I quit my factory job after getting drunker than I ever had. I had hit bottom. What I am I doing? Where am I going? I hate myself. Spent a year in intellectual endeavor, which is to say, because it was for the most part subjective, the memory of it is more or less sketchy since one remembers best actual events. I applied for and received unemployment. And I lived with my mother so that I
did not have to pay rent or bills.
I decided to keep my factory hours. I got up at the same time as if I was working. Had breakfast at the same time. Started intellectual work early. I quit around four or five in the evening. The knowing when to quit I discovered was important. If I didn't stop my mind from problem rumination I would would drive myself nuts. That's it - I am not going to think about it anymore. On to daydreaming, books or TV. This was important for mental health reasons. My mind has always been that of a dreamer or free associative fantasy. Let it wander wherever. What I did not have was mental discipline and concentration, to stick on specific topics for any period of time, except fantasy scenarios, which I could engage in for days on end. Fantasy was then and is still is very restful to the mind.
Essentially I wanted to learn two things, which were how to do analysis and how to type. My mother had a typewriter so I set that up on a table in front of a window in my room. I quit work in January of 1963, so it was cold and snow outside. Mother had a how-to-type book that showed where the fingers went, so it was simple matter of practice, probably typing sentences and paragraphs that were demonstrated in the book.
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