in the sinkhole of my psyche

Hello there, I hope y'all had a good weekend. Mine was chill and low key - in the interest of saving money, you know, because we are all thrifty and shit. I did suffer some minor bullshit this weekend... some lameness and *wah!* hurt feelings, but that is nothing new. I've been feeling very down lately, having a wee crise existentielle for some reason. It could also be that I am freaking the fuck out about my upcoming (rapidly! Rapidly!... ok, not really) birthday - like I'm some balding fat guy who's dying to go bang a 20 year old blonde and buy a hideous yellow Corvette....


If you know me, you know that I am usually a very happy person, happily making fun of stupid people and things around me, happily having a few cocktails with friends, happily being a total whackadoo.... So these feelings of "meh" and "Fuck My Life" are strange and foreign to me. I wouldn't really say that I am depressed - I don't feel all mopey and pathetic like those people in the commercials. I don't have a big crank sticking out of my back. I don't think it's sexy to be in a claw foot bathtub out in the fucking middle of nowhere - oh, wait, that's Cialis, dick-voodoo, not anti-depressants, whatever.

I mostly feel angry - angry that my life seems so much more fucked up and full of lame than everyone else's. It's not the kind of berzerker angry that feels good when you let 'er rip and bite some douchenozzles's head off and shit down their neck, oh no; this is a slow burn, an anger with a side of bitterness that just sits in my stomach and festers like an old bum tossed into the Great Pit of Carkoon. It's pathetic anger bread. It's giving me the agita. E pessimo, that's for sure. I think I am getting an ulcer.

One of the hardest life lessons for me has been that life is intrinsically unfair. I just can't wrap my head around it - but it's true, life is as unfair as a motherfucker - I will never win, there is always someone who has awesome fucking things happen to them all the time even though they are a huge dickhead; and there is always a super nice person who gets shit on constantly. Always - that is the way of the world. I remember when I was a kid, and I would get down in the dumps because some girls at school were being mean to me or some boy I had the hots for thought I was a tool, or whatever - and my mom would say, "Hey! At least you can walk and talk! A lot of people can't, you know! Now get over yourself or I'll give you something to be depressed about!" Oh, Mom, you were always full of the best advice and I can't believe I hardly listened to you when I was a little snotnosed brat....

So maybe I should just eat a big bowl of STFU and *get**over**it*. I have a lot of things to be thankful for. This reminds me of both a book I read ages ago and a conversation I had with S. not too long ago. Several years ago, I read this book Prozac Nation, by Elizabeth Wurtzel. GOD, that booked pissed me off so much - I wanted to find this bitch, and smack her in her thin, rich, smug face. This stupid cow was attractive, going to Harvard, had a rich family, and could not get out of bed and when she did, all she did was fucking whinge and bitch and moan. I remember thinking, "Gee, bitch, it must be nice to not have to work, because if I couldn't get out of bed due to a terrible case of ennui, I would be fucking fired, lose my shitty apartment, become homeless and probably end up ass up face down in a gutter somewhere." Maybe that was somewhat heartless of me, I don't know (and don't really care, either). She had a disease, and she couldn't help it. I've known a few people in my life who were gorgeous, came from wealthy families, and seemed to have all of life's sweet fruit handed to them on a silver fucking platter, and they were still moany, whiny little cry-babies who had to have Prozac and Valium just to get up in the morning (along with some rails of blow, a cocktail, and a bong hit, but that's neither here nor there). Look at Nick Drake - handsome, talented, from an artsy well-to-do family, had the world as his proverbial oyster.... he died at just 26 from an overdose of Lithium, an experimental drug at that time.

I know that there are certain situations, people, and things that particularly depress me. I'm going to try a course of total avoidance of those situations, people, and things. I refuse to be one of those people, I refuse to be a whiny cry-baby bitch. I'd rather eat of my pathetic anger bread than be a numb mindless dillhole. I'll self-medicate with beer and snark, if you please. The only thing that would be a little cool about being depressed is if it made me lose a few lbs. Hahahaha, yeah fucking right, I would never be so lucky. #FML! :)