Many years ago, like two decades ago…okay, September 18, 2006 at 09:05, I wrote the following. I stumbled onto this much needed bit of laughter for another project I’m working on, and I’ve got some thoughts.
Rachel stared at the blinking cursor as it awaited the password. She was dumbfounded. Nothing she tried seemed to unlock this computer. She was about to give up when her eye drifted towards the scribbled note.
"It couldn't be that simple....Could it?", she said to her self. Slowly, key by key she typed in the password Destination:, with a capitol D and pressed the Enter key.
Access Granted.
Flashed up on the screen.
"OMG! YAY! I DID IT!", she exclaimed jumping up and and down. She was so excited that she knocked over the chair that she was sitting on .
The screen loaded with a file inventory of the hard drive contents, along with a few overlapping windows with text documents opened up, displaying technical information about some of the crate contents. There was also a window (that was buried all for but the top left corner) that had opened up describing assembly instructions for something called the Christaline Remote Access Mount Point System (or CRAMPS for short -- as the Air Force does to all excessively long names.) as well as another device called Portable Multi-function Scanner (or PMS) that is used in conjunction with CRAMPS.
I remember writing this post in an online role playing game I participated in. It was a free-form game, meaning we didn’t have any established characters sheets, game mechanics or any of that. This was nothing more than a multi-authored story in a fictional world that I had once upon a time created. I believe the setting revolved around middle-school to high-school teenagers who get abducted conscripted into a secret military program.
As I read through this ancient writing (anything on the Internet that’s older than six months is automatically considered ancient, by the way), I felt a pang of emotional emptiness, almost like a pain that ached throughout my entire body. That last sentence in the above quote, nearly caused me to spit out my tea because of the spontaneous laughter. Laughter that I had once written. I created that entire sentence. Those acronyms. I miss having the ability to write in this way. Sure, I’ve attempted to rekindle the flames of my imagination, but lately it’s been like … flat. I’m sure while I was writing this piece, I took a few minutes to compile the acronym for CRAMPS and PMS, but that’s the issue I’m staring at right now. I can’t seem to do that anymore. In the recent past, I’ve had to rely up on ChatGPT to assist me with bizarre acronyms. It’s almost like if my mind were a sponge, and water is creativity, my mind feels dry— damp at best. Certainly not moist. (Even with the significantly lackluster attempt here.)
I know today has been a rough day for me. I began the day fine, but then I read an article about extreme burnout. I resonated with so many of the symptoms that I was reading that I ended up crying a good cry after I was done reading this lengthy article. I cried several more times throughout the day. Eight times. And I still don’t think I’m finished. I feel nauseous. I cringe at the thought of waking up tomorrow morning to just go in to work. And the only thing I do is go on high alert mode to listen to key words and run to assist cashiers. Maybe turn a key 15,000 times during the day, and quite possibly get chastised by a customer.
I’m processing the emotional toll living a life in America has given me. Everything from my years in the military to serving time in prison, to being released into a post-Covid hellscape. I’ve barely given myself time to repair the damage that I’ve given myself. And now with all the financial hardship my partner and I are facing, I think it’s finally hitting my core. I’m reaching the point to where I don’t believe I can carry on. To at least put one foot in front of the other. Something’s gotta give.
I know I need a different job. Something that certainly pays more than $16.80 an hour. Preferably a desk job. Definitely something away from customers? Something that’s low stress…. does that even exist in Late Stage Capitalism? But customer service is like the only thing I really know. I’ve been doing it for over 30 years now. I’d like to think that I’m decent at it. But I could just be biased.
Anyway, back to the point of this article. I’m really wanting to get my old ability to just craft weirdness by the seat of my pants again. And I think to do that I need to de-stress. Back in 2006 when I wrote this post, I was surrounded by virtual friends. There were a good five or six people who were participating in this role playing game. I need to connect to a community again. But, I don’t want to submerge people into all the trauma dumping I’ve needed to do for so long. I’m truly sorry that you’re reading all of this ventilation. This article became a bit too bloggy than what I originally intended, but I guess I need to get this off my chest. Beyond just up and quitting my job to de-stress, I need to find a method of releasing it so that I can claim my creativity back! Does anybody in the Void have any advice? Please?