5% Downhill Gradient *

Oh my god, you guys.  I think TP is NOT HERE today.

I HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT E-MAIL HIM FOR THE LAST WEEK WHAT DO I DOOOOOOOOOOO.

Seriously, I have no other source of entertainment except origami, and literally no work.  And I’m not sure how to ask for work.  Ugh ugh ugh.

I might take a miles-long walk around downtown.  Maybe get a contact high off all the stoner street kids who are still taking advantage of their new Weed Freedom.  Weedom, if you will.

I had a dream about somebody using a portmanteau and following it up with, “PORTMANTEAU!”  But I don’t remember what it was.  Or wait, maybe that wasn’t a dream, maybe that was TP after I’d had 3 cocktails.  Oops.

I injured my elbow in the process of moving my mattress… somehow.  I forgot just now and put it on the counter and ow.

I hate how bored I am.  I hate that my first inclination while bored is to write, but I have jack shit to say.

Been kinda sorta thinking about this potential  story element, but I have no story to go around it.  Still, it’s been… years, really.   Years since I’ve even tried.

I’m feeling very uncomfortable lately.  Not quite depressed, but definitely not okay.  Unsettled and a little hopeless.  Though “hopeless” means “without hope,” so I suppose there aren’t really degrees of that.

I just feel like everything changes, and yet nothing important ever does.  Like my fears.  Like my behavior.  Like the million little distractions pulling my brain in the easiest directions.  Like my willingness to be pulled.  My unwillingness to MAKE change.

I’ve always felt that way.  I’ve seen myself spiral so many times, and I know these thoughts will change in time, and one day I’ll wake up feeling capable and accomplished.  But that doesn’t make them stop.  It doesn’t make me feel any less like a failure.

And a large part of me doesn’t even give a shit if I fail because we all die in the end.  Death is coming.  DEATH IS COMING FOR ALL OF US, and if it’s tomorrow, it’s death, and if it’s in 50 years, it’s still death.  It’s all the same shit.  It erases life, and when I’m dead I’m not gonna give two shits about whether I did my laundry this weekend.  I don’t know if that’s my justification for not doing it, or the reason I don’t want to in the first place.

I don’t even care.

Don’t worry, guys.  This isn’t like, suicidal bullshit talk.  I’m not that far gone by any stretch.  I’m just feeling hints of some shit I’d like to think I’ve cleansed from my brain.  Poured bleach on all that toxic bullshit and killed all the good shit in the process, but oh well, nothing is better than poison, right?

Except obviously it’s NOT gone, and it’ll keep coming back in this super fun cyclical way and I’m trying to think, well, that means the happiness will come back too.  But thinking about a potentially imaginary future where I feel good, genuinely good, isn’t really enough to motivate me to get my shit together.  Because I might die tomorrow and I won’t need clean laundry for that.

Ugh, I’m being such a TOOL.  Where da eff is TP?  I need human contact right now.  And of course that means I’m avoiding it.

I’m gonna send Krazy a Facebook message and apologize for disappearing on her.

Maybe if I socialize I can pull myself outta this.

 

EDIT:

 

Me: Are you not even here today? BULLSHIT.  What am I supposed to do all day?  E-mail Binoculars?

TP:  I’m coming, just had a dentist appt

TP: Though I’d give a week’s pay to read a day-long email exchange between Binoculars and anyone