Definition Of Compulsive Escapism – Mad Chaos: September 21, 2004

The Date Of First Kisses

In all the eleven chronicled eras that have incorporated the one hundred and three chapters of documented mad chaos life, the only era to ever produce a date of ceremonial resonance was one born on this historical day in the lost years.  This is such a perpetual day, because it embraces a kiss with Jewell that surpassed the inconceivable, and also a kiss four months later that conceived a relationship and love worth a kiss with Lyssa.  

In my old-fashioned opinion, there is no sincerer founder of love than in a mutual, secure kiss, which therefore is reason why the twenty-first of each month resounds for the ages and innocence, and no other date has ever compared.

I often overlook the celebrated date so many years on, but serendipity never ceases to amaze me, in how a browse online made me curious to search for birthdays, the search led me to wonder when Jewell was born, and that led me to embark into ironic realization once prepared to share my discoveries that this is the perpetual day for each of my infatuations with Lyssa and Jewell.  I was surprised with a smirk.  

I have earmarked time later to read what I did on each year Jewell celebrated her birthday.  But for now, word of a benign day is hither to dispense.

The Aviary Of These Memoirs

Adaptation is the key to survival.  I knew upon this volitional power I could either allow submission the aftermath of my episode dictate, or a spark of self-made projection could help refocus the drivers inside.  

People will probably say I should take a break for a year, live life, and seek pleasure, but I am not one of those proverbial birds that seek freedom.  

I am this aviary, and these memoirs are home.  

I could roam around, but I know the individual inside of me is herein, and herein the individual identifies.  I could look for a new passion, but none has ever surmounted the memoir, and that is why, thanatophobia and all pressure aside, I have made a wilderness of the memoir and the memoir is I.

All I need is to relax to focus, and initiatives, like when I jumped up after memoir conclusion yesterday to screamed lyrics into the mirror as I listened to four tracks of music worked wonders.  I appeased the insecure faculties with catharsis.  I was a rock star, and the music combined with the aggressive live performance was a monitored rewards scheme dose to die for.  

I was made to feel so alive, as I exorcised the adrenaline and cleansed my system with abandon of all its pressures.  

I also did three sets on the bench press in this endorphin haven, which were all the sustenance I needed to commence on the reservoir.

Disheartened By The Visible Memoir Reservoir

Omissions are like correspondence that needs to be done, similar to the secretarial correspondence that used to irk me when employed in the Days of the Dark Knight.  A belated recollection becomes an omission stored in a special but visible space on each occasion my memoirs are opened.  I feel depressed each time I see this pile of unprocessed work, when I scroll up from its disposal area to the memoir proper.

Its resolution has been priority one ever since the episode.  So, before serious reservoir work was contemplated, from a small break with the mirror frolic and some physical exertion, the hours from 6:30pm to 11pm were used to include five of these additions to the storyline.  Those additions could be a simple sentence to an idea I failed to recall until a week later… and man did it make me feel better to rid this small psychological burden.  

I meanwhile heard my brother ride into the house, where he disappeared into his bedroom and there remained forthwith.

Compulsive Escapism Defined

The pair of hours that followed until 1:00am is where the official line for compulsive escapism was in an intellectual hearth forged and shaped into its official line.  I coined the term on the ninth but never had a chance to expound on its classification.  

I have used the term compulsive escapism to explain a portion of the reclusion syndrome cycle, but here now in a paragraph is the official line for the coined term, compulsive escapism.

“Compulsive escapism is usually catalyzed when a person is overcome by bleak pessimism born of sacrifices that fester of missed opportunities, of futile or insurmountable pressure anchored to an inescapable cycle, or for the naïve promise of remote success to reverse insipid conation.  A compulsive escapism is made arbitrary by the possessive id and is a buildup to an anticlimax, where an aforementioned factor envelops me, to turn into depression once tantalized, lead to placebo reassurance and end with an acrimonious look of inconsolable world-weariness on the hollow road home that creates a plateau of inadvertent procrastination, until the financial, ethical and psychological ramifications are overcome.  The lure to release tension in a counterproductive manner is the norm, and rare are compromises on compulsive escapism for conscience to be obeyed.”

I went to sleep around 1:20am and woke up seven hours later at 8:30am, an hour after my parents and minutes before my brother rode back to the apartment.  

I am surprised I have no disturbances of sleep anymore.  I used to be so irritable when I hear people awake before me.  For some reason I keep more normal hours compared to the previous nocturnal years, which baffles me, but there is no reason to complain.

Rewards From Local Shops

I collected a handful of coins from the moneybox inside the shelf of the left speaker box and walked down to the local shops to reinstate the rewards scheme with a purchase of a chico roll.  I had a nice meal in rejoice of the sun on the walk back home.  

I also realized how I never cough in front of people as much, either prospective relationships or people that serve.  I would say since I have become a recluse I have calmed down considerably.

Losing Some Anxious Tics

Ever since I spoke less on mental abrasion, unwanted adrenaline has disappeared.  Perhaps this is because I now control the premise under which people I speak with, so there are no surprises or performance pressures.  I used to have the latter in socials with friends because all we did was prowl in clubs and bars for women, but now I have been emancipated from this depressor.  

I like how I am able to walk alone into town and use spontaneous approaches.  I have much more luck when there is no peer pressure than when there is.  Perhaps this is the reason I am much more relaxed around people, never for panic to poke up and harass me.

I also considered how the symptomatic hum has disappeared as well.  The last record of its use was written three months back, but I believe the end of the commodities era of the deserved fruits was when it faded.  I used to use the hum for composure, but since there has been a lack of mental abrasion and a possible loss of pessimism-amplified conscience because I refrained from Olanzapine, this could explain the transition from a hum and cough to no hum and minimal coughs limited to normal reasons, rather than ones exacerbated by panic.

The Guarana Research File

I came back to the house, and since then prepared the guarana research file that will evaluate the cause of the episode.  I was asked to keep the telephone line free so the fridge repairmen could call.  So, an hour and a half was used to calibrate the research module before I walked upstairs to make lunch.

I saw the repairman had arrived at 10:15am.  I interpreted between them and my parents while upstairs to fetch a fry pan.  I was asked to tell mum the freezer reeked because food was allowed to perish.  I found his exclaimed remarks and the particular word “reeked” peculiar.  I nevertheless did so.

Then I returned downstairs to make a pasta and sauce mix on the portable stove in the backyard extension area.  No harm.  No foul.

Furious With The Repairman

Later on when the repairmen disappeared and I returned the fry pan, dad shared how the charge was one hundred and eighty dollars.  I became furious with a repairman I believed reeked of subtle racism, his remarks directed rather as a description of us rather than the broken machine.  

I opened the freezer and noticed it never reeked as bad as his facial expressions made me believe.  

I believe what he wanted to say was, “Your parents stink because we are unable to understand each other,” which shows in his flagrant fee.  

He never looked happy.  He was only under the fridge for five minutes to replace the defrost timer.  I think he exploited my parents.  He was rude if he did so.  I made a gripe when I walked upstairs to be offended by the fee… but I never said much more.

Research Guarana

I watched a round of news from thereon then warmed up on a couple of sets on the bench press before official calculus work on the guarana research files commenced from 11:30am.

I finished an hour later to do a further three sets on the bench press.

I handed dad back a spanner of his as a consolation to the spanner he was in search for that disappeared after I assembled the bench press months back.  

I listened to music in all these hours, until 1:30pm, which was a nice use of faculties.

I also made microwaved peas coated in olive oil as an appetizer.  Later I came downstairs to boil eggs and make a salad with vinegar and more olive oil.  I supplied a small vile of olive oil for the downstairs kitchen cabinet because I had a one-liter bottle upstairs.  

The backyard extension area kitchen is a convenience for me now, where I have a fry pan down there, a pot to boil water in, a portable stove, a kettle, and a toaster too.  

I did a few more sets on the bench press.  I then parked on the couch to peel the egg shells, before I sliced the eggs and decorated them with olive oil.

Eric Returns To Family House

I did all this by 2:20pm, which is when my brother was heard to enter the house.  I shook my head as mum walked into the house and upstairs like she was on fire.  

“Do you ever stop,” I wondered.  

Maybe my brother wanted to be left alone, or has my brother indicated to her he desires to be mothered, with all the dinners mum makes him and how she nurtures him.  I suppose she wanted to be in his ear, but instead of intrude, I, like dad, remained unmoved.

Perhaps the contentious issues and pettiness a year back that deposed our happy façade insulted dad to his unreceptive status, because my brother never apologized and because he saw how the benefactor of his prized computerized chessboard swindled it back from his hands.  Perhaps dad rather likes a distanced relationship, but it nonetheless sickens me to see mum remain a control freak.

Mum Has Control Issues

Mum will never learn.  Even if I physically slap her across the face day after day after day like she has psychologically wounded me, her thick head will be unable to comprehend the boundaries.  In a localized case, when I moved from the boundaries mum controlled, her vicious paternal nature erupted with desperate verbal terrorization to have me back.  

Mum is such a control freak.  I may have pitied her for a day, but if she in naïve insolence reverts back to her old practices, and if she badgers in a sensitive phase like she did to complain today of the used dishes on my bedroom floor, she will have to deal with more than a harmless episode as a consequence… when I become abulic and vituperate with a bundle of raw, volatile nerves.

Eric did leave minutes later.  Ever since then, I watched more television, made toasted bread, had a drink of soluble fiber, and then browsed online before I became curious about birthdays, hence, the preface pitch used.  

The Rev-Head Neighbor

I am composed in the memoir and near its conclusion, but even now am frustrated by the dumb prick next door with his slippery accelerator-pedal foot.

An hour back it was his nuisance son that tore me up inside, as he heckled his grandparents across the road, “Ha, ha, you can’t get me,” three times a minute for fifteen damn minutes.  

“Well you do get me,” rife with foul expletives and a head full of steam I said back to his each sentence.  

I wonder if this kid has any friends (which is ironic when I am seated on this memoir) but this six-year-old menace is as bad as his father with his new car.

He likes to park in the driveway in idle, then drive up the road and back down, and up the road, and back down, and up, and back down.  He did leave now so I am in no mood to remember Lyssa or Jewell in words because of how infuriated their idiocy makes me.  

I remember that letter from the council years back I received, to complain on behalf of those across the road for the offensive loud music that used to nuisance them.  Now look who has failed to keep amenity in the neighborhood.

Jewell’s Birthday Online Search

I will research the birthday entries later to rake into further serendipitous occasion, but for now I am possible to relax to the television, and then sleep in anticipation of another allowance tomorrow.  

I hope I save money on this installment, because I am sick of the indiscipline of incontinence.  I hope for more research or perhaps work on the reservoir, but for now, the time is 9pm and I am flogged.