Meditations.

It behooves me now to ponder my minimalist ideals upon my most recent move. I once was grudgingly content to live in a small, roach infested studio apartment. Upon upgrading, I begin to appreciate a more aesthetically pleasing atmosphere. My ascetic appetite is slowly waning. This change worries me.

I feel like a supervillain whose powers are weakening, whose drive is gone, whose domestication is imminent...

I have always despised affluence and decadence because it is an injustice to have when others have not. Thus, a guilty dread overcomes me when I find myself enjoying my improved living conditions. It is a state that I have envisioned, but never thought would come to fruition.

Oh, the power of money! I can only hope that the steps I have taken will steer me away from miserly self-satisfaction and endless consumption. For the abyss of want is bottomless, and the fall is endless. I feel the current of consumerism tugging me downstream.

It is amazing how discontentment can manifest itself so intrinsically within a person's consciousness--such that its constancy defines normality. Normality, then, is merely an embedded routine that makes one comfortable, but not content.

The most disturbing aspect of this robotic mess is that the victim does not realize the source of negativity until it has been removed. Like an ignorant surgeon, I(with trembling hands) have unwittingly sliced away some of the pestilence surrounding the wound of life.

And the shock of recovery gnaws at my soul.