Apathy as a Defence Mechanism

I’m in a good mood today. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that in my entire life. Something good happened and I’ll just leave it at that. Being happy and being apathetic is pretty mutually exclusive so this messes with my apathetic style of living.

I choose not to care too deeply about anything. Being apathetic made me immune to disappointment. Some of it is by choice, but a lot of it is conditioned into me by being constantly let down. There are a lot of things I truly don’t care about and it feels good to be unaffected by them. When I choose not to care about something, I can never reach full apathy, but it still helps a lot in reducing disappointment. When I’m not emotionally invested in something, I have no fears or worries about losing it. Being emotionally un-invested in life made death a lot less scary.

My life generally sucks a lot so my apathetic ways were actually very functional and practical. In a twisted way, it kind of sucks that I experienced some happiness and have something to look forward to because now I have to work so hard live and I’ll probably be spending a lot of time regretting all the time I’ve wasted. I guess I’m a textbook example of a pessimist.

Sexual Desire to Live

I don’t know why I make these weird titles because I don’t even like them. They’re like 1% clever but that’s exactly what it is. 1% is a horrible fail. It’s retard level…

Anyway, this one’s about sexual desire and the desire to live. Most guys I know go crazy for girls and it looks kinda pathetic to me, to the point that it pisses me off. It’s not that I don’t understand horniness because believe me, I do. It’s people’s inability to control it that bothers me. Why do most people have so little control of it? When I go to the bank and see people handling a wad of money, of course I’d like to have that in my hands but that doesn’t mean I’m going to steal it. Most men can resist the money and yet they can’t resist the pussy.


If I didn’t perform …physical maintenance on my body as often as I do, I’m sure I’d be crazy for pussy too. But because I can achieve self satisfaction, I don’t see what all the fuss over puss is all about. I just woke up from a weird dream and it’s interesting to see myself do what I preach… or I guess I’m just imagining what I preach since it’s just a dream. The dream starts off with me hiding out in a building, not being able to sleep because a war is starting the next day. It felt like a zombie-esque environment, where people band together and barricade in buildings except we were fighting off soldiers instead of zombies. Eventually, I’m in a group with a number of girls. I was sitting in a swivelling computer chair and the girls walk past me in the nude, about to take a shower. For some reason, them walking past me in the nude was socially natural (in the dream) but I reached out to squeeze a boob as they pass me and I immediately apologized for being inappropriate. The girl told me I didn’t need to be sorry and that it was reassuring to her that she was still desirable. So I continued to squeeze their boobs as they walked past me, all 3 of the girls. After they’ve passed, I jerked off with that hand and resumed defending my position.


“What the fuck did I just read?” is probably what most of you are thinking. Look, it was a dream and certain things don’t always make sense. What was the point of this? Just the fact that even in my dreams, I was happy enough with masturbation that sex wasn’t necessary. I’m not saying sex is bad. If you have a stable partner to do it with, go and have all the fun you want; why the heck are you even reading this crap? I’m just annoyed at people who make it their life’s work to chase pussy down. In the dream, I even made a speech that the girls should make it their top priority not to have vaginal intercourse with the guys. They can fool around all they want, but getting pregnant would be a major inconvenience when we’re under attack and need to escape. If they don’t mind getting left behind, then go and have sex. As a person lacking a desire to live, I can understand the notion of not minding getting left behind, but I just felt like I needed to warn them about what they would be getting themselves into.


Okay, I should stop talking about this stupid dream now. Ultimately, I find that I have a less vaginal-sexual desire than most men. Sure I’ve got hormones but there are much more efficient ways to deal with them. As a person with more control of himself, it’s sad to see other people run around on their chases. But am I any better? Probably not. I’m probably far worse off. I am controlling my sexual desires as much as I control my desire to live comfortably and my desire to live altogether. Most people would look at my apathetic ways and I’d be the pathetic looking one. I’m just going in circles now… The only conclusion out of all this is that I don’t like people and I have weird-ass dreams.


My Life’s Paradoxes Part I

When I wrote about my dumbassery (part one), I mentioned that there was another topic I wanted to write about and this is it, coming to you several days later. I had a few ideas but I had not written them because I couldn’t find the best words to write them in. I still haven’t found the words yet but I’m going to write it out anyway since I’m trying to kill some time. I have too much time this morning because I woke up at 5am to the sound of fuckin birds. Fuckin birds… (It’s times like these that the distinction between fuckin and fucking actually matters.) I’ve already masturbated so I shall proceed with my mental masturbation, blogging. I am a truly masturbatory being.

Lately, I’ve been blogging a lot more than usual and it might seem like I’m opening up more. But in actuality, I’m getting more secluded because of the blog. When my friends ask me how I’ve been, I just want to refer them to the blog because I already wrote about it but my friends don’t like reading so it pretty much just ends all conversations. And what do I get in return? I’m writing for an audience of 17 people, probably only 5 of which will actually read my new posts, and these people aren’t even part of my life. Sorry reader, I have a tendency to antagonize you.

Being depressed and suicidal makes me not want nor need anything. I don’t need to hang out with friends cause they can’t cheer me up. I don’t need luxury items because they’re just wasted on me. I don’t even need to eat most of the time because I don’t need to live. Do I need to live? I didn’t think so. It took me awhile to realize that I actually do need to live, but only because of the definition of the word “need”. A necessity or need is something that is required to live. So by definition, I do need to live; I just don’t want to. It would be like saying blue jeans aren’t blue. Yeah, I know, semantics can be a mind fucker.

Ever since I wrote the entry on my sexuality, I’ve thought about it some more. I find that I’m attracted to lesbians more than straight girls. But of course, I’m attracted to the girly lesbians and not the butch ones. I’m like a butch lesbian… so butch that I even have a penis. There ought to be a term for a heterosexual who’s attracted specifically to homosexuals of the opposite gender. Oh I know, it’s called retardation.

…”Retardation” is the punchline but I’m not too fond of it. I couldn’t think of a better term that’s concise and funny. Other terms I’ve thought up include: self-defeating sexual retardation, fucktard, retardedsexuality, and he-s-retard-ed-sexuality. If you can think of a better one, write a comment for it. I don’t have any prizes to give but I can approve of your wit and humor. It’s sad how my two cents is literally worth less than two pennies.


…To Live… and Rants

For a long time, I’ve been having trouble trying to think up of concise words to express a certain emotion I’ve been feeling. It’s a depressing thought and I’m pretty sure I wrote about it in the early entries of the blog, back when I called it a suicidal autobiographical blog. Anyway, here’s the nice concise version of this thought:

(I had been unemployed and sitting around at home for a long time. People, particularly my parents, urge me to find a job because I need to earn a living.) I don’t even want to live, why the fuck would I want to work to live?

I was originally going to end this entry there but I like writing longer blogs and I figured out a few other things I want to write about. So I’m working part time at a library now simply because one of my friend’s girlfriend helped me apply (with my consent). It’s been 2 weeks now and I’ve been biking 7 km (roughly 4.4 miles) to and from work everyday. I had been riding a near decade old bike, that was shitty even when it was new, and now has misaligned tires, that scrape against the brakes, and brakes that don’t work. Given my passively suicidal state, the hunk of junk is actually a perfect fit for me. It greatly increased my chance of dying and I didn’t need to worry about people stealing it because it was a piece of shit. I laugh in my head just imagining the fool who steals this shit bike and gets pissed cause it doesn’t ride straight or die from not having brakes.

On my way to work today, a tire popped and now it’s a complete piece of shit that I couldn’t even make use of. I called home from work to let my parents know that I’m going to have to walk home so I’ll be later than usual. That sounds like healthy relationship behavior but I only do it so my mom doesn’t start crying and calling my friends like the last time when she literally nagged me out of the house… past midnight… during winter. That’s actually a whole story unto itself that I haven’t wrote about in the blog yet. By now, it should be clear that I don’t hold back at all. I only chose not to write about it because the story actually isn’t nearly as interesting as the synopsis.

During the phone call, my mom went hysterical and called me selfish for choosing to walk and making her worry. That’s pretty much my life summed up in my commute situation. If I walk, I’m selfish and worrisome. If I get a ride, I’m selfish and annoying and dependent and spoiled. I ended up getting a ride since it was just one night. I started making plans on buying a new bike right away because I’ll be needing it to get to work. But it was necessary because my problem solved itself for a change. It turns out that my cancerous uncle won’t be needing his brand new bike since he’s in no mood to ride it and he won’t need it once he dies, soon enough. Boy, I sure am lucky that my uncle got cancer. … I feel like people might call me a total douchebag for writing that last sentence but it’s just pure “moral” bullshit. Objectively, there’s actually nothing with it. Plus, I only wrote it to point out the irony. I couldn’t really give a shit about luck for mundane shit like a bicycle. A new bike costs what? $100? $200? Just this year, the government fined me more than triple that amount on a bank error (which the bank made) that I have no control over. Again, that’s another boring story that won’t be getting into.

If you ever catch me blogging about the bank story or getting nagged out of the house, then you will know that I have officially ran out of things to write about. Either that, or I found a way to make those boring stories really, really, REALLY interesting. By then, I better be famous or Jesus cause that would be a god damn miracle.

Oh, and just to show what a cunt I am, the free new bike is actually quite a burden for me. Now I actually have to worry about people stealing my bike. I liked it better when I rode a piece of shit that I wanted to get stolen.