I guess I don’t write because I don’t feel like I have anything to say. I’ve started a storytelling night at my local bar, but still don’t think what I have to say is important. It’s a problem. I don’t even have a story to tell next Monday, and it’s my damn night. Arghh.
I feel like all of this is bullshit. What’s the point of any of it? I’m feeling very doomsday machine about the entire existence. I guess that’s what depression is, but the side effects of the anti depression meds sound like a hangover to me and drinking’s much more fun.
I kinda want to tell a story about sex, but really? I can scant remember what that’s even like. What about my childhood? Well if I’m drunk enough, which already says a lot about that story. I don’t have any new stories to tell except what lives in my head. Not having much cash has limited my movements. FALSE. Freaking out about money and having the darkness living just over my head has limited my movements. This is NYC and I’m smart enough to find free shit.
What do I want to say? That I don’t believe in the life I was bred to live. I think the whole system is going down in flames so why try to run a losing race? I can see through the illusion of a middle class ideal and what I interpret as the plastic boringness of it. It seems stupid to continue applying for jobs I don’t want that I never hear back from anyway. The questioning of the choices I’ve made. Fighting hard to move forward and find my own way. All with $37 to my name.
I’m exhausted and feel like it’s only going to get worse. I don’t believe that all the time and it’s not ingrained in my core. Yet the active part of me gets paralyzed and overwhelmed by it. I have no security anywhere. I have no job, my rent’s always late, my family’s moved from my childhood home, and the part that makes me mad to write- I’m single.
It makes me mad because I don’t like to identify with the idea that a man would make any of that easier. [Yet see the sex comment above.]
I’m going to see Liza tonight and maybe her abject crazyness will inspire me to get over myself and stop the voice that tells me it’s all worthless.
Happy post Kiddo, happy post.
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