The real problem here, you could say, if you were really being frank about it, and I would prefer that you wouldn't be, but regardless, or irregardless (they mean the same thing, not to change the subject), is that I have a motivation disorder (anti-motivational syndrome, to be specific). I can trace it back to when I was fifteen years old. It had been a grueling day at school, full of rigorous testing, and I was feeling quite down about my academic performance and general self-worth.
My parents were very cynical people (and have probably never actually spoken to poor people in their entire lives), and had always told me not to worry so much about my grades, because “there was always welfare” if I turned out to be a dipshit. This line of thinking was a strong influence of mine. (Looking back on it, the tacit implication there seems to be that I don't get to be one of those guys who just lives with their parents their whole lives. Thanks for the support, guys!)
Anyway, I got home from school and began thinking more deeply about the state of things. Such as, if I couldn't pass a freshman high school class, how could I possibly expect to get a good job and eventually support a normal family? I didn't want to be some kind of outcast, you know? That night I decided to watch programs on television which my parents had prohibited me from viewing, like South Park and Jackass. It was one of the best nights of my life. I had never felt so content.
I kept up with the whole school shindig for quite a while after that, dropping out just before senior graduation, much to the annoyance of the old folks, who questioned my judgement. I didn't like being told what to do anymore so I moved out. Crashing at a friend's place for a couple of days led me to an unfortunate epiphany, namely that I had no money, no assets and no source of income at all. I wasn't comfortable getting a job (since I always hated being told what to do by my parents or teachers or whatever), so since then I have been sleeping on the streets, which is almost as bad as it sounds, but you end up with a lot of free shit. People waste food constantly, and I'm certainly not going to be another chump who pays for it.
Every so often I attempt street performance, but I get the nagging feeling that the donations are out of pity rather than inspiration or enjoyment. It is difficult not to eavesdrop, and I certainly can't help but overhear their snarky jabs at my supposed mental illness or haggard appearance. (“This guy is pretty good” is the best I can get.) The whole process usually just makes me feel like shit. I spend most of my other time in the library. On Halloween I rent a tuxedo and hit the up-scale night clubs and dance the evening away, and I don't even have to worry about how I'm getting home. So I guess those are the highlights.
Could I do better for myself? My parents, downers that they were, always told me that I could do better if I just applied myself. The way I see it, I'm not causing anyone any trouble. I am one of the nicest guys you will ever meet, especially if you have a car and/or inheritance. Swing by the Shelbyville Public Library some time and give me a buzz if you are interested...
