I'm not very special.

Yesterday two separate boyyyyyyyys- neither of them Figaro, he's too old for such shit (please?) at the ripe age of 32 - aired with me exactly the same manner of complaint I'd spent the evening before hashing out with my analyst. Synchronic? I'm doubting it - I think we're just going through a FRESH NEW BATCH OF GENERATIONAL ANGST. OH, JESUS PRESERVE US. At least we're not spotty this time. I'm going to write it down on the off chance there's anybody else of a similar generational angst reading. About me, evidently, wouldn't be apropos to write about the boys, though their angst was rather more interesting.

Having a horrible time imagining writing for an industry magazine for a living for much longer, let alone more than much longer. It doesn’t pay enough and it feels parasitically propagandist. Propaganda has its place, but if God swept everybody in this industry off the face of the Earth it might well be an immediate overall improvement in our race’s quality of life - so its place isn't here. Feeling non-parasitic was one of the good points of teaching and I think it’s a good third of the attraction I feel to analysis as a profession. Thing is, analyst school is expensive and I'd want to not work for the first two years of it, I really only want to work a three day week right now so I can write more, and I combine these factors with an equally lazy lover (and I don’t want him to change), a biological nudge to pass on my spectacular genes to things I can afford to cosset and put through university, and the twin but conflicting needs of wanting to see everything in the world but wanting a settled life with my loved ones around me.

My analyst told me to deal with my present feelings of relative uselessness, parasitism, and worrying that I'm letting my life be organized around another person by setting marker days - a day a realistic amount of time away - not a necessarily a deadline, but a do-things-day. It helps to have a day. To know, for example, when you're going to leave your propaganda-ass job. It also helps to have a plan C - most of us have plan A and B at best. Yesterday I spent some cookie-time thinking all the way up to plan E, which is Mongolia. Wow. Mongolia.