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I'm on staff duty again, which is the only time I ever update this web page, so here I am updating. It's a nice break from watching a suicidal young private in my unit with a drinking problem and a Prozac prescription who isn't allowed to go to sleep with his room door closed or smoke a cigarette unsupervised. And my stupid ass just walked straight the hell up into all this extra responsibility by having the audacity and bad timing to become promotable right as the Detachment Sergeant goes to Kosovo and the other Platoon Sergeant goes on emergency leave. I suddenly find myself with less than five years in the military responsible for the entire damn unit for ten days. And a suicidal private on top of it. We do have an officer, our ating commander, who can be responsible for some things too, but she's a Lieutenant with about as much time in as I have. And is just about as certain as I am of how she feels about all this army business. I'm feeling remarkably unqualified, insecure, and depressed tonight.
One of the reasons for my vague depression is having spent the entire night on the Internet looking around at things I'd rather be doing with my life. Nothing concrete -- I still don't know what I'll be doing in the year 2002 -- but just lots of general yearning. Like for a life that allows some fellowship. My own computer. Employees I can fire. Calling in sick. Dropping Keris off at school while the sun is up. Guys with long hair. The Gnostic Mass. III*. My long-abandoned artistic endeavors.
Sigh. I know, poor me. I have plenty of choices. I'm just too lonely and chickenshit to explore any of them. I turn 28 next week and I still haven't written the Great American Novel... hell, I don't even write letters anymore. About all I manage is the grocery list. And I can't remember the last time I even looked at a column in 777. I had this grand idea a couple of years ago to start or find or contribute to a resource on Thelemic parenting, something that would be funny and useful and vibrant and pertinent. Haven't done it. Have managed to do a lot of nothing that I really want to do. I must need a kick in the ass. I'm not sure where I'm going but it looks like nowhere meaningful, really, and I'm not sure how I turned into this person but I think I don't trust her anymore.
And I don't think Keris would be happier if I made more money. I think Keris would be happier if I were less rushed and stressed out. I have such a fucking hang-up about money, though, that I if I didn't have a perfectly steady paycheck -- padded by the security that I cannot be fired on anything resembling a short notice -- I might be absolutely fucking unbearable. I think I balance my checkbook every day. I think that isn't normal. I would rather put groceries on my credit card than risk not being able to make my monthly contributions to my IRA and money market funds. DUH!!! And fear is at the root of all of this. And I don't know how to stop being afraid. The forerunner of failure.
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