Ever feel that everything is a waste of time? That you're just whiling away the years until your inglorious end, after which your accomplishments (if there were any to begin with) will be forgotten?
I was sitting at the dahlak bar last night having just those thoughts. Around me, the same dozen or so people were putting the same dozen moves on each other, like Gilligan's Island writ large. I caught a glance of my reflection in the mirror hoisting a bottle of beer to my mouth, and thought "Good grief, what the fuck am I doing here?"
I have a great girlfriend, but I am dissatisfied, and have the itch for other women. That sounds lousy, but that's just how it is. I was single and romping through fields of loins for four years, and while I was sick of being single and slutty it is no great leap to feel the opposite. Nothing personal honey, and I'm certainly not going to throw a good relationship in the scrap-heap because of biology's demands.
I can't stand talking to anyone for more than 10 minutes half the time. I can't deal with watching the news. i can't deal with stupid people. I can't manage to stay happy and satisfied for more than a week at a time. My job is boring me to tears but the prospect that the project I work on might be cancelled by the new dean petrifies me. I don't want to look for work. I don't want to work period. But if I wasn't working, I wouldn't be happy then, because I'd have no money.
Ennui is probably the best word for it. Life by rote: get up, shower, drink coffee, go to work, read the news, do some work, get lunch, do some more work, read some more news, go home, go for a swim, get high, drink beer, hang out with my girlfriend, go to bed, have sex, sleep, get up, shower...
I was watching Mr. Show reruns last night. One scene involved a bored family around the dinner table. "How was school, Dan?" "Fine." "How was school Sue?" "Good." "How was your day sweetie?" "Oh I did some shopping, same old thing. How was work?" "Well, you know, same old same old." I don't think I could stand marriage for too long; I don't think I could stomach being an old single man in the Bukowski mode.
Where the hell does this come from? A few years ago, a good friend told me to get some sort of therapy. I wasn't too hot on that then, and I'm not too hot on it now.
Where is my debut novel? Where is my gold record? Why have I not recorded anything of any real note? I'm not an idiot, but I never seem to get done the things I need to get done. It's not a motivation issue either.
Grumblings from the grumbler.
I was sitting at the dahlak bar last night having just those thoughts. Around me, the same dozen or so people were putting the same dozen moves on each other, like Gilligan's Island writ large. I caught a glance of my reflection in the mirror hoisting a bottle of beer to my mouth, and thought "Good grief, what the fuck am I doing here?"
I have a great girlfriend, but I am dissatisfied, and have the itch for other women. That sounds lousy, but that's just how it is. I was single and romping through fields of loins for four years, and while I was sick of being single and slutty it is no great leap to feel the opposite. Nothing personal honey, and I'm certainly not going to throw a good relationship in the scrap-heap because of biology's demands.
I can't stand talking to anyone for more than 10 minutes half the time. I can't deal with watching the news. i can't deal with stupid people. I can't manage to stay happy and satisfied for more than a week at a time. My job is boring me to tears but the prospect that the project I work on might be cancelled by the new dean petrifies me. I don't want to look for work. I don't want to work period. But if I wasn't working, I wouldn't be happy then, because I'd have no money.
Ennui is probably the best word for it. Life by rote: get up, shower, drink coffee, go to work, read the news, do some work, get lunch, do some more work, read some more news, go home, go for a swim, get high, drink beer, hang out with my girlfriend, go to bed, have sex, sleep, get up, shower...
I was watching Mr. Show reruns last night. One scene involved a bored family around the dinner table. "How was school, Dan?" "Fine." "How was school Sue?" "Good." "How was your day sweetie?" "Oh I did some shopping, same old thing. How was work?" "Well, you know, same old same old." I don't think I could stand marriage for too long; I don't think I could stomach being an old single man in the Bukowski mode.
Where the hell does this come from? A few years ago, a good friend told me to get some sort of therapy. I wasn't too hot on that then, and I'm not too hot on it now.
Where is my debut novel? Where is my gold record? Why have I not recorded anything of any real note? I'm not an idiot, but I never seem to get done the things I need to get done. It's not a motivation issue either.
Grumblings from the grumbler.
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