2021 gifted to me a new level of nonshitgiving obnoxiousness. I have become so pleasantly hyper aware of my own mortality. This happened after I realised life is so very long, although so very conditionally long. In fact, I have decided how long you perceive life to be is an equation equal to the sum of all moments in which you enjoyed yourself. Many enjoyments = Much life. Limited enjoyments = short life.
I have a past of chronic pleasure delayment. What is chronic pleasure delaying ? Refer to this list of typical, mundane, engrained, normalised pleasure delayment symptoms and characteristics:
going around with greasy hair so your wash day can align with your social life
eating desert after dinner
rewarding yourself after accomplishment
wearing your sunday best on sundays
relaxing after effort
refusing to nap to ensure a better night’s sleep
saving that last cigarette for when really you need it
waiting to speak certain words to maximise their impact later
imagining all you will do once you finally deserve it
delay discounting
scarcity mindset
My newfound partnership with certain death has freed me. Though, I am now obligated to spend every second of every day doing whatever the fuck I want however the fuck I want to, which is honestly not as luxurious as it sounds. And so on a whim I decided I have absolutely no reason to start yet another creative project - one which I will proceed to talk and think about for years before reaping any sort of monetary benefits from - so I did it. I speak to my keyboard as if anyone could ever care to read me.
It embitters me that everyone is convinced of their own main player status. I hate attention (yeah okay). It embitters me when people think that just because they speak, everyone should listen. It embitters me when people have enough self worth to actually share their art (Although Rick Ruben recently shared that “You are one-hundred percent successful as soon as you send your project off into the world… Regardless of how it is received”). Unless I like their art. It embitters me that I have to battle all of that daily, because I have never had any choice other than to create. I honestly cannot be fucked to try and monetize anything else. It embitters me that I simply don’t know if anyone cares. This entire paragraph embittered me more.
Here is my blog !!! My greatest goal has always been to be a polymath. Here is another outlet for me to leak my multiple personalities into because I seem to be interested and curious about more facets than my little hands can grasp. I become overwhelmed easily and I know I should focus and I know I should channel and I simply cannot. Also, instagram used to really inspire me. Today I am fucking sick of numbers and algorithms that change for the worst as soon as you start understanding them. I constructed for years and got shadow banned as soon as I finally needed the platform I built. Fuck you. I think I’ll be much happier over here on little amateur wix where I have no access (or intention) to statistics and therefore cannot tell if I am still just speaking to myself or to you.
I should probably end with the fact that pleasure delayment is a side effect, as well the destructive counterpart, to gratification delayment. Gratification delayment is forcing yourself to do the thing you do not want to do right now that will pay off in the long run. You defer from temporary/instant pleasure in order to cement long term enhancement. What do you do ? Do you resist temptation for future purposes ? Would your superego win the boss fight against your ego ? Is immediate pleasure bad for neurology anyway ? And why do they keep comparing us to rats ???