My Life as Another’s
I have no idea what I’m doing.
After being asked what I was doing, why I was doing, and how I was doing for so long and not being able to come up with any concrete answers, I finally figured out why that was. It’s becuase I really just don’t know. It’s really as simple as that. What’s worse is that I haven’t known what I was doing since sometime between December 14, 2002 and January 31, 2003. Somewhere in there is literally when I lost my way completely. I feel like I’m wasting away at work…like I’m just completely going to waste there. All the talent, all the creativity, all the brains…just going to waste. A fucking chimp could do my job. There’s no mental stimulation in it, other than trying to figure out how to look busy when there’s nothing you want to do otherwise. My life hasn’t had any meaning in over two years. Then I remember it’s my own fault that I’m wasting away at this job. My stunning lack of motivation is what’s kept me from doing the vast majority of the things I always said I wanted to do. Maybe I just thought life would fall into place easily as soon as school was behind me. But as I know all too well…it never even got a chance to do that.
Considering I spend most of my time alone in my apartment, I do have a lot of time to think. I wonder a lot about the choices, actions, and inactions that led me to where I am today. Most of them are obviously my own doing. There’s no disputing that. Everytime I’ve ever chosen to watch TV or play a game instead of try to write is a prime example of this (It’s funny, because I’ve come to realize I wrote so much in college out of boredom…which is too bad, because I was pretty damn good as a writer). But I guess what’s really eating away at me the most these days, is that now my best friend is living the life I thought would be mine two and a half years ago. He lives with (or near or whatever) Mo, he has a job up there now…this is what I was going to do after college until she derailed that plan by dumping me. Though, to tell the truth, I don’t think I would’ve ever made it up there, at least not as soon as I kept telling myself I would. But the fact that Will is living what I thought my life was going to be just confounds me.
How does this happen?
Perhaps it’s the great sense of humor life has for us all. I don’t know. I guess that’s what I’d prefer to think. It’d be more comforting than telling myself it was some sort of doomed fate, or some bullshit like that. I don’t know.
And I don’t want to sound like I’m bitter towards Will or Mo or anyone else…just at myself. How did I let the genius 4th grader with the poorly parted hair, Bartman t-shirt, and new glasses become….this. This. I just dunno. And I’m not sure exactly how I’m supposed to go about fixing it. The easy answer is to just do something, anything. But I’ve never had to until recently, really. So I don’t know exactly how to go about it. All I know is that I have a very skewed vision of the world, and my relationship to it.
The way I view the rest of the world is almost like it stops when I’m not out in it. Like other people aren’t living their lives somehow (though I know they are). I guess I would just say it’s like I don’t matter (though I wouldn’t be so harsh as that…it’s just the best words I can think of right now). Something goofy like that. Harder to explain than I thought, I guess.
Anyway…
That’s enough attempted self-psychoanalysis for one evening. It’s late, I’m tired, and my ass is starting to hurt from sitting in the floor for an hour.
Now Playing in Dave’s Mental Jukebox: "Broken Wings" by Alter Bridge, "The Enemy" by Static-X, and "Fallen Angels" by Ra
Sayonara.