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.