Honestly, I will get back to doing something that’s entertaining in some way, some day. People have shit going on in their daily lives that’s a lot worse than anything I’ve ever got going on, as far as I know. Hell, if I waste away into old age rather than dying suddenly, I will have shit going on in my daily life that’s a lot worse than anything I’ve got going on now. But I’m so far beyond unimpressed right now with life and with myself and with pretty much everything, I just am not in the mood to do anything worthwhile.
Don’t worry, it’s not homicidal or even suicidal. I’ve been here before; I know the territory. I don’t want to win the lottery, I just want to be happier with daily life. I want to count my fucking blessings without feeling like I am mocking a vengeful fucking God, who hates when anyone becomes satisfied in any way. I want to say “people have worse shit going on than I do” without having to add in “as far as I know”, because I’m superstitious, because if I ever count my blessings they get taken away.
I want to tell people “it only cost me xxx” without being wrong. I want to tell people “she’s really cool and might be around for awhile” without being wrong. I want to tell people “I’ve got enough money to do xxxx (fun thing)” without being wrong. I’m tired of being wrong. I’m fucking sick to fucking death of being fucking wrong.
I don’t expect comments or questions; I expect that you’ll see the title and realize that this was cheaper and easier than therapy for me. I’ve thought of seeing a therapist before. I’ve thought of what a person would say to one. “I’m unhappy with life because of a, b, c, and d. Would you be happy with life if a, b, c, and d were going on? I don’t shudder in fear at the thought of being in the open or being in social situations, or feel like I’m being persecuted or pursued by aliens, or feel like cutting myself or want to go driving into a gravel pit; I’m just unhappy that most of life is less than optimal. Can I go now?”
This too shall pass. It’s not like we live in Nazi Germany after all. It’s not like we’re dodging drug gang violence in Mexico. It’s not like we live somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa where we have to wander through the wilderness looking for firewood and for scraps of food to feed our starving children, at risk of being killed or raped doing so. Life is just daily dreary drudgery, with a few rays of sunshine wafting in here and there. Big whoop.
If I had the sense that God gave a diseased rat, I’d print this out and ceremoniously burn it or something and feel all touchy-feely better about symbolically destroying my problems or something, but I don’t have that sense.
I’ll be back; in the meantime I’m reading you.
(Update: I purposely didn’t tag this, wordpress, though I appreciate the suggestions of “gravel pit”, “enough money”, “fun thing”, or especially, and I can’t thank you enough for this suggestion: “fucking god”.)