I was crying myself to sleep and you just kept drifting in and out and asking me "What?"

There was a brief period of time when I was in my early teens that I thought I wanted to be a firefighter. Let me just say that I didn't do anything to pursue this. I didn't work out, I didn't take chemistry, I didn't read about firefighting or go talk to actual firefighters. I just thought that it would be a crazy thing to do for a living and that maybe I'd become strong by breathing smoke and using axes and saving cats from trees.

The dream was short lived because I think on some subconscious level I realised that I'm always late for everything, which is inconsiderate in general, but becomes a real problem when you're paid to be on a societally commissioned rescue squadron. I'm also not particularly strong or reliable. I'm very good at being lightheartedly social about a variety of topics, but I don't think people with smoke inhalation/charred flesh would really benefit from chatting about Obama or District 9 or Jameson or Al Purdy. I'm not even sure I care about these things.

That's false, I really care about Jameson and Al Purdy. And to a lesser extent District 9 and Obama. But only insomuch as they make me feel things. Paying attention to politics and entertainment isn't actually something that's important to do; you can live your whole life in the bubble of the immediate present and only know as much as you want to because it really only affects your life negatively to learn more on the subject (but how witty/connected/concerned you can seem in bars! Not so much in burning office towers.) The political sphere is something uncontrollable and forever frustrating and things are never good, they just become not all that bad sometimes. The players change, the game stays the same and we all exist in a society predicated on the violence of the now. The smallest aspects of my life are created through murder and that's just fine because it has to be.

But it isn't fine and I get really depressed and write songs with cryptic lyrics and think that somehow I'm contributing. My mom said that my aunt has depression issues that she needs to work out. I said we live in North America, everyone has depression issues. The only people I know who are really happy lead extremely visceral lives; rock climbing, travelling, living in the wildernes. Flying one way to Vancouver and finding their way back. There are answers in these lifestyles. They cannot simply be escape. Can they? Is this escapism akin to Wordsworth trying to "write in the language of the common man" in order to get in tune with a simple view of the world/emotions/existential ridiculousness? As if living a simple life could ever make life simple.

This morning my girlfriend legitimately asked me, "What's wrong with you?" I think this happens around this point in all of my relationships. It took us longer to get here than it ever has in the past, so now I'm alarmed and concerned. The funny thing is that her habits are basically the same, I'm just becoming frustrated with perfectly reasonable reactions to my unreasonable behavior. I feel like the things that make me attractive in the first place become grating and irresponsible when people feel like they need to rely on me for things. Is it really so bad to balk at someone requesting that you act like a normal human being? Probably.

Eating free lunch, drinking free beer at work. Things will be A-OK.