So it’s great to not work but it has its own set of dangers. You will do nothing with your time; you will sit at a desk and jerk off all day while it’s 73 degrees and sunny outside and people are walking around with interesting stories and the great books of the world sit ignored on the shelf of a library that’s within walking distance. In your own home you have musical instruments, you have a machine that can teach you any language in the world, but the machine also shows you young Thai girls choking on big veiny dicks and I don’t need to tell you which one you end up picking. There is a whole other country, another culture, another language right next door; mountains and deserts and jungles– jungles! With jaguars in them! Toltecs in those crazy blankets with faces like temple carvings selling fruit in some high mountain pass, dark eyed girls and cheap beer. But you’re too scared to go to it. You could be kidnapped. Kidnapped away from what, jerking off? Arrested? Your life is a prison. The difference between this apartment and Mexican jail is I have a slightly better toilet.
Within your own town there are places you’ve never seen that you could walk to. Blocks of crazy old time mansions walled in by ghettos out of a 1992 hip hop video. Within your own state there are volcanoes out past the high desert; there are flowers in the Mojave now for one week, it’s half a tank of gas. You don’t do it. You jerk off. You jerk off and then you don’t go out to bars that are on your own street filled with interesting people on a Tuesday night. You’re not horny so who cares. You have the thing that people dream of, that you dreamed of, and you waste it. Meanwhile you are exploring and conquering distant lands, solving mysteries, taming passions and slaying beasts on your Xbox.
Bad timing with other people. Emily was unemployed the whole time you were employed. Always saying let’s take a few days off and go to Big Sur and sit in the hot spring, listen to the redwoods creak like old ships. Let’s go to some desert town and watch lizards scamper over white sand. I can’t, I have to work. Now I don’t have to work; she has to work. Nikol was unemployed the whole time I was employed. She got a job literally the week after I lost mine. Otherwise it might have been let’s make videos, let’s make podcasts, let’s collaborate on something. Nikol is internet famous so it might have gone somewhere. She would have had new ideas. There’s only so much you can write about jerking off. Before it was I can’t, I’m working; now she’s working.
Imagine if I were unemployed when she had cancer. She had to take the bus to chemo treatments, and back. The Los Angeles bus system is like– if point A and point B aren’t just a stretch apart on the same street, you might as well be traveling from Pakistan to Peru on a donkey. She had to take the bus back for hours and hours pumped full of chemo chemicals, burned and irradiated– if the timing had been good I could have given her a fucking ride! I could have held her hand. Instead she was alone. Jesus. Timing.
But aside from that, I still haven’t learned Spanish, helped a recently released prisoner learn to read, written a novel, perfected J.S. Bach’s Prelude for Violin in E Major as transcribed for lute by the composer himself. I have jerked off. Not even in the way I’ve dreamed of jerking off– I’ve always wanted an artificial pussy. But I’m never in the artificial pussy store and horny at the same time.
All these things are true, but: the best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is today. You get depressed when you think of all the things you fucked up but you forget: you aren’t dead. You’re just sedated, and all it’s gonna take to snap you out of it is one moment of deciding to go for it. How about now.