Oh, What a Wonderful Moratorium Stray Leave Diary: Season Three

1. The clinic first thing in the morning is just like a "hall waiting for opening"

A few times a month, I head to a battlefield called a "psychosomatic medicine clinic." Because it is a very popular clinic, even though it is by appointment only, there is already a long line in front of the entrance first thing in the morning.

The scene is just like a pachinko parlor "waiting for the opening of a new machine launch."

The types of people lining up are also truly diverse.

Exhausted office workers who are clearly radiating an aura of "I've reached my limit after an all-nighter,"
a funky middle-aged man who is acting somewhat suspicious and constantly looking around,
and young people with eyes that look like their souls have traveled to another dimension.

Everyone is lined up here, each carrying their own heavy burden called life.

Once the doors open (the clinic opens) and I slip into the waiting room, it turns into a "silent savanna." Surprisingly, everyone is staring at their smartphones without saying a single word. The scene, without a single deviation, is like some kind of religious ritual.

I suddenly thought.

"Back in the days before smartphones, how did humanity kill time here?"

Nowadays, you can look at social media or watch videos on your smartphone, but a while ago, you would have had to devour old weekly magazines that make you want to ask, "What era is this from?"
or just count the stains on the wall. Thinking about it, the modern shut-in environment greatly benefits from technology. It's a grateful era, since you get called into the examination room before you can count 1,500 stains on the wall.

2. Refueling and the "booster" called psychiatric medication

The interaction in the examination room is surprisingly speedy.

Doctor: "How are you feeling?"

Me: 'As usual, I can't get up in the morning, but I go for walks at night.'

Doctor: 'I see. Well then, I'll prescribe the same medication for you.'

It takes about three minutes. It's no longer a consultation, but rather a 'task' akin to an F1 car pulling into the pit for a quick tire change.

However, I secretly call the psychiatric medication prescribed here my 'fuel'.

These little tablets are, so to speak, legal brain boosters that replenish the 'motivation' and 'peace of mind' that are lacking in my brain.

'Alright, fuel (high-octane) tank is full again today!'

It's strange how, when I tuck the bag of medicine I received at the pharmacy into my bag, I feel a bit positive and invincible, as if I've become a state-of-the-art cyborg or a long-haul truck driver. I am not being kept alive by the medicine. I am currently hacking my life with the help of science.

3. The Miracle of Affiliate Marketing, and the Truth About 'Self-Sufficiency'

Inside the armor of my home, I attempted a new challenge. As a first step toward remote work for the future, I tried my hand at 'creating affiliate review articles'.

Since I have all the time in the world anyway,
I dared not rely on AI,
and referring to the blogs of influencers, I desperately wrote hundreds of introductory blurbs saying, 'I recommend this!' Days spent pounding the keyboard until I almost got tendonitis, passionately lecturing the screen.

'With this, I'll finally join the ranks of those raking in passive income every month...!'

A few weeks later, with a pounding heart, I opened the 'Performance Rewards' section of the management dashboard.

What was displayed on the screen was a tiny number that made me doubt my own eyes.

And, after digging into the source of that profit, I arrived at one shocking fact.

"This... is just the commission from the 'rice' I bought by clicking on my own affiliate link."

No matter how much I, with zero influence, shout in the corner of the internet, no passerby reads my reviews. In the end, I had simply established the ultimate 'self-pump affiliate' scheme, where I review the rice I eat, and buy it myself. It's not so much a profit as it is just 'someone who bought rice cheaply through a self-discount.' The road to becoming an influencer is long, and my remote work came to a close in the form of 'self-sufficiency in rice.'

4. Drowning in overly high 'self-esteem' in the sea of the internet

Now that interacting with people is difficult, I search for essays and blogs by people in similar situations to mine on my smartphone, and read them deep into the night. As if looking for companions.

However, when I swim through the sea of the internet, I quickly feel suffocated.

That is because all that exists there are polarized, extreme realities.

On one side, there is:

"I started a remote business after overcoming depression! How I reached a monthly income of 500,000 yen on note!"

"You should do this! 5 habits to boost your self-esteem!"

A parade of sparkling success stories like these. Just reading them makes my chest ache with a prickling sensation, as if to say, "I'm struggling because I can't do that." That perspective of overly high self-esteem is, for me, completely "something happening on another planet (someone else's business)."

Then, on the other hand, there is the profound and realistic suffering of battling illness, so intense that just reading it feels like being dragged down into it.

"What I'm looking for isn't either of those, really..."

I don't want to be flashy and successful, nor do I want to sink into despair. I just want to see the footprints of someone living with this "just-right level of slackness," where you have some bad days but can still find joy in a half-price sticker at the supermarket, but that's hard to find.

5. Even so, I am plotting my "next move"

I closed the screen and let out a big sigh.

Monetization, starting a business, finding success on Note—those things are way too difficult for me right now. So, I made up my mind.

"I will love this laid-back lifestyle at my own pace with all my might, and spend my days of treatment in a positive way."

This is fine. I might not be making big money, but I have the energy to march around my house like a feudal lord for 30 minutes. The rice I bought for a discount through affiliate links is cooked to perfection again today.

That said—.

Deep in my heart, the small seed of curiosity that sparked my interest in "video editing" and "affiliate marketing" is not dead yet.

It doesn't have to be a perfect success. It doesn't have to be an achievement I can brag about to anyone. "Maybe next time, I'll try filming another suspicious-looking video about the weird layout of my house," or "Maybe I'll write a serious Note post about how to brew this terrible coffee, even if no one reads it."

I want to keep taking on some kind of challenge. Because those "little blunders" are the best seasoning to color my boring moratorium in the most vivid way.

I gulped down my fuel (my medicine), savored the taste of the rice I had essentially provided for myself, and began to plot my next "lovable, pointless challenge."

To be continued... maybe.