March 15, 2026

Wage work, poverty, and sleep deprivation dominated my life as a housie and a wagie. Relationships provided some relief when they didn't turn intorhollow obligation. I've left that life behind thankfully, but certain aspects of mental slavery have taken longer to get rid of. Just like pulling your bike out from under a chain link fince, a few stray bits of jagged metal have held on and threaten to snap my wheel's spokes.

Most recently, I've lost the inclination towards escapism. I now try my best to focus entirley on real life, including in times of leasure. Instead of the fantasy novels I used to love, I focus on reading therory, working out, and fixing things up around the abandoned buildings I squat in. Its a better, more fulfilling life.

In those dark days of rent and wage labor, I would feel disempowered at work. Driving home, I'd try to ignore the sweat that rolled down my dirt covered arms and think about literally anything but what needed done in real life - in my shit life. When I got to my appartment, I'd try not to pay attention to my aching knees and back as I practically crawled up the stairs and then I'd fumble for my keys and open the door. My husband would get a hug, if that. Then I'd ignore him and go to my liesure activities. Maybe dinner would appear. I should have appreciated all the work he put in for when he made me food. All of the darkness I felt from getting pushed around, bullied, and dominated at work would be pushed to the recesses of my mind - still there but unseen for the moment. Instead of trying to find ways to feel triumph and adventure in real life I'd open a book and read about Conan the Barbarian joining the pirate queen on her adventure into the deep dark jungles of another world. I might fuck around with programming, or type some random words on a screen and pretend that one day it would be a novel. Maybe I would play a video game. I would dream about leaving behind my sad existence and assume the identity of the courier fighting legionarries in the Mojave wasteland on a quest for revenge which in real life I would have never been brave enough to go on.

I wasn't experiencing, improving, or even lamenting my life. Running away from it was far easier. When it was all done I would shuffle off to bed and cuddle with my husband. That was probably the only time outside of work where I would trully experience the world around me. It was sweet to be present in the moment, yet more often than not I would cut it short so that I could go to sleep and experience something else that wasn't real. Dreams were preffered over real life.

Nowadays things are better. Happiness is easier to find. My life is actually what I see in front of my face and not what I can picture in my brain. Dungeons and Dragons, novels, video games, youtube videos about history, and drugs all have considerably less if any presence in my life. Its not as if I live a dull life without liesure or rest. I just enjoy my life without resorting to escapism. Art, political therory, making zines, etc are all sources of joy for me. Its way better to feel the triumph of actually kicking a bigots ass in real life than it is to swoon over the imaginary sword man who does it in the book you are reading.