until 7 am. I was up until 12 finishing a couple assignments for an online class; and then because I’ve been averaging bed times between 5 and 7 am the past week, and because I also had a mini panic attack after trying to play an online game (I started freaking out when I wasn’t configuring things right and panicked at the idea of the other person I matched with getting pissed), I lasted until the morning.

During that time, I went back and forth between watching mind-numbing, popular dopamine-inducing YouTube videos, doing a little bit of coding for a separate assignment, and playing a game called “Yu-Gi-Oh: Duel Links”.

After finally falling asleep, I woke up a couple of times, eventually convincing myself to get out of bed around 4 pm.

Bar trivia started at 7, and the plan was to meet around 6:30. I threw some clothes in the washing machine below my apartment, and binge watched a little more on some online videos (until the last possible minute) before I took a shower and got a Lyft ride (which I really can’t afford but do it anyways……..).

Bar trivia was fun, but I should give some backstory of why I went to a trivia event at a bar, because it’s usually something I never do:

 

I have been talking to a college friend with whom I had a couple entrepreneurship classes with; and admittedly…I find them kind of…attractive in different ways. It’s comforting to converse with them, even though we are both generally anxious, awkward individuals. However…I don’t feel completely safe around them yet. Not that I feel safe around anyone, but…lately, my guidelines for trusting new people have dramatically changed. (And that’s another post in itself…) Maybe that was the subconscious reasoning behind me inviting a couple of my friends to come to trivia instead of just doing it with them and their friends, even though we didn’t really communicate who was inviting who. It was a trivia teams game, and each team could have a maximum of 6 people – and in total, there were about 10 of us, so we had to split teams. Naturally, we stayed with our own friend group, and didn’t end up socializing much, but it was still really fun overall.

 

I think I really like them?

But I also feel like I mostly don’t know them, and any feeling of additional attraction beyond me feeling comfortable around them is fantasy. At least, that’s how I am taking it.

 

They asked me today if I wanted to carpool with them up to our college town for a couple days, revisiting the town we went to college in. It sounds really fun, even though I don’t really know what that means. They would be driving me up, but would we be hanging out for those days? Would I need to find my own place to stay the night? I am so confused.

It just seems weird to ask someone “Hey, do you want me to drive you up to this city we used to go to college in” without me explicitly saying at some point previously that I was thinking about going up.

I imagine in the end, maybe she remembers me talking about my desire to travel, and maybe it’s them offering to take me for a chance at traveling at a low cost. Which is super nice of them, because I think about traveling nearly every day. And we will probably hang out a little bit; but I should find somewhere to couch surf there in the meantime.

But…do I really want to go?

 

…I think I do. I like to travel, and I think I can trust them once I get to know them.

I’m not making a decision yet, but I’ll clarify the details and then ask them next time we get in touch.

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I am setting my intention

…Whatever it may be.

I am setting my intention to study my ass off for the next hour, take a shower, go to school, take my test, finish my lab, go to lab class, bus home, and then sleep for at least 6 hours, and then take my coding test. And THEN I will sleep some more.

 

I admit, I am very depressed.

Extremely depressed.

I have had some pretty disturbing thoughts.

 

But I am not going to die today. And I will feed myself along the way.

I am going to do my plan, and then on Tuesday…

I am going to go on a walk.

 

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Of movies that paint a perfect reality

Does it even really matter?

Why fantasize through art if our world will never be a fantasy?

 


 

I just watched Kiki’s Delivery Service for the first time. As a kid, I was enchanted by the preview included in Spirited Away‘s DVD release. Although for the longest time, I got my neurons mixed up and linked the title “Castle in the Sky” with Kiki’s trailer, from seeing Kiki flying all over the place in her “new city” (and the general “enchantedness/newness/in awe” vibe).

When I think of that movie, it reminds me of how I feel when I look at the stars.

I can never quite describe it. But it’s a good feeling. And maybe, that’s how it should be.

 

But that feeling, and life itself…

 

Are so separate.

 

They are miles apart. In different cities. Maybe even in different realities.

 

Granted, Kiki’s world in itself is somewhat imperfect. When she first arrives into town, she boldly attempts to introduce herself to some passerby in the middle of the day – and is ignored by the vast majority of them. Addionally, Kiki’s journey through adolescence is pretty rough at times, even if cut for a family friendly audience.

But what I don’t understand is why the help she gets is so unconditional. So loving. The baker she meets, the painter, her parents…all off them are really fucking great people.

I have yet to meet people like that. Every older figure (and most people) I’ve ever met have had an ulterior motive they achieved by helping me.

Additionally…Kiki is a fucking hard fucking worker. Like, god damn. Even if she does make mistakes. A lot. And has to scheme to make it up.

I have my moments…but lately all I can think about is messing up. I think about it more than I actually mess up in the first place. And sometimes I even mess up because I was thinking about messing up and psyched myself out.

 

I feel like I’ve had one experience since I’ve moved that could even come close to Kiki’s life. One. Single. Experience.

(Well, maybe a couple more, but the majority have been super awkward, or I just fucked up.)

I recently helped a couple submit some documents to the Indian government to formalize a spouse’s passport. The work felt meaningful, even if I was super nervous afterward about if I did everything right and if I didn’t rush.

Later, I got a happy text saying everything was approved. (I was super relieved – but also felt guilty for being happy for them, as if I was robbing them of their accomplishment, even if I did help them.)

But overall, it was a very satisfying experience. They made me a sandwich on my way out, that was super fucking good mind you. I had a shift at my “real” job right after, and rushed to work across the city; and even though I was late, I felt like I was hustling. I felt like I was cranking my own wheel and turning cotton into gold.

What type of character would Kiki be if she didn’t have such amazing fucking parents?

Would she be like me?

I feel guilty for being me. I don’t know how to heal my own wounds, and fend off new ones, such as when my stepdad attacks me for not taking care of myself.

I need to take care of myself. And I’ve always said that the only way to do that is to stop talking to my mom.

But what if it’s my stepdad too?…

What if I really need to stop talking to BOTH of them?

What if neither of them knows how to say anything meaningful?

What if I can’t trust either of them?

What if they can’t be the parents I always fantasize them being?

What then?

What then….

 

 


 

 

Then I’ll just have to listen to myself.

I can’t find God through a perfect sentence of paternal advice. God is the only thing that can give me that.

I’m not God of course. But it’s really fucking hard to listen to God if I’m not being humble with myself. If I’m not seeing and loving all the shitty parts of me…and the good parts.

Because if I’m truly humble with myself, God will sort it out. Of course, in parallel/in practice, I will work with God as a humble human being to sort my shit out and finally start taking care of myself.

Surely, Kiki did the same.

 

 

 

 

(And with that, I’m fucking going to sleep. Fuck this 3:24 am bullshit.)

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