{∅, {∅}, {∅, {∅}}} : Rage Against the Meat Grinder

During this past year, I have suffered more than my share of "being down and out" ... As you know, my computers, notebooks, and library of books are in storage, which I have not been to since July.  The key was stolen to the lock, and I still have to get to the storage place as soon as possible to pay them $50 to change it.

I have to replace ID (driver's license) that was lost when I lost my wallet back in December, 2022.  This can't be done without a residence.  I have rented a room for nearly a grand per month - hence I am always "dead in the water" without any funds to do anything.   Sure, I purchased some bus tickets, but - no, I can't do anything until I get a little currency.

Meanwhile, my mother's emotional state is one of fear, regret, and guilt over the suffering I have endured after the sale of her domicile.  There is also the agonizing frustration of not being there for her in her life, even though I long to be by her side.  I long with an aching heart to calm her, to help her to like herself, build her confidence, keep her from being over-medicated and spoken to condescendingly.

If I can't get ID/DL replaced/renewed this month, I will have to rent this room another month.  How long will this cycle continue.  I do not want my mother to die of a broken heart, so I have been in contact with her regularly with telephone.  I am determined to visit her and hug her.  I only saw her twice this year, once in December when we met up at an Inn, where I set up her new notebook computer.  It is a shame I can't help her get used to the new machine.  It is all rather gut-wrenchingly tragic.


Holden used to mention he had been prone to sobbing at times.  Well, I find myself waking up to teardrops of despair, anger, and frustration each morning, for the past week or so.  The thing is, even as I do not see a way out of this downward spiral catastrophe, the way life unfolds, I am always in the present moment in day-to-day life, where even the smallest tasks can be impossible to pull off with -$3.88 ("negative cash flow position") account balance, which is about four dollars less than nothing.


It is what it is.  That is, when a check arrives, I would walk it to another town to deposit it, and then funds won't be available until the next day.  So there is the Vincent Van Gogh-like "waiting for minimal funds" for mere shelter and some tobacco and black bread.   I gain inspiration from Vincent's life, and I remember reading how his brother died only 6 months after Vincent's suicide.  Vincent killed himself mainly out of feeling ashamed for depending on his brother.  His brother's wife just had a child, and his brother's financial situation was not as good as it once was.

So, you can understand why I am reluctant to do anything drastic, since I do not want to intensify the painful emotions my mother must be experiencing, not to mention the confusion, panic, and fear that goes with living alone and over-medicated.

I have begun writing letters to my mother, suggesting we consider ways for me to be either live-in caretaker of her somewhere, or at least have me renting a room closer to my mother.  I always have told her how much I love her, but today I was compelled to tell her I actually like her as my friend as well.   I like her and do not like to see her treated like she has no sense or feelings.   She has deep emotions and still has her wits.   I used to build up her confidence, but, without me in her life on a regular basis as her right hand man, she can get overwhelmed and bullied.  There is a certain meanness in this world.   She feels as though she is being punished for her thoughtlessness concerning my fate, but it is just a consequence of our being ripped from each other's lives after we had become so close over a lifetime.   

Something wicked transpired, and I am determined to do all I can to help my mother and I. 

You see, the nature of my thoughts and feelings at this time are quite personal and very suited for diary or personal written letters.  My research has been focused on "keeping my head together," trying not to become overwhelmed and suicidal; hence, I am also studying How Everyone Became Depressed: The Rise and Fall of the Nervous Breakdown by Edward Shorter.

My mother is being over-medicated.  Pills do not heal her heart.  Most the anxiety, like my own, is a direct result of our being torn from each other's lives.   While not a big fan of Freud or his psychoanalysis, even a broken clock is right twice a day.   He noted that "Missing someone who is loved and longed for is the key to an understanding of anxiety."

My mother is not Johanna Schopenhauer, although I am sure she would not have minded such an inheritance.   I have not given up on her.   I want her and my heart to have some peace.

I know Raul has heartache as well, and my own heartache is likely to intensify sometimes.  One must brace oneself for Fate, no?

I have to log off now.  I don't get anything much done in 60 minutes if I post here.  Again, this also frustrates me.   Still resisting the urge to drink alcohol, mainly so that I can focus on what is going on here.

That has been the plan, but things are easier said than done when there are so many devils in the little details, such as that, with minimal funds, most all of which grabbed by slumlord, one can get little accomplished.

Most of my day (and days) are spent taking deep breaths so as not to go off the deep end in a rage.