Sometimes life is staggeringly depressing. It seems so swift and pitiful, and I wonder whether the only things I'll remember at its end are those times when I was truly mean. I reflect on how I probably peaked at 25 and how pathetic it is that I'm relieved to see people older than I am doing impressive things - writing novels, finishing PhDs, publishing cookbooks - because then it seems like I'm still young enough to do something surprising, which, of course, most folks thought I'd do back when I was 25.
Thinking this way makes me a tool. Seriously, sometimes I'm so overcome by my own fruitlessness, I cry in the shower. What a loser. I'm blaming this particular bout of boring, self-indulgent, ridiculous ennui on a few things:
1) My second year of teaching. I generally stop doing dissatisfying things after one year. Something about motion feeling like progress.
2) n.o.c.'s heinous work life. When he's really exhausted and downtrodden, he starts thinking about could haves and should haves. This kind of talk generally makes me insane, but it is contagious.
3) Hormones. Bastards.
4) The end of the summer. This is somehow different from the beginning of the school year - it's melancholy and overextended and worn out by its own energy. I'm ready for a bit of crispness in the air, if you don't mind.
5) Various and sundry projects and aspirations that make me fear potential goods will be thwarted by lack of ambition. (See that? I'm even depressed by all the good things I have going on in my life! Could I be more pathetic?)
Anyway, I'm putting on my big girl panties and getting the f*ck on with it. Just wanted to hug it out, and I'm the only one here.
*When one participates in boring, self-indulgent, ridiculous ennui, The Rog says that they're "Singing Opera." You know, "Me, me, me, me, me!"
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7 comments:
I've spent the entire day so far reveling in self-pity and on the verge of bursting into tears. You're not alone and if it makes a difference, I think you're the bee's knees.
Oh. My goodness. No way. If I had a big badass owl I'd send you one heck of a howler.
i've been a bit bitchy myself. i feel really overwhelmed. it does seem like the shit outweighs the awesome . that's all i got. no ray of sunshine. but i keep coming back to your blog. that means something.
jesus, i could have written this post. i actually looked into hiring an astrologer today because i can't figure my own shiz out lately..
Hormones are a bitch sometimes! As level as your mom is when the hormones are ranting it's time for The Rog to go to his safe place! Then, when the "mones" are gone it's back to my world I go! Yea...........
Everyday when I go to my attitude closet I think, hmmmm, do I want put on my dashing Harrison Ford today and protect and save my damsel in distress or do I want put on my wrinkled and faded opera singer attire and pathetically watch all the other "Harrison Fords" of the world kick some major ass???!!! DAMN SKIPPY, problem settled, I'm ready to charge "HELL" with a water pistol..... OK, off my box and back to work........I love you!
when i get back from top secret oboe camp we'll cook buttery buttery french buttery food and you will be too full and complacently overladen with satisfaction to write such entries! i miss you!
My, my, who would have thought the Rog has a potty mouth. I feel you, ker-bear. i know i'm in for a cry fest when i pull out pride and prejudice (bbc version), peanut butter and yogurt. over sighing at colin firth, i stuff my mouth with one spoon of BP and one spoon of yogurt...my lowest depths of misery really. and now the whole world knows....*sigh* pulling on the big girl panties now.
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