Don’t desert me now

I’m tired of my own dismissive perspective. Realizing I’m a fucking spec of dust and just dealing with it just cuts it for me, I don’t need more, I don’t need reassurance, I deal with what I have to because I’m not weak and don’t need excuses. Why? Because I decided to be? That doesn’t even make sense.

Sense is not something that’s made a lot of in an unconfined world. Media, that’s where the refuge is, you don’t have to ask questions there. Self-contained, and locked up, there’s nothing else to consider. There’s a comforting nothing beyond the end, and you can’t see it, and don’t need to because it doesn’t concern you.

How completely reflected in me is that take? Perfectly. Why am I tired of that? Because it hasn’t changed. Why hasn’t it changed? Because it doesn’t get any better.

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I appreciate things. New job is easy. Comparable money, less work. Refreshingly non-corporate. I like the neighborhood it’s in; it reeks of Old Money. I appreciate how easy work is to come by. It’s nice to feel not fucked. For no reason, I also appreciate not having to watch my back every time I walk out of a building. Or watch my weight every time I eat something.

The more I expand my pool of knowledge of people in the lower workforce, the more I realize how completely fucking exceptional I am. I went to top schools, and lived in honors housing, and have been surrounded by ridiculously intelligent people most of my life prior to this summer. So before, when I didn’t understand what top third of a percent really meant; because my friends all got comparable scores, I didn’t think much of it.

I think probably it’s better this way, because I’m less conceited. I just know now what my opinion of myself should’ve been. Now that I couldn’t care less, it doesn’t really matter, but my mind dwelled on it momentarily.

It just makes my squandered opportunities for “greatness” all the more hilarious. To me.

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When I was younger I used to be really irritated if I was woken up from a dream I was enjoying. Now I can’t forget what I was dreaming fast enough. I have no need for useless pleasant memories that have no relevance whatsoever.

Feelings don’t survive long in me without justification. So, my episodes of caring about whether I had a companion or not have passed, and rather quickly too. I’m right, and I know I am, in my line of thinking and raised standards. Fuck the trouble, I don’t need to feel wanted, or whatever codependent bullshit that was always shoveled in my mouth. I also don’t need sex. I’ve never been all that interested in physical things, maybe due to hormones. Maybe I also don’t have a need for sex because I know I could go get it with little application.

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Went a state over to a casino a couple of weekends ago. I understand the appeal of slot machines about as much as I understand the appeal of phone sex. I thought about it, but decided I wouldn’t put a penny in one of those things, and I don’t pick pennies up off the ground. If I find a penny in my pocket, I usually throw it at someone. Well spent. My gambling friend, whose name is Andy (you’ll hear a lot about him before too long), took me. He and his father got first and second in a poker tournament, took about 2k apiece. I was happy for them, and they took pics of me laying in their money, which was closer to 7k, since Andy brought 3 with him. He’s my age.

Cards has never been about the thrill of taking risks for me. Gambling with money isn’t a thrill for me, I play to make money. I enjoy the competition, but I don’t play dumb to make my heart beat faster. That’s not true for a lot of people, and the luck aspect of poker is what keeps them coming back. It’s all a long-run mentality, and I grasp that very well. It’s managing the stakes at which you play to account for deviance enough to come out on top in the end. This particular weekend wasn’t one of those situations. I came to have fun with my friend. I played at stakes I couldn’t afford (in bankroll terms, not life-savings terms), knowing I might have to quit early if things didn’t go my way. It was my first casino experience, and I played fucking brilliantly. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always matter in poker, and feeling good about myself, or knowing that I completely outplayed someone doesn’t increase my wealth. But whatever, it was for fun anyway, and I lost 50 dollars instead of winning 500.

Renewed was my faith in and anticipation of Las Vegas. I love the atmosphere of casinos so much. They gleam with wealth, and make no mistakes about letting you know it. Plus, the dealers that sat at my tables made a killing. Usually they left with around 20-25 for their half hour shifts, but my tables seemed like good tippers, especially when Andy was sitting with me (because I had to play 4/8 and he plays 30/60). I’m sure I’ll do well dealing.

We had an extended conversation about our lack of faith in people, specifically his little brother, who he misjudged. We seem to just operate on a different level than most, the distinguishing characteristics of this including dealing with things when it comes to it, and acting in our own interests with decent forethought. That’s vague, but it’s tough not to be. He felt he misjudged his little brother by placing him in his own category, and when further events that provided counter-evidence occured, it shattered his belief, and depressed him about feeling more alone in life. I understood, but reasoned that his brother may still be worthwhile given time to mature, but he still was blatantly missing the fundamental core of non-hypocrisy. His dad said some meaningless stuff that I can’t comprehend anyone with a rational mind saying.

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I’m disappointed in myself for not being unbelievably amazing at everything I do.