I interviewed for a promising sounding job last week, but on reflection I don’t think I can remain in consideration. The hours are from 10pm-6am, and I did some reading on how working that shift can create health risks. I already have some of the conditions that overnight work can cause, albeit in mild forms. But that’s the thing. What’s mild today is chronic tomorrow when you’re suddenly getting lunch at 2am. At first I was on board with the idea but now I think otherwise. I’m not 20 anymore. If I were I would embrace the romance of the overnight shift. At my age, no thanks, certainly not at the wages offered. Further to all that, and perhaps most understandably, the pay is not enough to compensate for the lifestyle change and health risks. The pay is only a very slight increase over what I make now, and income is something I really to improve upon. I am a poorie living below the New York City poverty line, and going from one poorie job to the next is not progress, especially since I am a reasonably responsible adult who would not just take the job and quit after 2 weeks.  I would remain in a money-losing position for at least another year.

Lingering question of the moment is if I should tell them now or wait to see if they even hire me in the first place. My ego does not need to know if they want me any more than I need to know if they do not want me. This isn’t a school dance.

…

I have finagled a way to run Stable Diffusion at home, and remotely. I’ve been cranking out hundreds of sick images of humans turning into rats and vice-versa. Now I’m focused on more depressing ideas, inspired by my own imagined life. Bathing in a bathtub in a room that overlooks a cemetery, or in the cemetery itself. This series is going to be hot. Or not. One image to the next prompts interest, then sullen failure. I feel failure in my life thesse days. I feel the waste. Waste, even non-bodily, has material substance and weight. It is like sound, which has material substance and matter even if we cannot see it. Waste is like a dull drumbeat. I’m thinking the strident 12,000-step walk through the cemeteries on Thursday have yet to register in my psyche. Why did I even do that? Why am I drawn back to the cemetery time after time? This time I had thoughts about making plans, which I started doing some years ago but the cemetery sales rep never called me back after what seemed like a positive in-person consultation. I think about a conversation with the current GF, she was taken aback by my attitude about ending things on your own volition: May Body My Choice is the mantra, turned on its head perhaps compared to its more common usage in regards to abortion rights. My mother considered aborting me. If she had that right, why can’t I abort myself? I was not asked if I wanted to be born. For a variety of reasons I almost was not. How should I feel about this life? Opportunity, or burden? Miracle, or meddlesome? One thing I know on this day, July 20, 2024, is that I have many days, weeks, months and centuries ahead to think about, or to try not to think about it.