Here comes the bragging part, but it’s honestly not meant like that.

This was the obligatory apology in our bragphobic culture, where you are only allowed to show your wildy perfect life in the form of slightly modified and heavily preselected pictures.

I make a lot of money. At least according to Slovak standards. My work is not my hobby, but it’s quite close to it.

I own a house and an apartment. I suppose it’s not completely exceptional, but I also suppose the majority of 35 year olds do not own so much real estate.

I have a beautiful wife who’s pretty much always up for sex, and is ready to try anything, as long as there are no third parties involved. She’s perfect, you could say. We don’t do much together, but that’s largely my fault. The range of what I enjoy is either limited or just hard to make happen.

I meet fairly interesting, fairly intelligent people through my work. Some of them have things to say that I find fascinating.

I have a lot of time to spend on my documentary and movie addiction.

My idea of fun these days is playing a board game against myself -yes, against myself- while listening to documentaries in German.

My bank account is expanding, but my life has shrunk. Put more correctly: my personality has shrunk. I’m less open to activities and less open to people. I am less open to try crazy business ideas. I’m less open to casting people in a play that I haven’t even written yet. I’m a lot less funny than I can be when I’m in a good mood. I used to run 12 kms every other day or so, now I have to drag myself down to the floor to do 20 push-ups.

What’s left is a kind of obsession with learning languages, momentarily revolving primarily around German, Slovak and Spanish and some Hungarian (damn hard, Hungarian… The first language I have come accross that doesn’t go down easily). I’m sure others will follow.

And am not happy. To be more blunt: my life is one long string of mostly self-imposed have to’s.

Why? I don’t even know.

Perhaps happiness is completely overrated. The trouble is that I remember what it tastes like and the taste of it haunts me. In a way my brain is locked somewhere in 2005, bombarding my eyes with images from the same year again and again. Unasked for. I’m stuck in some annoying unasked for nostalgia trip.

Perhaps my brain just doesn’t create endorphines in sufficient quantities. To feel good I would need to perform in front of a couple of thousand people.

That would work twice.

Then my brain would get dissatisfied. Perhaps more dissatisfied than before. Once it gets the taste of something, it wants MORE. It will never settle for less.

I have all the potential of becoming an addict, but what stops me is that I like saving money and I’m also afraid of most drugs. Whenever I take drugs I’m paranoid the next day. That will stop you from becoming a junkie.

I assume that this dissatisfaction is nature’s way of pushing me forward. I’m always looking for something better. You don’t leave your own country if you’re happy. In the brief period I was happy I was certainly not thinking of moving, and I was blatantly ignoring the future, in my giddy euphoria I simply assumed that the future would be just as good, no better, automatically better, than the present. I ignored the future and paid the price. By not planning ahead I fucked up my life for about ten years, sort of, with some breaks during which I was up.

Except for making money, and learning stuff (German) that I can monetize, plus distracting myself with movies and documentaries and boardgames there seems to be nothing that I want to do. Ok, aside from fucking some sort of model, a new one, at least every month. But that’s not on the menu.

I would enjoy bigger projects, but after ten years of struggling and bashing my head against walls, I’ve become risk averse and highly suspicious of people.

If I go out it’s because my wife points a proverbial shotgun at me and shoves me out the door.

I’ve become a cranky old loner at 35.

And I’m a therapist. I should be able to fix myself.

And I do. Since German seems to spark something in me, I focus on that. One should focus on the thing that sparks. No matter how little. Seeing money coming in also always generates a spark.

These are not the same things as ten years ago, but it’s all of a compass I have to go on.

So even though it’s a Saturday I have already made money this morning and I’m reading a book on Gestalt therapy in German.

These two sparks could be the gateways to something bigger, to tear myself out of this comfortable, but lacklustre, BORING sinkhole.

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