This trolling situation is sticking in my craw for several reasons. One being, I don't think I've ever said I'm terribly proud of the stupid shit I do, but I think sometimes I get reactions like I'm sharing so people will pat me on the back. I agree, it's dumb, it's pointless, but if we scrutinize my life, I'm more dumb and pointless than mostly anything else. I'm not saying this in a sad or depressive way, it's just a simple, and terribly accurate, description.
Certain circles find it “cool” to “nerd out” on TV or video games all the time. I've always called it a veritable waste of time. I say I watch 60 shows. If I were a busy person, I'd be kinda disappointed if I didn't catch maybe 5 to 8 of those. I talk about building my map. When I've spent enough money and discover something a few months from now that does it better, it'll be another failure on the list of things I've gotten excited about that no one really knows how it was supposed to work and, oh well, maybe something else will be tried next year.
I've never particularly cared about being in that good of shape, but isn't it a testament to the kind of “I'm getting old and feel like dying” feeling how comfortable I am with it? Comfortable is the wrong word, but more resigned. I'm hopping on the treadmill after this, but that's only because I like to contradict myself as I have nothing else to fight with but reddit monsters. If I read the last line over and over again too many times, I’ll end up in bed instead...because...fuck me, that’s why! And the extra 30 pounds? Who cares! I'm old and literally can only change when I keep a persistent shit-on-myself mental dialogue going for months. So the day you see a bathroom six pack selfie, I'm probably about to put a hole in the wall.
Or let's think about interactions with friends. How many shitty damming things have I said about my mind on that subject? It's awesome as fuck to have people in my life who genuinely enjoy what they do. Is that ever the comment that comes out of my mouth? Fuck no! Better be bland or cold or quasi-shitty. Be on brand, be on brand. I can't even refrain from thinking shitty things when I see someone post how long it took them to do something they're excited about. I've just given my asshole mind an opportunity to say I spend more time on shit I find marginally interesting so that I can half remember a factoid about it months from now. Because I'm just that cool?
I wish things could just be related to as descriptions. I don't even feel like I'm hating on myself or that I'm sad or that I really have anything but the elevated heart rate of exasperation trying to type fast enough to catch up with my brain.
I'm not “happy” or “proud” or “impressed” or “attention-seeking” or “cool.” I'm bored. I get involved in whatever is going on around me. That means a general begrudging relationship to existence. The sick irony is that any genuine expression of this feeling is the basis for hurt feelings, significant judgments, and any number of barrels you want to throw in front of your perfectly acceptable stroll through your life.
I don't like thinking that “my place” is something of an angry loner doing things way too intensely because no one matches my manic energy and bleak demeanor. That means too intensely stupid. Too intensely reading, watching, working, or sleeping. It's a little odd the amount of times I've had to discuss the goings on in my life with police officers, but at the same time, literally nothing bad has ever happened or come of it. I build little bits of absurdity into my life because I have shit else to do.
What I don't think people understand is there is no fix. Without enough money to stay perpetually distracted, or if my friends drop all their jobs and intensely encourage my ass up the several hundred mountain peaks of Colorado, this is my sad sick little reality. I'm stuck between random drug study money and whatever idea I think I can throw a few thousand dollars at. I'm not invested until I'm all the way in, and then it exhausts. I'm not sure if it's because things “have to,” or if simply people aren't comfortable living “absurdly.” Because, my god, it's hard to take anything, particularly myself, that seriously.
That's why I get to rant on a blog on a social media platform to express my “complicated” ego, and you get to read and judge and disappear into your worlds. Because it's a description. Because it's absurd. Because it matters way more to me to be able to shut the fuck up so I can move on, than a million comments about how you think it comes across as shit. It's a failure of language that “I don't care” became the jaded teenage way of describing certain feelings, or lack thereof, towards life.
“I don't care, it doesn't matter, I'm not terribly concerned, it's of no consequence, who cares what they think, what else is new, you're overreacting, no one's listening, it's fixable, why bother fixing it, why bother doing anything.” Whatever description I'm looking for isn't just any one of those sentiments, but they're all a piece. I try to talk or understand or ask questions or simply own. I try to give other people as much credit as I give myself. And mostly, it's none.
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