Sunday, January 16, 2011

Dear Diary, My Head Looks like a Dick.

drawing courtesy of colognefactory.blogspot.com

WARNING: don't read this. it's boring.

this has been the most uninspired week i've had amongst a wobbly grey pile of uninspired weeks.

i resolve to either give a fuck more or give a fuck less...
but this in-between business has got to go.

there is no question that some tiny chunk of my brain, responsible for pleasure, has long since been fried into a useless little chicken nugget via biology, chance and after-market chemical additions.

i have been supposedly "fixing" this thing for my entire adult life...say, age 19 when my family suggested counseling, age 22 when friends suggested i ease off my alcohol intake, to therapists who told me to sober up, to psychiatrists who suggested medications, to me, who ultimately told all of that to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut and decided to take matters into my own hands...and wound up a drug addict, making less than 15K a year (although now i'm actually in a "professional" job...using my college degree, no less...what a waste that was, by the way).

i started running to quit smoking when i was 22. i started running ultras to try and quit opiates.

it's all the same thing. my brain is a wilted lump of goo and without huge kicks, it will just wheeze miserably on its side, tongue hanging out. that's my brain, yeah.

if i look at all this through the lens of running: i am low on stamina at this point. i've gone through some hard times. some wildly fun times. all times that fit in between those other times and all this took place in an absurdly short number of years. none of it served much purpose, other than to continue to overcook my already mostly dried up and useless self. none of it has settled into "lessons learned" or helped to give my life "direction."

i'm not trying to boo-hoo or woe-is-me, here, at all. don't misunderstand. but as i reread my posts (my first ever attempt at keeping a steady diary), a common theme emerges: A) my outlook on life swings wildly between upbeat and hopeful and completely depressed (old news) and B) regardless of my mood during a particular post and i am, without a doubt, running out of steam. i mean, in life. this is something I just can't figure out. I can't figure out what to do. I can't figure out what it means.

i'm tired of adventures that leave me broke. i'm tired of working hard for no reason. i'm tired of floating from job to job, told that i'm doing great, that i'm an assest, a God-send, best worker ever, etc. but never making enough money to support myself. i'm tired of being told that i have potential. that's the same shit i've heard since i was 10. i'm 27. hey, let's face facts. "potential" is a word that has real significance for physicists and...uh...that's it. "potential" is nonsense. how can you be more valuable than the sum total of the things you do? that is to say, if you don't "produce" something than how can you have value? (whether it's something tangible like a cure for cancer or something more abstract like love and support for another person) how can you say, "well, you don't have an exact value currently, but things look good that you could have value, i.e. you have Potential!"

that's ridiculous. everyone without a severe mental deficiency has an equal amount of potential then. we can all be whatever we want to be, etc. and THAT is something i don't believe. you cannot be whatever you want to be. you can do only a very specific (although unknown) number of things that are possible given your exact situation.

this is starting to ramble, the point becoming less clear.

Am i supposed to take interest in chasing down that "unknown" number of possible things i can do? i did that. i've tried that. i am trying that.

it isn't interesting anymore. i'm not sure it was ever actually that interesting.

my most cherished moments in life have been when i've embraced self-destruction and death. drinking for months on end, wandering from bed to bed, doing a drug just because i was told it was a drug. climbing things i can't climb down. doing little to nothing in the way of goodness or love. just selfishness and momentary pleasure. running fits into this, too, somehow, i'm confident.

i sure do like to talk about myself, though. geez.

i guess what it boils down to: i'm an asshole.

if i don't move out of the midwest in 2011, mark my words, i will be dead before i'm 30.

why haven't i, already? what's stopping me? fear? laziness? inertia? it's probably a lot of the latter two and a bit of the first. i don't know. i no longer feel like thinking about it, right now. i don't feel like running. why did i sign up for a bunch of races, when i don't want to run? great question.

should i put a music video on this one? yeah, why not. it's easy. i like easy, apparently. (any girl i've slept with can tell you THAT! ha!)

3 comments:

Eric Rivera said...

that's all well and good but do the damn races, chump

Eric Rivera said...

also thanks for the cologne factory plug dawg

P. said...

join the relay team and stop diddling your doo-doo hole...i don't care what they say is kosher over there in Shitain.