My God...

I have dropped the ball. I promised I’d be writing more, and find myself, instead, writing less and less. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’m not drinking so much right now, which tends to bank the creative fires. This is due to my frequent mood swings of late caused by job stress, and my need to hoard money like some sort of little Midas (very little, in fact,) preparing for stagflation. My job is genuinely in trouble at this point, the John Deere opportunity may not pan out, and I don’t exactly have much in the wings. I am worried, and have had to be very careful not to take it out on Orpheus. He has been amazing through the entire process, and we are still working out well despite my frantic pleas last week to break up with me so he wouldn’t “have to worry about what comes next.” I hate panic attacks. Especially suicidal panic attacks. They make me feel less than classy. And, frankly, haven’t I been through enough?

My Mother would respond that it is all part of God’s plan, and she feels for me and prays for me, but that I should just keep trying. It’s hard for me not to tell her that’s hogwash. I want kids someday, but frankly, life sucks so much so often, I don’t know if I want to lie to another human, one that trusts me implicitly for even a short time, that everything will, in fact, be OK. We get a spare modicum of pleasure in this life, and most of us (me included,) squander the shit out of it. The rest of our time is spent working like slaves. An entire race of beings shouldn’t have to pay the fare for bad decisions on diet made by two semi-divine simpletons and one angry god… Or, you know, any of the actual sins of our in-fact ancestors, like being poor, getting exiled from this or that land, etc., etc., ad nauseum.

I suppose that the point of this rant is one that you’ve all read before. I’m really, really tired. Exhausted. And I just have to keep going, because if I stop it’ll make everyone that I love and everyone who loves me at least a little sad, a little empty, and take some speed off their rat-races. These are people who have been there for me, so it’s only fair that I’m there for them. I guess I just need to figure out the mental equivalent of DM’s coffee.

In the meantime… Bleh.