I just don't know what to do about it any more. Is it depression? Is it "chronic fatigue"? Am i just a lazy fuck? This is my life now. Hell, it's been my life for years. Something changed in me when i left Canada. Or more, it changed when i arrived in Berlin. After just a couple of months living out of backpack, i realized i don't really need much in my life besides a backpack. I've bought only the bare essentials i need to survive, and rather than the few things i did splurge on inspiring me to focus more on those things, they have just made me feel guilt and unhappiness. The most expensive thing in this house is probably the sound system i bought so i could listen to music properly. But i only turn it on once every couple of months - most of the time i am perfectly satisfied with my bargain basement tablet or even my phone. I have no interest in writing music any more. I don't even buy music any more. The greatest amount of my time is spent reading articles, watching shows and playing video games, but the thought of buying an e-book reader, or a TV, or some elaborate gaming PC, or any of that just makes me cringe. Every time i look at that dusty subwoofer i feel guilty over what a colossal waste of money and resources it is. And i think to myself how much of a pain in the ass it will be when i inevitably decide to move. Which does appear to be inevitable, even though Berlin is exactly the promised land of music and clubbing and lifestyle that i hoped it would be.
My latest list of things i will procrastinate over and never do is actually a list of things to get rid of, to donate. It's quite a short list, given i have so little stuff, but it's all stuff i haven't used in a year. An item of clothing that doesn't quite fit. A book my mother gave me. Some scarf dad gave me. Two years worth of paperwork that German companies insist on sending via snailmail that has no apparent purpose whatsoever. That second tupperware container that i was forced to buy because they don't sell tupperware containers in singles. The bed i bought from the previous owner that is more hassle than the mattress on the floor. A big bag of receipts and flyers i have collected from my travels over the past few years that i hoped to one day reminisce over. Every time i see this stuff it annoys me. And in total it's really only about as much stuff as most people lose in between their sofa cushions.
Meanwhile the horrible reality is that because i never buy anything, my bank account keeps ticking up, but it's not enough to live off. Granted, i now have about the same amount of money that i had when i left Australia, and i believe i lived off that for almost a year with some help from J's family and the odd bit of casual work. But that's a year of doing the same kind of nothing i am doing now. It's also about the same amount of money that i had when i left Canada, and which was gone after 3 months of traveling around North America and Europe staying in cheap but reasonable lodging. Point is, it's not enough money to retire, and it certainly isn't enough money to travel unless i just want to hang around cheap backpacker destinations for a year. And then i'd be right back where i started. So this infuriatingly middle class "problem" of having an embarrassing excess of money in my account almost makes me feel worse than if i spent it all on frivolous shit, because the only purpose it has right now is making some bankers richer. And i kind of wish i could spend it on frivolous shit. I kind of wish i felt excited to spend it on curtains or a couch or a car or lots of synthesizers or pretty much anything that normal people spend their money on to justify going to work every day. But i am too tired to care when i'm not working, and i'm too neurotic to gain pleasure from aesthetics of "having stuff", and so i just work, and i'm exhausted, and i live like a hobo, and every day i just think about those few weeks here or there when i have the time and money to wander around and not worry about the office or the guys or pretty much anything besides where i will sleep tonight, and a banker gets richer, and it all seems so fucking pointless.
Perhaps i am depressed. I'm not really sad, i'm definitely not suicidal, but my life pretty much just feels like a waste. I'm not looking for a partner or kids or some way to "leave a mark" or anything like that. I would be quite okay with just entertaining myself for the next 30-40 years i have, but i don't even really seem to be doing that. Or, at least, not in a sufficiently pleasing way that it makes up for the vast majority of the time that i am either working for the man or flat-out exhausted from that work. It doesn't make sense.