Taking A Dump
I was just trying to destress by playing a couple games of NBA Live 2003 and I lost twice in a row. I am so sick of losing at everything in life. I’ve lost my dream of writing. I’m losing my dream of having a family. Soon I’ll lose my dream of going to grad school. It’s all a fucking waste and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of getting up every morning and having to put on this happy facade. I’m sick of having to do anything except what I’ve wanted to do my whole life.
Fuck you if you don’t want to hear it. Go fucking fuck yourself. I am sick and tired of listening to people tell me, “It takes time” or “You’re being ridiculous.” I am not being ridiculous. Is it ridiculous for me to want a life of writing and kids and living on the ocean? Why is it ridiculous when the barely talented hacks we see on television, in print, and on the silver screen are able to live that life day in and day out? Why not me? Why should I be any different?
I’m also sick of this page. I’m sick of the fact that I make an effort to do this every day and I don’t feel any reward for it. I’m not talking about the lack of comments (though that hurts too). I’m talking about the fact that it used to be fulfilling, at least on some miniscule level. Now it just pisses me off. I’m always too tired to come up with anything, save a recap of my endless, mindless day as yet another cog in the pitiful machine.
I’ve spoken time and again that the only way I’ll ever have a life I’m happy with is if I win the fucking lottery, yet tonight I was too tired to even buy a lottery ticket.
I wasn’t cut out to be married, to be responsible, to be an adult. Not yet at least. Stef and I should have found some little shack somewhere, forgot about the fucking bullshit jobs, and pursued our dreams instead. Now it’s too late. Now we’re locked in the comfortableness of this meaningless little life we’ve set up for ourselves.
I will never get to write full-time. Because this stresses me out so much, my body will refuse to allow me the one prototypical desire I have, the desire to have a family. And because I will never have a family I will never have an excuse to get that house by the ocean I’ve always wanted. I’ll end up in this little apartment for the rest of my life with a bathroom that has no ventilation, which in turn causes this place to reek to high heaven every time my wife or I take a dump.
There. I feel better now.