I lost it sometime around noon today at work when the internet went down. While these things happen, the combination of failing technology and high-stress work and home environment (alert, Grandmother: MY FATHER IS IN BAD HEALTH, THUS MAKING MY BEHAVIOR ERRATIC AND MY CLEANLINESS SOMEWHAT LACKING) just put me someplace just left of complete mania.
Something about being in that Billy Corgan-esque nihilistic "so-morose-I-can't-help-but-be-ecstatic" type of mood that makes a rough day all the more...
...rough, actually.
It occurred to me as I was shaving twenty minutes ago that, had I held onto my childish grudges for the duration of and with the ferocity I initially swore them, I'd be a rousing success. There's something about contempt that gives me focus, something about negativity that gives me the logical edge I need to be the person I want to be.
So there, folks, is the reason why I'm depressed all the time: because happiness makes me compacent, happiness makes me blind. Even the idea of it turns me into the kind of myopic idiot I resent as he blows by me in a BMW to beat someone to the McDonald's parking lot or delivers the State of the Union Address.
To paraphrase Adrian Grenier from Cecil B. DeMented, in other times, I have so many problems I don't know what to do. Now, I just have one.
Feeling like this gives me focus. Determination, perhaps, but focus, my long-lost lover, returns to my arms with bitter kisses and a tautness between her legs that invites me even as it resists my flesh.
I'm sorry I ever left you, she says. Give me yourself, give me your broken, useless, pathetic fucking self, and I'll carry you to a place where idleness can never pollute you, a place where even the sin of joy can bind you to me.
(and yes, I speak wholly in metaphor: focus is no one save for the persistent silhouette I've grasped at for months--no, fucking years, plural--and only caught hold of pieces. this could be one of those teasing instants, but if it is, the illusion is far prettier than what I will see when I press the fucking button, shut my computer off, and walk downstairs.)
I'm a vagabond now, for real, ya heard? I'm not just seeking, I'm fucking giving, and I'm either going to find something or just use myself up.
If I see you traveling with me, I will find you and kiss you, kiss you with my love and the passion of my empty mistress, the mistress I must now fill with every undeserving ounce of me that I can offer.
See you soon.
Something about being in that Billy Corgan-esque nihilistic "so-morose-I-can't-help-but-be-ecstatic" type of mood that makes a rough day all the more...
...rough, actually.
It occurred to me as I was shaving twenty minutes ago that, had I held onto my childish grudges for the duration of and with the ferocity I initially swore them, I'd be a rousing success. There's something about contempt that gives me focus, something about negativity that gives me the logical edge I need to be the person I want to be.
So there, folks, is the reason why I'm depressed all the time: because happiness makes me compacent, happiness makes me blind. Even the idea of it turns me into the kind of myopic idiot I resent as he blows by me in a BMW to beat someone to the McDonald's parking lot or delivers the State of the Union Address.
To paraphrase Adrian Grenier from Cecil B. DeMented, in other times, I have so many problems I don't know what to do. Now, I just have one.
Feeling like this gives me focus. Determination, perhaps, but focus, my long-lost lover, returns to my arms with bitter kisses and a tautness between her legs that invites me even as it resists my flesh.
I'm sorry I ever left you, she says. Give me yourself, give me your broken, useless, pathetic fucking self, and I'll carry you to a place where idleness can never pollute you, a place where even the sin of joy can bind you to me.
(and yes, I speak wholly in metaphor: focus is no one save for the persistent silhouette I've grasped at for months--no, fucking years, plural--and only caught hold of pieces. this could be one of those teasing instants, but if it is, the illusion is far prettier than what I will see when I press the fucking button, shut my computer off, and walk downstairs.)
I'm a vagabond now, for real, ya heard? I'm not just seeking, I'm fucking giving, and I'm either going to find something or just use myself up.
If I see you traveling with me, I will find you and kiss you, kiss you with my love and the passion of my empty mistress, the mistress I must now fill with every undeserving ounce of me that I can offer.
See you soon.
((((hugs))))
I hate those sappy internet hugs but I couldn't think of anything else to say.