Day of 2007 - 4

I am feeling much less prolific today. In fact, I find myself feeling a little dizzy, a little queasy. I really need to do better at watching what I eat. I ate some food today that I knew was somewhat off - I guess I was just positive it wasn't off in a horrible way (if you must know, it was Grey Poupon that had lost all of its bite). But maybe it was off in a horrible way. I'm not sure.

Let's see - I'm going to talk about my day a little bit - I was of course not as productive as yesterday (outside of work), but I did do some of the mundane stuff I need to do, like filling out paperwork for my social security card, paying a bill, etc.

I wasted some time, but not so much.

I define wasted time as doing things I'm not that interested in or that I don't find important in any way at all. That's the only definition I should really accept, although sometimes the very real, very crucial border that exists between things I find interesting and things I don't find important gets breached, and I end up feeling bad about doing something I actually enjoyed. This is fortunately getting rarer and rarer - it's a pretty miniscule phenomenon, actually.

Back to the topics. I'm thinking today about how working at the shelter changed my perspective on things. Working with disempowered people certainly had a strong influence on me. I guess, looking at people who are chronically hopeless, without confidence, struggling with addictions and apathy, it was only natural I would begin questioning the security of my place in the world; I began to see the very thin line that exists between comfort and constant need. I am grateful for my college education, for parents who speak to me, for the various types of ID and other forms of enfranchisement I have access to. I am lucky in many ways.

But there is a part of me that began gazing into the abyss and never stopped. I am mostly okay on the outside, but I can't shake this dark feeling, the idea that nothing is important. Rationally, logically, I can tell myself that importance is subjective; that is, it's up to me to decide what's important, since the universe is always going to remain silent on that topic. But a part of me still wants the universe to answer, to show me that things are vibrant and full and meaningful. I want the evidence before I can believe.

This evidence, I think, is what most homeless people are holding out for, why they're on the streets and not getting their lives back together. The severe social dysfunction of our society has not gotten to the point where it is impossible to get back on your feet - it makes it very, very difficult, but not impossible. (Yet.) The problem with homelessness - and this is a problem that exists in all of us; it's just that for some people it has resulted in homelessness - is that need for evidence, the need to be told that the world is beautiful, the reluctance to accept responsibility for being uninterested, undelighted, disgusted. It's not what you are disgusted by that is so overpowering; it is the fact that you are disgusted. This limits you like nothing else. You have no freedom in life if you have no appetite for it. They are identical.

Everyone is different, and a lot of this is projection. I think it is at least partly real, at least partly present in a majority of cases. The most important thing though, of course, is that observing this projection on other people has helped me to illuminate my own issues. My own fear of being disgusted.

And I'm getting sleepy now, so more will have to wait for later.

Night.