December 8th, 1981
This “general resignation in regard to life as a whole” is hardly a state to which I aspire. RESIGNATION: The absence of ambition, drive, and also satisfaction— happiness.
Peace and good fortune.
Fuck— I don’t want peace. I want thrill, and romance and desire and passion.It lies in a bottle of gin— just waiting to be opened.
God, I’d like a drink.
The expiration of hope. That threshold, silently passed, beyond which there will be no simple joy. The naive capacity to seek happiness gets battered to death somewhere along the way. The life-draining realities of working yourself to death and knowing it will never change and you will never be loved.
I want to drink.
The 24 Hours a Day Book for today says:
“the search for a meaning in life will end when they find faith and trust in God as the answer”
Faith and trust in God, I snort.
So alright already. Reveal something. Push. Poke. Steer me toward a goal. I surrender my life to you— I totally place my conceptualilzed sense of self— I empty myself myself— and what do I get? Emptiness. Thank you higher power. For an empty grey drizzly December day lost in space.
This is not real faith or trust. Like a child told to close his eyes— I keep one eye open. I want results. I want some proof. Some reason to believe.
About the only thing that could confirm my faith in God would be a sudden solution to the horrible problem I face with the job—
The job would suddenly calm down and become manageable
I would “get” enough money to allow me to quit and wait for further guidance.
Some fabulous opportunity would fall in my lap— a terrific job— a meaningful career change.
But please, Lord NOW. Tomorrow. Before Monday. Don’t let me walk back into that horrible job the way it was. I can’t handle it. I’m falling apart. I’ll have a nervous breakdown— for sure.
And while you’re at it— let me have Tony as a lover.
A great career
A meaning in life
Tony as a lover
O Great Creator of the universe— are these simple requests too much for your omnipotence to handle?