at an emotional end, but not a wit's end

Wow. Holy shit. To my right is a book on a book stand. The pages open are pages 86 and 87. they are entitled, at the top of the page, where books list their chapter titles, ‘Questions; Living a life you love.’ On the page are various bullet points in the form or questions, ‘designed’ to help you narrow your career futures. ‘Predictability’. ‘Variety’, ‘Time Management’, ‘Security’, ‘Preparation for Retirement’, ‘Portability’, ‘Degree of Continuing Challenge’. Those are the Headings on the page. Jesus. And I’m not even religious. This is from a book, which is from a program that cost about three thousand dollars in the ever-flagging American currency. And I mean, this program hasn’t even sent my bullshit detectors off, dectors who I have always egotistically assumed to be fairly competent.

I don’t even know anymore really. I’m not depressed. I was for a time before, but I’ve not been since I’ve been back. I’m restless, I’m disappointed, terribly disappointed. Misappointed. I can’t stand the endless the box stores, the endless bric-a-brac of suburban life. But I can’t stand other life either, the rigors of any other life. What is this? I drive to run an errand., buy some stuff for work, and I am hopelessly demoralized. It’s the traffic, the congestion. The endless proliferation of SUV’s. And not even so much the SUVs, but rather the state of the people driving them that the SUVs suggest. Where the fuck do I fit into this silly world? Where the fuck will I ever be comfortable? I am a gifted, and fortunate person. I was blessed with a good intelligence at birth, given a suite of unassailable opportunities by my parents. And while I have not squandered those opportunities per se, I have nonetheless, not found a place, as in mind, as in locale, in which to reside and contribute. I am a resource sucker. I give nothing back to this world, right now. I am selfish. I know this. I am also helpful and selfless. How does this compute? How do I reconcile this. Why am I not happy? I have had good times, I have had a good education, good friends, even sometimes, good girlfriends. What am I doing wrong. I have kept everything in perspective by thinking of a calvin and hobbes cartoon. Calvin is assigned a undesirable task by his father and asks why, his father responds ‘it builds character’. I have been using that as a mainstay; no matter what, this is adding to your compsite character. But I have to come to grips with this question: What if I’m not building character, but bitterness? I mean, yes, lifting stones endlessly may in once sense make you a stronger person, but if that is what you always do. Wouldn’t that also make you bitter?

I am a most fault. I let myself fall into this, I didn’t stop it either. I will probably fester in this for a while, until I either make myself become something different, or I don’t. Either way I am disappointed. I’ve seen what we have to look forward to. I went to a neighbors party tonight. It was all older people than I. They had their ugly sweaters on, and their receding hair, and they all looked uncomfortable, even though in reality they were having a good time. The only people who seemed to be having a true good time were the black women, and blacks always seem to be more alive, despite whatever fucked adversity they are forced to deal with for being black. I spilled some red wine on the carpet, ruining a conversation I was having with the host about rap music. I was alone in that party. They were older. It’s always that way now. I don’t mean to whine. My social life, at the moment, is my parents’. What a sad state of affairs. I Imagined something different, but what?

Why can’t I just accept things, why can’t I just shrink back? I told rory this one time, that once you open yourself to things greater—this was in response to a conversation about the general unhappieness of philosophers—you often find yourselves distressed with life in general. And this is not to say that I am conversing with something greater, but I guess I’ll throw my modesty to the side. Nothing satisfies my taste here; things are too gutter, too working class, or too bland middle class. People see money as the end, and we will die for it.

I can’t find women to love. I’ve loved women, seriously and terribly, but now, I am stricken alone. And I know some day, some where, something will just click. But I’m so sick of being a romantic, and such a cynic at heart for years running.

I’m sick of feeling helpless, literally sick. I hate feeling a huge number of things, but when I feel utterly helpless faced with some adversity, I honestly want to cease to exist, to become unconscious. I wish I knew some answers so that I could proceed, I wish I could believe in a God with my whole heart, or have some spirituality so that I could explain everything else away.

I’m so self indulgent, so egoist, and yet modest, and the three feed into each other to create a vicious circle. I’m a ‘good guy’ because it makes me sleep better, not because I believe a god wants it so.

No dinner, just booze all night long. Stay away from it kids, really I’m crying.