|
Tuesday, Jul. 30, 2002 / 11:44 a.m. ~Whiny Boring Unpleasant~ I�m really, really unhappy. Today. I think it varies, day to day, moment to moment, but this day? I hated everything about beginning it. The alarm sounding. Turning it off, re-setting it. Getting out of bed, slowly, making coffee, putting the grounds in the trash after I�d decided I�d start enclosing them in something first. Forgetting. Wearing the same clothes I always wear. Seeing the same white cloud of smoke come out of my car�s exhaust. The same traffic, the same horrible odor when passing the chicken abattoir. Walking in the building here at work with the same dread. Every day the same. Little brief moments of happiness, little bursts of creative spirit, or hope, of glimpses of a possible future, then the same old shit, over and over. Knowing that there is so much more, but this is all I get. It�s a chain of events, all dependent on the other to stay together. This must happen in order for that to happen, and if this one is removed, the whole thing will fall apart. Therefore, must, keep, doing, the, same, things. Over, and over. Again. Oh, last night I shook it up alright, I didn�t brush my teeth. Forget about flossing, I didn�t even brush. I�m such a fucking rebel. I couldn�t remember that I�d eaten. I ate sushi rolls, with lots of ginger and wasabi. And my teeth never took on that gross �I need to brush� feeling. This is depression. I�m not stupid, although no doubt it�s how I appear on a regular basis. I�ve lost a lot of joy, especially in little things. And I�ve stopped doing a lot of the basics, because I just don�t care. What�s the point? I hate this keyboard. It requires too much pressure, too direct a hit, I have trouble typing lately. Even at home. I�m short on the phone, curt, brusque, I stopped giving out my name a long time ago. I hate saying it, always have. I�m listening to �Dirty Vegas� again, yes, I love this album. The words just sung were �It�s the simple things make you smile�. This chair. I hate it too. I hate sitting here all day, five days a week. When I can get up to make copies, FAX, anything, even to go pee, it�s a joy, but seeing all those people everywhere, that�s hell. So many eyes to look into, all those expectant moments, all the �Do I say �Hello�, or not�s, the crap of being social, of being a co-worker, I hate all of it. What do I want? I want money, enough to leave here, enough to buy a new car, enough to never look back. I want to wake up and wonder how I�ll spend my day. I want to stop wanting. That�s all I really want, to be satisfied, to smile at the simple things. To be happy that I come here every day and read and listen to music and I get paid so much more than people who work really hard. So I get carpal tunnel, isn�t it worth it? So I inhale toner and paper dust all day, is it any worse in my own apartment with all the floating cat hair, the silverfish, the books everywhere? What am I complaining about? Hey, aren�t I supposed to be happy �just to be alive�? And why is that? Do we know a lot about the alternative? How do you know, for a fact, that this is not actually hell? That�s Hell. Capital �H�. No, really everything is great. Groovy. Gravy. Yes, it hurts to type, no, they won�t get me a new keyboard. Why would they? Veronica asked me if I wouldn�t be getting three weeks vacation next year, so I said, �Oh, no, will I still BE here next year?� I say that every year. Isn�t that sad? This is one of those �How did I get here?!� kind of days. That�s all. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |