I don't have a problem with the specific, it's the general that really grinds me down.
"Illegitimi non carborundum," one grandpa one say. The other would say "Don't let the bastards grind you down."

I hate losing money and I hate illness. The illness is destroying my little break from life. There's a masssive swell coming next friday and I want to be ready. Maybe I will. I guess I don't care anymore. I can't wait to drink again. Just some bombay and a lime.

If I were a novelist my objective theme would be that people are short-term; therefore, they are deficeint and dangerous. Nature and art and various other things are eternal (at least in some mildly metaphysical way) and immutable; therefore, they are good and beautiful. I'll also try to emphasize that love is not a real thing just a biological reaction--a short term one.