Nearly There

 Gosh, 5 whole posts in the span of a year! Well done, self-proclaimed writer! (I'm almost proud, honestly. That's five more than I thought I would remember to do! 😅)

And to top it off -- sigh -- they're all rather dark and broody, aren't they?

Hmm. 

Well I wish I could say this one is going to be different, but WHY break a nice streak? I'm here to make it 6 posts in 2024, and keep the mood at just barely above drowning! Hooray!

Oh the seasonal depression. It's like your normal depression, only intensified by the plastic brilliance of Holiday Decorations, and everyone trying to be so nice  to each other, and of course the added stress of getting gifts, cleaning house, decorating, sending cards, avoiding people you don't want to see, trying to see people you DO want to see, bottling up emotions to keep everyone comfortable, scheduling time off, realizing you'll never be able to take a nice long paid vacation ever in your stupid life, feeling painfully nostalgic for the days when this season actually made you happy instead. 

You know. The Seasonal Version. 

Wow. I am not allowed to cry at work. Phew. Okay. We'll take a raincheck on this one, folks!

Rough, Buddy.

 I made the mistake of having faith in people. Which is strange for me, considering I'm more bitter than optimistic, these days. I'm judgmental and unforgiving, I don't trust strangers, and I certainly don't like meandering around populated areas alone at night. But for some unknown reason, this election, I thought, "What the hell. People literally can't be THAT stupid."

They can. They are. It makes me sick. It makes me unsteady, to realize with disbelief that more than half of this country actually thinks the way they do. That they think this ego-inflated, mentally-deficient, morally-antagonistic, machismo-driven sexual offender is a Better Choice. 

They actually think that. It blows my mind, I can watch five minutes of this man speaking through his fucking duck-face, and I feel my IQ start to sink just to understand what he's saying. Maybe I'm one of the stronger ones, who could pull away before my mind snapped and regressed to the terrible twos, where the rest of his support group mentally dwells. 

Some sort of large scale Enchantment, a charm to numb weak minds and take control, that would do the trick. Some black magic, real evil shit, if that were true that would make things so much easier. See if that WAS the case, that would imply that there was magic, and if there was magic, I would magic missile his ass so hard we would, as a collective, get our IQ's returned to us. 

But no, this world blows, and more than half the people in it blow (which is a fucking lot of people.) And it is really hard to keep shit together when the absolutely unbelievable is happening right beside you, know what I mean? 

I'm so sorry to all of you out there who expected more from us. I wish there were a greater number of us who thought the way I do, who feel how I feel, but evidently there are... fewer than I thought. 

It's sad really. Like realizing you're an endangered species. That any day might be the last time your thoughts are heard, your words spoken. That any day you could say something that makes perfect sense, and the people around you will see you as other.

Well. At least it's a pretty day out. 

View From The Bottom

 I can see a lot from here. It isn't what people really want to see, but there's still a lot of it. For example, there are so many different kinds of shoes; sneakers, loafers, galoshes, sandals, spike heels, you name it. And some of them are really nice. 

Honestly, I would much rather get stepped on by a pair of black and white oxfords that shine like the barrel of a gun, then a pair of faux-gold strappy sandals that are pretending to be Grecian. 

Guess it's just a preference thing. I'm still getting stepped on after all. 

People drop things though, and they end up down here. Long forgotten treasures that fall out of pockets or tumble off of trucks. People who were discarded along the way who get sick of the climb, they end up here, too. Well-loved markers. A worn and patched wallet. A piece of someone's tail light from when their car was towed away.

I guess I count as one of them, now. A cast-off. A rat cast into the river with a pair of cement shoes.  I'm not entirely surprised, I do this to myself ALL the time. I am the absolute worst of myself, to myself. Come on, where else would be easier to aim it? And I'm SUCH an easy target too, God I know just what makes me tick. 

It is really hard to be excited about the things you love when no one gives a shit Oop, sorry, at it again. Let me try that one more time. 

It is really hard to be excited about the stupid shit you love when there's a voice shouting in your head.

It is really hard to be anything with that voice telling you nothing but the hard truth talking smack about everything all the time. 

Except bored. It's easy to be bored. Because if I'm bored it means that I am not fucking anything up at least have time to try and convince myself NOT to be an ass to myself. 

I can't even turn the firehose off, it's just cold and damp and getting very full in here, and I keep hearing--

You know what, I think that's it for today.