Caio is not italian for food
06.17.04 - 10:31 am

I am sure this will come as no surprise to anyone out there who actually read this journal with any sort of regularity, but I'm not too good at updating this thing anymore. You see, life has this funny way of demanding your attention. It presents these little problems that need to be fixed. It invents these situations you need to get yourself out of. It reveals opportunities you need to consider.

This journal is avoidable and life is not.

Yes, there were some wonderful times, heartbreaking moments, and challenging setbacks brought on by living in New York City, but in the end I could no longer justify living there and persisting with a fruitless struggle. Facing eviction for the second time, I couldnít find the energy to right myself financially and hunt for a new place just to remain at the same dead-end job with my girlfriend still three hundred miles away.

New York was like this great experiment, this endless test for me to prove that I could live on my own in one of the harshest climates in the world. People think that deserts are rough, but theyíve never tried to get a cheep Manhattan apartment.

Iíd like to tell myself that I passed the test, that I succeeded in living on my own, but where is the cut-off point for success? If Iím measuring myself by merely surviving, what am I accomplishing?

Is that supposed to be life?

I packed up my stuff, for the fourth time in four years, and I finally left. What few friends I have left came out to bemoan my departure, but what they couldnít understand is that this failure is one I can finally accept with pride.

I managed to live in New York for four years, two of them in Manhattan. I managed to stay up there all that time with almost no financial assistance, and only once did I actually earn enough money to clear the poverty line. For a lot of people, that sounds like financial stupidity, but for a stubborn guy like me...thatís proving something.

Now Iím down somewhere south, hunting for jobs with no luck. Iím searching for affordable transportation with no luck. Iím looking for a sign of what to do with my life, and Iím having no luck. Iím desperately trying to find a career, and Iím having no luck.

Itís not that there is less going on in my life. Itís not that these current events donít deserve the literary attention I previously assigned to my life. The truth is that what this diary represented, the person that they explored, heís not around anymore. That glutton for misery that explored every tortured internal thought in hopes that it might press into a memorable form, heís become someone different.

Itís not that Iím any happier, even though in many ways I certainly am. The thing is that Iím different. The things that bother me arenít the same anymore. The things that torture me arenít the same anymore.

So while this diary was certainly beneficial to me at one time, the truth is that I have a new bitch.

Iím writing somewhere else now, and while the process is not quite as internal as it was before, it ends up being much more fulfilling to me in so many ways. I end up writing almost daily, sometimes several times a day, reporting the world around me in both pictures and words.

So, I guess what Iím trying to say is that the Insomniacís Digest is dead.

This will be the last entry, and there probably wonít be any more to follow this one. I donít expect that anyone actually checks this thing anymore, but I figured that I might as well send out a final goodbye to anyone who might stumble upon it. I often click upon a random page of this journal, and Iím often shocked at the writing that Iím presented with, and it seems as if a different person had written it. That person can continue to live here, but heís not going to live with me anymore.

Thanks again to diaryland and everyone who I read and who read me. I appreciate it.

< Regress - Progress >


Last Five Issues

06.17.04 - Caio is not italian for food

04.20.04 - homeless?

03.27.04 - best of

03.07.04 - production report

02.04.04 - milk, not buttermilk

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