Just Kinda Hanging Out, Doing A Little Thinking About My Lame-Ass Life.

Do you ever get afraid?

Like so afraid of something that you wish for things that you don't really want and you hope for things that you know could never possibly come to fruition? Welcome to my world. Always scared of something and we're not talking not just spooked. We're talking scared shitless. Scared, almost, to the point of death, but not to death because people like me aren't that lucky. People like me possess the luck of a three-leafed clover. How we survive the weeks and months and years without dying of some horrible and embarrassing accident is incredible. Wait, no it's not... I always forget that death is a good thing for people like me. Who wouldn't want an end to the fear and the humiliation and the torment? We all want it... But again, we come back to the lack of luck. Lacking luck is a sad state to be in for hap-hazard folks like myself, but I already said that. That's another theme in my life though. Flogging a dead horse is what my life seems dedicated to. Mulling over everything. Sulking as Yorke put it. Stewing as I once said it. Stewing, sulking it's all the same at the end of the day. Synonyms include whining, bitching, pissing & moaning, and the like. So here I am, cruising along without any kind of direction because I'm too much of a pussy to take life by the wheel. To a normal person it might dawn on him or her to use that fact as a motivation to better themselves, but, ahh haha, not me. I am actually able to pile that on to my list of reasons to pout. I roam life's streets spewing a barrage of "I don't know." "Either way is fine." "Whatever you want" "Can it be done later?" and the like... And I compliment this with a flurry of shoulder shrugs and bland facial expressions. I really have to wonder if this is healthy. With all the sulking I do, I have much time for self-exploration which I guess is good despite its negativity on the whole. But after the exploration, like a true amature psychologist, I diagnose myself. The diagnosis is never good, nor is it ever terminal. I hope I'm not getting you worried about my mental health... Through my reading and introspective searching I've determined, conclusively, that my problem lies in self-esteem. It seems to be that I don't have any. I think it's also important to note that I don't condone suicide, nor have I ever attempted it or even entertained the idea. Thinking about what I've said so far made me realized how much it sounds like I want to die... That is not the case at all... I have no desire to die. I was only suggesting earlier that it is one way out and I was also using it to illustrate just how awful it is to be me. And that ends my digression with a nice little tie-in back to the subject. For the past ten minutes my fingers having been punching keys in a frenzy, just trying to get down half of what I'm thinking. The culmination of this thinking has produced a decision. Because it is so awful to be me, and because, despite my sulking nature, I am completely sick and tired of it, I have decided to do something about it. I want things for myself. Before I just wanted them, but now I aim to get them.





This was nice... I might do this more often.  THere was a time when I would insert some negative comment in here, for example, 'I'll be back after I fail miserably at turning my life around.'  Something to that effect... but as a part of my new outlook I intend to stop that shit... if it means lying to myself, so be it. Maybe my perspective is so skewed after all these years of putting myself down that I don't know the truth anymore. Well, we'll see how this goes... check back if you care.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mmmmkay.  Good luck to me, eh?

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Phillip Lewis-Emmer's picture

Keep kikkin' da baby. Eventually, it will stop making that irritating noise.