I wanted to feel what it's like to write- and what I can produce- from extremely low energy. Here goes...
Ever since Bokolis walked off the football pitch, the pace of just about everything has slowed tremendously for me. The pitch was a fine distraction and diversion from all the bullshit the rest of existence relentlessly feeds us. It spared me from having to encounter or associate with people who I felt had bought into it.
While Bokolis does his damnedest to sidestep all that nonsense, trying to sidestep it is- I gather- like trying to play a video game on master level when you're no master. You slowly/surely/steadily get hit with the shit from the shitstorm until your power bar goes empty.
It's made all the more difficult when you're surrounded by people who eat that shit up (I guess the pun is intentional). Bokolis has found myself in such an existence. I am now torn between the allure of becoming old, fat and dumb, and swimming back upstream.
Bokolis cannot decide, as both options are at once equally appealing and unappealing. My only coping mechanism has been to stack my chips, as the erstwhile cool kids might have said, and hope that the process kills me before I have to decide.
See, Bokolis had money and assed out multiple times in the 90s. Most people lost their first money; I lost my second and third money. At some point on that see-saw, Bokolis decided that I can't do this any more, so...throw in your metaphor- stood on 70 cents on the Price is Right wheel, hit the buzzer...errrr...took what was in the box on Monty Hall's table...I wasn't the big deal of the day, but went home quite better off than I started.
Money didn't mean all that much to Bokolis, except that it allowed me not to have to jump on the hamster wheel, not to fully engage the system, not to be laden by its demands. Even in times of no (earned) income, I refused to be harried into slaving for a paycheck. Essentially, I did work that, when combined with drawing from my stash, allowed for a largely carefree existence. I'm not saying that I achieved Zen, but I'm still going to call it that.
Bokolis did not live anything approaching lavishly, even in the days of easy come, easy go. But, unlike almost all of my friends (who were younger), I was unbothered by having to make rent.
At some point, Bokolis was roped into having to help out family- isn't it ALWAYS fucking family- doing, more or less, something that I've spent a lifetime avoiding. It's put me in direct conflict with my ideology, how I've lived.
All this is for a family member who has always been driven by money/wealth, has plenty of it- certainly more than Bokolis does- yet needs me to keep it from falling apart. Even though they have made this business their calling, somehow I am better at making the machines run.
The stakes are too high and there was no one else to do it.
Spiritually, it's prison. Bokolis short-term memory is all over the place. I spoon letters (though not numbers) in a way that I've never done. It is testing my Zen.
Despite the attitude with which Bokolis- I post once a year and I can barely remember this asshole- writes this nonsense on here, I don't consider myself to be self-confident, but I do think I am self-assured. I was captain of every football team that I walked into for the last 10 years that I played. I never asked for it. It just always found me. I'm not going to explain why except to say that, when I get thrown into shit, I'm convinced I'm going to work it out.
Bokolis has got the same general attitude about my current drama. The key difference here is that, unlike football, I can't stand what I'm doing. It's been years now; I haven't grown to like it or even tolerate it.
Bokolis has come to understand that, rather than let ideology get in the way, all you can do is stack your chips while you can. Money still isn't the motivator, but it's the measure of this game.
How much of it will Bokolis get to enjoy vs planning to keep it out of probate...I guess that depends on the stress. The next kicking dirt on graves post may be about me.
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