In which I proceed to talk about various things that are boring to most people but are endlessly fascinating to me.

I haven’t written in here much. I’ve been doing the Twitter thing instead (follow me on Twitter here), short burts of 140 characters more appropriate to my mood lately, which has been good and generally happy. It’s the summer. Things are going well.

That said, I’ve had a growing sense of unease that has recently escalated into full-on anxiety, clenching my stomach muscles and causing me to pace the floors of my messy apartment. That’s more what I’m used to; I’ve spent a lot more time in that state than I have in a peaceful and happy one. That is my personality. I’m a depressive, given to flights of anxious fancy. It happens.

This skirts around a lot of the stuff I wanted to address in the Giles Corey record: I am fully aware that my personality contains a depressive tendency that will never go away, that is fully independent of my external circumstances. In other words, part of me will always be anxious and depressed. I do not mind this.

Periods of panic and sadness do not last forever, and when they end their memory is what drives me to change things, do things. Depression is what makes me play music, what makes me write. Depression is what makes me try to start business, change jobs, go to school, dress better, go out more. My subconscious consists of about 50% withering fatalism and 50% uncontrollable rage and indignance. I oscillate wildly between thinking everything is hopeless and furiously creating elaborate plans to create a reality more to my liking.

Lately, it’s money. I switched into a job I hate. I don’t make enough. I’m eating into my savings. I can’t move in with my girlfriend or do what I want because I’m always worrying about money. The label isn’t making enough money to do what we want. I don’t own anything, I’m not investing or saving, I am a failure, etc, etc.

Sometimes this makes me lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling, remembering a life that is already over. Sometimes it makes me walk up and down the length of the apartment angrily holding imaginary conversations on the virtues and vices of capitalism and how the only thing holding me from Greatness is Fear.

The reality is probably somewhere in the middle.

These “fits” happen. Afterward, I know a change is coming.

Here is the only thing I really know: If you want something to happen, you have to make it happen. No one gives two shits about you and what you want. What you want will not magically happen to you. Things do not get better on their own; indeed, even if your external circumstances stay miraculously the same, your body will deteriorate and your life will still get worse. Things get worse without human intervention, not better.

But gigantic, sweeping changes require too much will-power for most of us to pull of successfully. Will-power and self-control are limited psychic resources; trying to change too many things at once may lead to temporary success but will almost always fail in the long-term. All meaningful changes are incremental. Change something small. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

The rule is, “Something Every Day”. Do something, anything, even the most seemingly insignificant thing, every day. Make some kind of progress. Some days, you will do more than that. But every day, make a movement towards your ultimate goal.

I want a new job. I want to start my own company. I want to be financially independent. I want to pursue music and the record label. I want to be stronger. I want a better living situation. I want to tour and play live. I want to be known for releasing interesting and unique records. I want to change the music industry forever.

So today I’m going to mail some packages, call a school district, and do some research online. That’s enough for today.

Anxiety comes from not feeling any forward movement. Even the slightest sense of improvement can cure a stifled sense of ambition.

My life may be a total failure, but it would’ve been had I not done anything, anyway. If you are not trying to do something Amazing with your life, why the fuck are you alive?