I find it interesting that I'm identifying right now in my mind with the people of post 9/11 NYC and post Katrina Gulf Coast/New Orleans in strange and profound ways. Imagine yourself surrounded by wasteland, none it your design or your choice, but what the fuck are you going to do about it - this is your home, this is where you live and where you are. Lack of resources won't change the fact that you're stuck where you are sometimes, in a rut, in a geographic sense, in an emotional sense, in any imaginable sense. This is where you know you belong in spite of knowing on the surface there are a million other places you might rather be at this one, overwhelming moment in time. The place you sometimes are can make you feel helpless and hopeless simply by nature of the place itself and its gravity rubbings like scars on everything, but when those two things meet and you're both helpless and hopeless at once, the singularity of this invariably leads you to shell shock.
Screaming or not screaming about it (the frustration) makes no difference, better you not waste the energy and exhaust yourself before the next thing comes along to exhaust you - and it is coming, that next thing. You never get a break from it or so it would seem underneath the weight of it all.
We all might as well be bloodied pieces travelling down the throat of a lion.
And this pessimism shit? Definitely not for me, I'm out of my element. I suppose the more accurate nom for me at the moment would probably be 'pissimism'.