First, a disclaimer.
The existence of this entry means nothing beyond the fact that this entry exists. Please do not infer that now I'm going to be a regular blogger again. Such an inferation* would probably be foolhardy.Next, the real disclaimer.
This will not last. Only one thing ever lasts, and this, this is pretty much the opposite of that one thing. I am aware that this will not last, yet I choose to write about it anyway. This is one of the perks of having my own blog; I get to choose my own topics. So there.I've wondered, often and frequently, what would happen when I lost hope. I've wondered what I'd write here, or if I'd write here, but mostly I think I've wondered what kind of person I'd become.
Right now, as I type this sentence, I have zero hope.
Also, as a bonus, I have zero expectations.
Once again, Z.E.R.O.
And, to top it all off in a weird way, I have only an infinitesimal amount of desire. And most of that is probably just inertia.
So much has changed, internally and externally. I'm finding myself wondering again. About myself. About this blog.
So, what will I write here?
Only stupid entries like this one, apparently.
What kind of person have I become?
That's a little bit tougher to say. I might be too close to myself to give any kind of objective opinion. RockGirl could probably provide an in-depth diagnosis, but I haven't asked her. I think I'm scared to ask her.
Anyway, I don't think I'm a dick. I was really worried about that. I also don't think I'm a fuckhead, though I've been accused of that. And I'm definitely not a dipshit. I'll never be a dipshit.
I guess, if I had to guess and I guess that I do have to guess, I guess I'm still me. Just a watered-down version with no passion.
That's actually kind of disappointing. I'd hoped to change more.
I suppose it's good that this won't last. I'll have plenty more chances. To be hurt again.
I postulated, back in March when I was almost, but not quite completely driven away, that I had one possible route toward a chance at having a happy life. It wasn't much of a chance - 10 or 20 percent at most - but it was and is certainly better than zero.
The route is simple. Zero contact and zero sightings. That's what it would take to give me my 10-20 percent chance at a happy life. I mean, I've been asked to forget, and I've been asked to stop thinking. How can I do either when reminders are so random and when they occur so often?
Answer: I can't
I do not think that this route of possible happiness exists in the same universe as me. So I expect to have zero chance at ever having a happy life.
Oh well, I guess.
* - I might have just invented that word.
It's not like before, this quiet. I'm not sure that I can describe it. It's not a lack of noise, or a softening of sound. Those things have happened before. This time it's different. Now, now it's something else that's going on.
Maybe the years and years and years of noise have finally started to affect me. Maybe I'm going deaf. Maybe I've...
Scratch that, I figured it out.
It's become constant. There are no ups or downs anymore.
Noise without fluctuation has no meaning. It's just static, and I think that I'm starting to ignore that static.
This won't last.
When I went there, the saleperson/manager who screwed me over wasn't there. The manager on duty said that he'd call me tomorrow.
So what I did was I went to another furniture store and bought a bed there. While I was at it, I bought an additional $1000 of bedroom furniture.
I can't wait to tell the guy tomorrow that (a) I spent $1500 on at a competitor's store, and (b) they'd never see another dime of my money.
So they brought the box spring, and the mattress, and the water bladder, and the heater, and the support thingy.
What they didn't fucking bring is the frame or the headboard.
They weren't on their order, and when they checked my receipt, they weren't on the receipt.
They open at 12:00. I'm going to go there and rip somebody's head off.
I was in a convenience store, and a bunch of guys came in to rob the place. At first, I wasn't going to resist, but then one of the guys pissed me off. He made me empty my pockets, and he was going to steal my rock. My most prized possession.
I went ninja on his ass, and on everyone in his little gang.
Everyone except one guy who I just couldn't seem to shake. He pulled out a gun and started shooting. The cashier, the other customers, me.
In my dreams I almost never have to run away from anything or anyone. Usually I can stand my ground and fight my way clear. But not this time. Not against this guy.
Somehow I managed to escape. I either lost the guy or he gave up on chasing me. I collapsed in an alley and began surveying my wounds. I'd been shot several times, and I was bleeding badly.
I needed help.
I heard footsteps coming down the sidewalk.
It was her.
She looked right at me, lying there bleeding to death. Then she turned away and kept walking. She was talking into her phone, with some asshole, no doubt.
Of all the times to get shot, I'd picked a time when she was going to pretend that she didn't give a shit about me.
I managed to get to my feet, and started hobbling back the way I'd came. I found the guy with the gun, and I stood perfectly still for him while he shot me through the head.
I woke up before I hit the ground.
I think that I'm settling into this schedule too easily. In bed by 10:00, up at 5:00. Work, home, sleep. This is a recipe for complacency. For the same fucking contentedness that wasted most of my 30s.
Not that I'm even close to content. But I can tell that it's there, just around the corner beyond acceptance. Eventually, if I'm not careful, I'll get there.
That will suck. Man was not born to be content. To just go through the motions of life.