I ordered a yufka, and got two by mistake. I ate both, feel bloated, horrible, and it made me depressed in an existential kind of way. The sun came out and improved my mood a little, but now it's getting dark and the idea of sitting indoors eating something makes me feel that existential dread again. It's been a funny day.
> I ordered a yufka, and got two by mistake. I ate both, feel > bloated, horrible, and it made me depressed in an existential > kind of way.
Veddy intedesting, as in I've never heard of it before. What I read has me wondering how it could lead to gastrointestinal distress, as it sounds closer to the tame end of the digestion-challenge scale.
> The sun came out and improved my mood a little, but now > it's getting dark and the idea of sitting indoors eating > something makes me feel that existential dread again. It's > been a funny day.
Now there's a paragraph that, for me, goes well with "Life in a Northern Town" imagery.
In a somewhat similar vein, I'm starting to think my days have become more numbered than the certainty of death and taxes axiom lets on. I mean, I suppose it could be this dreadful teaching job, because I really do experience tons of fear/loathing/travail over it. The fact I persist in it is borderline stupid, because I technically *could* retire (it would be tight due to my wife's inability to be happy without spending in ways that seem unnecessary to me). But I've always had a rather terminal case of work ethic. I can't imagine not working without losing my mind, primarily because I hate making decisions, would vastly rather be told what to do for it all having become so Robert Smith "it's always the same".
But... well, my wife was horrified to hear I was 166 lbs a couple weeks ago (was about 185 lbs when I started the job)... and this morning I blew 163 lbs on the weight scale whistle. No idea what to make of it, as I'm eating to beat a "the band" conference.
It doesn't help that I've considered the medical profession vile most of my life - and oh, how the whole COVID debacle has advanced that feeling within. The only "profession" I consider more vile is journalism <insert image of asshole polishing a statue of lies held together with spit, snot, and rectal drippings>.
Anyway... just finishing up the last of those gyro leftovers mentioned a day or so ago.
Oh! I did have one of those aging cigarettes I mentioned last night! There's been bit of constipation, of late (wife too, so I think the job is affecting her similarly in that region..), and I recalled how a smoke can sometimes, um, "jellify whatever's going on down there"... and I'll be danged if it didn't work like a charm. Grant it, we're talking a cigarette sufficiently old to burn way too quickly for being so dry... the lit tip just plain fell off without so much as a glimmer of a flick with - DAMN! - one decent inhalation left to it.
"Life"....
But I've always had a rather terminal case of work ethic
Restless hand and mind syndrome. I suffer from it too. I like to think that I'd live out my retirement in some virtual reality game-sphere thing, but I've had vacations where I do nothing but that and it gets mind-numbingly boring.
I need to create instead of just consuming, otherwise I feel like I can't justify my existence. There's a nice anime called "Welcome to the NHK" which explores similar themes, of a uni-dropout shut-in NEET whose trying to bring meaning to his existence, and it resonated with me a lot.
But... well, my wife was horrified to hear I was 166 lbs a couple weeks ago (was about 185 lbs when I started the job)... and this morning I blew 163 lbs on the weight scale whistle. No idea what to make of it, as I'm eating to beat a "the band" conference.
You lucky SOB! Stress does the opposite for me, where I just gain and gain without release. At least you can look at yourself in the mirror amidst the most wretched mindset and think "hey, I still got it".
> Restless hand and mind syndrome. I suffer from > ittoo. I like to think that I'd live out my > retirementin some virtual reality game-sphere thing, > but I'vehad vacations where I do nothing but that > and itgets mind-numbingly boring.
"Doing the dishes" (manually) provides the most relief.
And that's actually childhood related, as I recall at family gatherings on my dad's side feeling far more comfortable around the "womanfolk" (a non-offensive term in my day) than the men in conversations after the meal. The males seemed what I want to call "uncomfortably gruff" in speech, and of course at least one wasn't unfamiliar with drinking at levels conducive to "saying things you probably shouldn't". That invariably led - yea, drove - me to becoming the primary dish-washer at such events.
> You lucky SOB! Stress does the opposite for me, > whereI just gain and gain without release. At least > youcan look at yourself in the mirror amidst the > mostwretched mindset and think "hey, I still got it".
Oh, sure... load me up with quality guilting while I'm down and out! :-)
<ponders a "Load Me Up" song spoof on Wham!'s "Wake Me Up">
I find that doing the dishes gives me time to think and reflect out loud over the dinn of the dishes themselves, and usually my partner comes home to find me ranting at glassware about one thing or another.
I'm trying to work out whether doing manual repetitive tasks is a way of detoxing my brain (by venting my woes), or whether I'm enforcing some bad behaviours here.
Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't clean for my mental health... that'd be a convenient excuse