The Devil Responds by Spitting in My Face

Yesterday I found myself swimming in the existential muck of the card profession. A feeling of intellectual rust and social aimlessness prevailed. The thick heavy film of time spent idly wrapped around me tightly and caused me to eat a stranger's tuna fish sandwich at the card table. Really, I gobbled up half of a home made tuna sandwich from a complete stranger. Arsenic and celery; not bad. 

This is what I am up against. I hate wasting time and this little dance, on occasion, is a big bloated waste of time to me-especially when you have a losing session. 6 hours of nothingness. But this is the trade off. 

I get to write a blog at 1:25pm on a Friday afternoon rather than scampering around the office being furiously disgruntled and staring down the other side of social aimlessness. I do not define myself by wins and losses, judge my manhood by the money, etc. However, self worth and accomplishment does come into play and it is extremely important to me not to get lost in this existential bog. 

Today I began volunteering my time at an archival organization that will remain unnamed. I am not going to change the world by this volunteer work, but by doing so, I regain some of my social character or relevance that I feel gets lost in the card game. The organization is run by an older gentleman whose character, as far as I can tell is pristine. It was great to pick his brain and hear about some of the movements that he was a part of. So cool. I am also freaking out about how much I like the archival internship that I am doing as well. I should probably keep their name out of this too, but there is life after the game. 

Careful not to get ahead of myself,

B.