Maybe six feet, ain't so far down.
The older I get the weirder I become and the more things change for me. I was thinking about it on the way to the coffee shop today. I mean, last year I was doing something very different from what I am doing right now. Two years ago I was still in school and holding out hope that I would marry Dave and get a job, raise a family and kind of just . . . do the family thing. That of course fell through, and I am not sure if I am actually upset about that or not. I am going with not, because through the years I have come to an uneasy understanding that perhaps I shouldn't be responsible for another being - since I think I might be a little dead inside. Which, is something I think I say quite a bit, but it has gotten pretty bad recently.
I go through life in this kind of "just woke up" fog and I am waiting for it to clear and things to be revealed and all of a sudden there is just this moment of blessed revelation and all those things I didn't feel before I could suddenly feel. I know, it sounds remarkably corny, and you know what? I am fine with that. I think I have just spent too much time thinking, and I am not sure I am okay with that. I don't want to be one of those people who mope, and boo-hoo about everything in their lives, I really hate that - and it just leads to more negative thinking. So I try and stay away from it - but still it's hard and you know . . . stuff
It probably doesn't help that I am a little stressed out about work, and my personal life (ah that reminds me I have to pay bills). My life is ending, I mean, what is the point of life? We are born, we start dying, we work and then we die - what the hell is that?! There is no great truth, it's just one miserable moment after another, sprinkled with spots of false happiness. A fuck. A plate of food. A good movie. What the hell is that?! Its just a facade to mask the fact that we are all going to be miserable and empty for the rest of our lives. Why bother doing anything?! Why do I write, why do I put thought into my words, why do I show up for work?! For some sort of means to an end, for moments of joy that are becoming more, and more rare.
I am old hat, burnt out, tossed away like 2005 spring fashion. I really, really hate these existential crises, and Ironically they always come around the El. That's fucked up.
I think I should get a beer and go to bed. No I have a better idea.
I go through life in this kind of "just woke up" fog and I am waiting for it to clear and things to be revealed and all of a sudden there is just this moment of blessed revelation and all those things I didn't feel before I could suddenly feel. I know, it sounds remarkably corny, and you know what? I am fine with that. I think I have just spent too much time thinking, and I am not sure I am okay with that. I don't want to be one of those people who mope, and boo-hoo about everything in their lives, I really hate that - and it just leads to more negative thinking. So I try and stay away from it - but still it's hard and you know . . . stuff
It probably doesn't help that I am a little stressed out about work, and my personal life (ah that reminds me I have to pay bills). My life is ending, I mean, what is the point of life? We are born, we start dying, we work and then we die - what the hell is that?! There is no great truth, it's just one miserable moment after another, sprinkled with spots of false happiness. A fuck. A plate of food. A good movie. What the hell is that?! Its just a facade to mask the fact that we are all going to be miserable and empty for the rest of our lives. Why bother doing anything?! Why do I write, why do I put thought into my words, why do I show up for work?! For some sort of means to an end, for moments of joy that are becoming more, and more rare.
I am old hat, burnt out, tossed away like 2005 spring fashion. I really, really hate these existential crises, and Ironically they always come around the El. That's fucked up.
I think I should get a beer and go to bed. No I have a better idea.