Off the happy pills
It's been about two weeks since my last dose of anti-depressants. I'm a bit more cranky at times and sometimes lacking in feel-good chemicals, but I still think I'll push ahead and see what becomes of it. It's been a long time since I haven't been on anti-depressants; it will be interesting, unlike my writing.
Ripped off at the Dubbo Show
We took Grace to the Dubbo Show last weekend; she was allowed two show bags, one lolly, and one toy. Her lolly cost twelve dollars, but when the girl rang it up, it came to fifty-two. I told the young girl she had made an error, and she said it was a charge fee; I said maybe forty cents, but not forty dollars; she was adamant that everything was fine and dandy, which got me hot under the collar. I cancelled the sale.
I said to Liz, 'Did you see how that girl just doubled down on her grift with such assurance?' Liz said she wasn't smart enough to know what was going on and probably added an extra show bag by accident; either way, it put me on edge. I took receipts for the rest of the day, fucking carnies.
Levelled up and on cruise control
Reading my book 'Fat Loser with a Laptop' has made me realise how much I've levelled up in the last two years and how nonchalant about life I am now. I am well.
I'm lacking depth and going through the motions, but I'm still getting it done, albeit a little too easily, without the necessary pain, which is essential for deep work. Just a thought - I'm now mindful of it.
I'm not an arsehole, I'm a dick!
I'm an arsehole; I've always been an arsehole; it's one of my worst traits that I'm an arsehole, maybe not an arsehole because arseholes are spiteful, and I'm not spiteful; I don't want to hurt anyone, perhaps I'm more of a dick. Rick, the dick, being that I love making fun of people, stirring things up, and teasing the less fortunate, I find it amusing.
I am well aware of it, though, and am a lot more compassionate than I was in my youth, so I control myself. I don't try to undermine people with my words or point out their flaws; like say, if they had a lump on their back, I wouldn't call them Lumpy; I'd just think about it in my head.
I don't do that, but I do do it in my writing - the stuff that's supposed to be funny - like with my book, Ridiculous Ideas - Shit that just might work.
I make fun by being mean to the reader, I'm hoping that the reader doesn't take it personally because I'm not making comments on real people just the generic reader person, I'm taking the piss, hoping the reader will laugh along with me, and go yes, making fun, is fun, maybe it's just a lazy way of creating humour, and there are more sophisticated ways, but I don't know them.
If there's a boring bit, I might spice it up by telling the reader they have no friends, or it might not be targeted at the reader but at people who lack connection in their life in general, as to say, 'this idea is perfect for people without any friends."
I'm also happy to throw big punches at myself and am confident in doing that because it doesn't affect me, and I'm not targeting the public.
Oh Ricky, you sad soul!
It's the whole post-modern thing about being ironic and edgy and without sincerity. I watched far too many cartoons in the nineties. But I do have sincerity now, just not in my humour. My humour is biting, sharp, and cutting.
Coming to Jesus
I was humbled in my dreams a few days ago, thinking how much better it would be if I could get past my issues with Christianity and became a follower of Christ because my community is Christian.
I'm like the cuckoo in the nest; Christianity values sincerity highly, and this is why I'd rather put my lot in with them rather than the sickly Australian culture outside of that, one bent through perhaps its convict past and its capitalist, individualist Americanised culture, and the top down media, consumer-driven, advertising laden lying arbiters of truth in this country, it's all twisted.
Not that I don't have my issues with Christian culture, but at least they don't greet you by calling you cunt. There's a real lack of care that is stitched into bogan culture that I want no part of.
Anyway, I was having a repetitive dream about what I needed to do to align with Christ, and I couldn't reconcile it. I woke up feeling convicted, and a realisation of my sinful nature humbled me and made me feel less comfortable in pulling the splinter out of everyone else's eye; now I can see my own plank.
The feeling has stayed with me, no doubt that conviction will wear off, but it makes me want to do better and be better.
The reason I had this dream was that Grace changed from a public school to a small Christian school this week, and the people there were so nice to me.
In the public system, they eye me up, make a few judgments, and put me in the box they think I belong in. These guys were just open and friendly, which made me grateful for community, but also made me feel like the cuckoo in the nest.
I feel sad for the little girls Grace was friends with at her public school that they no longer have my little girl with them, but I want to protect Grace from the sickness of modern culture in its current form.
It was a fantastic school with fantastic teachers and culture, but 90% of the parents were ignorant bogans with a fuck that and fuck you attitude.
I don't want my girl to enjoy the fruits of that lifestyle because it's fun and enticing, but at the end of the day leaves you sick and warped.