Rest in Peace, John Hart (1995-2018)

Tonight, I quit. A million times did I quit. These are the last words spoken by a man who has given up on his dreams. In all of the far-flung pipe dreams that I’ve cooked up as a form of distraction from routine misery, tonight is the night they died. These dreams were a suspension. A diluted substrate of brain chemicals that floated a clean, translucent and breathable fluid above a murky, caustic black ichor. They coalesced tonight into homogeny of pale grey glop. I live in this glop now. It’s comfortable. It’s average.

For all of my dedicated readership, you might be wondering what happened to tilt the phial. I’ll tell you what happened: I spent 2 hours straight struggling and failing to make a VR headset work. I just can’t get a steady playback of VR180 format video shot on the camera rig. Everything lags. The laptop blows out hot hair like a hair dryer. The lack of motion controllers mean that I am restricted to keyboard & mouse. If I bought an Oculus Go, I could’ve achieved straightforward playback in an all-inclusive package & platform. If I had gone to college, I could be writing a cookie-cutter script that I would eventually shop out to network executives with the hopes of beating the bell curve. What was I thinking? It could’ve been so easy.

“John, you’re being stupid. It’s a minor frustration, albeit an understandable one.” Well, here’s the thing about that: fuck you. Fuck you, asshole. Go fuck yourself. I want to quit. I want to curl up under the covers and quit. I want to wake up tomorrow, go back to the day job that I don’t appreciate, play Runescape, listen to books, and shit myself to death in my chair. My final words will be “I died doing what I truly loved doing.”

I got frustrated with Fia tonight. She didn’t deserve it. She’s nervously progressing in her path towards further education. She’ll get enough for both of us. But I was vocally expressing my frustration with the situation, which was annoying for her. She would tell me to ‘take a break,’ to which I replied that I wanted to take a break forever. Taking a break doesn’t make me feel good. Taking a break makes me want to never start again. Taking a break makes me feel like a failure. Funny enough, I am a failure anyway. I set out to do something and I failed at it. I can’t get it to work. I bought the wrong thing. My script sucks. It’s boring. I don’t know how to edit. Video or audio. I don’t know how to write. I barely know how to read – I let someone do it for me, out loud, into my ears for me. That way I can feel like I’m gaining knowledge without truly gaining jack shit.

Fuck this night. I swear to the God that doesn’t exist. If God was real, he would come down and let me suck his talent-imbuing dick so I could have the future I wanted. And I’d do it, too. I’d suck that dick right good.

And then one thing led to another, and I was drinking coffee. I merrily skipped my way into Sushi Burrito – a clever name for a fast casual eatery that serves sushi burritos – and picked us up dinner. 

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