I harbor no illusions regarding my problems. I know I am not the only one with them. I know plenty of people with my problems. I’m like, “Hey! What are you doing with my problems? Those are mine”! And they flip me the bird and then run down the cobblestone streets of my imagination like a paper boy from the 1930’s. I know that my problems are not unique and that there is help available. However I tend to think that money is the only thing that could really help me. Of course, that is a common problem with us all. It’s a cyclical hell.
Maybe it’s the work I pretend to do on a daily basis here in my cube. Well, that’s not exactly true, I actually do my work but there’s nary a shred of me that enjoys it. It’s truly a level of insanity we are all engaged in and I can’t figure out why. I suppose that would drive me even further insane. I know it’s bad when my eyes are constantly tearing up as I walk to the train in the morning, or sit on the train trying not to think about all the pointless crap I have to do, or now, as I sit in my cube, trying to convince myself to work.
I’m sure there’s hundreds of thousands of people at work right now, staring out the window, or at their machine press, or arm deep in the rectum of a horse, that dream of being somewhere else; of doing something else with their lives. Imagine if we all did what we actually wanted. Would the world be better? I don’t think so. Trains would crash together, planes would fall from the sky, there would be random hot air balloon bomb attacks I’m sure of it. Nothing would get done, everything would cease to operate. No one would want to be a septic/sewer repair tech or a human waste disposal operator. No one would want to be an ox testicle surgeon or rabbit stuffer. (As you know, all of humanity hinges on the performance of these jobs) But if we all did the job we wanted, we’d ruin everything.
“Oh, look 800 NASCAR drivers just crashed into the building, Awesome.”
Even though I’m being a little humorous about it, there are times I’d rather be a human waste disposal operator than shovel any more of this insurance shit. It’s why I can’t wake up in the morning; it’s why I feel the need to drink to excess at times. It’s unhappiness and it’s rampant in our society. It’s rampant in me.
This is not about the clinical depression that goes undiagnosed in me. I’m sure it isn’t. I just don’t confront the problem because that’s what I was taught to do with bullies. Ignore the bullies and they’ll go away. Life is a bully, unsatisfying work is a bully, unrealized potential is a bully, and yet the more we ignore it and hope it goes away it gets worse and worse. Pulling our pants down at the pep rally in front of Christie Hotpants and her friends, making us talk uncomfortably about sex in front of the jocks, questioning our sexuality at a comedy club, laughing at us when we miss our train, setting unreachable goals the majority can’t meet; life is the biggest bully of them all.
But then, maybe I’m just lazy and should get over it. I suppose that’s the most common trait we have these days. Indifference and mortality.