When Joe writes a self-loathing and introspective LJ entry, its gonna be a doozy.
I have some serious problems folks. I just found myself deeply, PHYSICALLY jealous of a webcomic character, one with whom I identify. So jealous as to get a stomachache. Christ.
10 Joeland funbucks if you can guess the webcomic.
I have to face it folks. I cannot live this way for much longer. Eventually one of the toothpicks will come loose from its marshmallow in the shaky scaffolding of my internal strife. When that happens, it will only be a matter of how many people I take down with me.
The problem with me as I see it is that I am alone. Utterly alone. There are compensations, which when taken together can make me forget it for a period of time. But I look at them now, and they seem pale and thin.
Theres so much irony here! Me, Joe, that guy who hates everything, the asexual one, doubled over by the force of my internal anguish. Joe, nearly moved to tears by a glimpse of his own future, at least the one which is forseen based on all of my current actions. That Steve Carell movie was no joke, no whimsical farce, my friends- it is a possibility, a kafka-esque nightmare barreling down at me in slow-motion.
I see it all so clearly. For christ's sake, I could make a fucking diagram. When I meet new people, I'm a goddamn character, holding the frowny-face mask up the whole time. And hey, if you've gotten to know me, guess what! That mask somehow got spot-welded to my face. The only avenue possible for meaningful relations with another human being would be if someone was admiring me from afar, stealth-style, EXACTLY LIKE ME, and then wouldn't care about how much of an asshole I am. And make no mistakes, folks, I am an asshole- but I'm the asshole who memorizes David Firth 'toons.
Its neat, perfect, and utterly complete, the box I folded myself into. I'd probably be dead already, suffocated by it, if I hadn't remembered to bring my DS.
These days I generally try to avoid mirrors too.
Oh Nick, sweet Nick. So wise. Your words cut perfectly to the core of me. All of my bravado, my feigned, unjustified arrogance, my perfect farce of world-weariness- All reduced to naught, when you retort that I simply don't (or was it never had? It escapes me) have a girlfriend.
10 Joeland funbucks if you can guess the webcomic.
I have to face it folks. I cannot live this way for much longer. Eventually one of the toothpicks will come loose from its marshmallow in the shaky scaffolding of my internal strife. When that happens, it will only be a matter of how many people I take down with me.
The problem with me as I see it is that I am alone. Utterly alone. There are compensations, which when taken together can make me forget it for a period of time. But I look at them now, and they seem pale and thin.
Theres so much irony here! Me, Joe, that guy who hates everything, the asexual one, doubled over by the force of my internal anguish. Joe, nearly moved to tears by a glimpse of his own future, at least the one which is forseen based on all of my current actions. That Steve Carell movie was no joke, no whimsical farce, my friends- it is a possibility, a kafka-esque nightmare barreling down at me in slow-motion.
I see it all so clearly. For christ's sake, I could make a fucking diagram. When I meet new people, I'm a goddamn character, holding the frowny-face mask up the whole time. And hey, if you've gotten to know me, guess what! That mask somehow got spot-welded to my face. The only avenue possible for meaningful relations with another human being would be if someone was admiring me from afar, stealth-style, EXACTLY LIKE ME, and then wouldn't care about how much of an asshole I am. And make no mistakes, folks, I am an asshole- but I'm the asshole who memorizes David Firth 'toons.
Its neat, perfect, and utterly complete, the box I folded myself into. I'd probably be dead already, suffocated by it, if I hadn't remembered to bring my DS.
These days I generally try to avoid mirrors too.
Oh Nick, sweet Nick. So wise. Your words cut perfectly to the core of me. All of my bravado, my feigned, unjustified arrogance, my perfect farce of world-weariness- All reduced to naught, when you retort that I simply don't (or was it never had? It escapes me) have a girlfriend.