And I will purchase hair clippers and shave parts of my own head and the hair clippers will become the archetypal tools of my scrupulous self-sufficiency.
I will greatly exaggerate the noble idealogical basis of my hiatus from the American consumerist construct. If friends remind me of prior particularly gratuitous consumerist exploits, I’ll spout Hegel and call them unsupportive dick-nosed assholes. This will buttress my aura of hostility, rendering my immediate environment too socially barren to inspire impulsive purchases of numerous rounds of communal stimulants, large loans or any such potentially extravagant overly-emotional flights of camaraderie.
With a permanently precarious MetroCard balance, eating mostly instant noodles, I will embrace the severely ascetic limitations of my physical and geographic mobility. Now disengaged from the unsupportive dick-nosed assholes, I will also be unable to commute into sloppy, blurry, boozy and thus less discriminating outer social circles. My frequently ineloquent, socially problematic interactions — usually masked as hedonist peaks of self-actualization tragically susceptible to selective amnesia — will cease completely. Stupor will become sleep again. In that sleep, I won’t kick balls. I’ll even wake.
I will stop perpetually apologizing for minor and nonexistent offenses to the owner of aforementioned balls, as requested.
Self-discipline will prevail! But, I may allow myself some Bohemian antics during the brief period when hunger will have dissolved all my paunchy flesh-flabs — so bourgeois in their superfluousness! — but the sallowness hasn’t yet fully kicked in. Because I’ll be so sexy.
Non-man-made vegetables will be interesting at this time.
I will perfect the techniques of ethical theft, thus learning better business practices for future career endeavors.
I will know deeply that there is nothing in any store that could adequately fill the gaps in the physical manifestation of my self-image. I will arrive at the existential realization that I never could really do that — not because I’m hopelessly unfashionable, but because I am spiritually above any such pageantry. This is when I might start using the word “hipsters.”
I may sew.
If injured while attempting to sew or bring discount raw meat products to states advisable for human consumption (as well as any maladies resulting from the compounding of past damage that I have not medically addressed, even in a state of financial stability, because pfffft), I will cite those injuries as proud and costly tokens of my martyrdom, a very noble martyrdom which is very nobly self-imposed and very noble and has nothing to do with then when I was a stupid idiot with my money.
Through extensive and ever-compromising rituals of auxiliary underpaid labor, my ego will be compressed, sanded down, and polished diligently until it is a shiny, shiny bean, instead of that gigantic thing shaped sort of like a punctured puffer fish, poking people even as it collapses in on itself.
A bright and shiny, shiny bean my ego will be! And I will learn to shave parts of my own head really well.
"sleep" - monday-friday 2am-6am
"nap" - saturday 1pm-9pm in bed (no REM)
"food" - cashews from office kitchen
"a meal" - a HOT bodega sandwich
"outfit" - aromatically acceptable clothes with no visible stains
"good outfit" - see above +weather appropriate outerwear
"very good outfit" - see above +funny hat and/or functional shoes