Gloom, despair…

and agony on me. Deep dark depression, excessive misery. If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. Gloom despair and agony on me.



I have to stop reading gloomy books and watching gloomy TV specials about the decline of America. It’s happening and will continue to happen and there is not one thing I can do about it, so why expose myself to so much GLOOM? Meh.

I’m a realist. I prefer to see things how they are rather than pretend that it’s different. That said, I also have to be wary of my Scorpio nature and avoid wallowing. I’ve been wallowing in the bad news lately. It’s true that American is in decline as is the rest of Western civilisation. Reading books and watching shows won’t change that. Neither will camping out in a park, for that matter. It’s WAY WAY beyond that happy crappy.

But why not just step back and try to find a reason to be happy? I’m trying, I swear, but I’m not getting anywhere. I’ve had a string of failures the last few years that have been demoralising and, well, a DRAG, MAN. Weight loss: FAIL. Breaking Think Weasel! out into something profitable: FAIL. Selling jewelry: FAIL. Trying to sell extra crap and clothes for some cash: FAIL. Attitude adjustment: FAIL. Staying young: FAIL. Doing volunteer work: FAIL. Conquering the Vile Organ: FAIL. Making enough extra money to bail us out: FAIL. Trying to stop drinking/smoking: FAIL. Hell, even the antidepressants failed! THAT is a serious FAIL.

I mean, really? REALLY? There is precious little I’ve done in the past few years that is NOT a failure. Then I look around and the whole goddam world is failing. Everything.

Well, when I put it like that, I guess there’s a reason I’m off my game lately, eh? Let the WHINING BEGIN.

In a little over 2 weeks I’ve got an epic birthday: 11.11.11. I’ve got no plans. It’s on a Friday and I’ve got it in my head that no one will come out on a Friday. I don’t want to throw a party because I am too lazy and I don’t feel like dealing with the mess. The Porter is willing to host, but it’s hard to park in L5P on a Friday night. UGH. I think I’m finding justifications to not do anything. AS USUAL.

I tossed out all my old too small clothes. I’m trying to sell my gothy club clothes and corset, I just can’t BEAR taking them to the fucking thrift store!! But no one wants them. I’ve resorted to fucking Craigslist. It is breaking my heart that a) I’m getting rid of all my club clothes and b) no one wants them.

Nick and I are two ships passing in the night. We spend time together but the zing is gone. My malaise has affected him and now he, too, is a fat motherfucker with no sex drive and chronic aches and pains. He’s not even 40 yet!! I can’t help but feel responsible for that. It is my fault. I know it. He’ll argue that it’s not, but I know better. The feeling that I’m dragging him down is enough to make me suicidal. I never meant for that to happen. NEVER. But here we are.

I guess I’m giving up. I’m giving up on all of it. I’m settling for being a fat old lady who is happy holed up in the house with her cats. I’ve abandoned my relationships – even the most important one: Nick – for boredom and wallowing in the gloom and doom of the daily news. I have no excuse for doing this, either. Not a one.

I don’t know what to do. I’m treading water. I’m existing. Am I living? I’d have to say no, not really. I’ve tried SO many things, SO MUCH. Even as I write this, it’s without passion or sadness or any emotion. It’s like I’m writing it about someone else. That’s some serious disconnect, boys and girls.

If antidepressants don’t make a difference, then what would? The first thing that pops into my head is SUCCESS. If I could succeed at something, anything, it might restore some of my faith that I am worth the oxygen I use up every day.

Yes, yes, this is pre-birthday FUNK and Annual Fear and Loathing™ at work, but it is still the way I feel. Or don’t feel, to be more accurate.

And before you clog up my blog with blasé encouragement, bunnies, and rainbows, remember this is ME you’re talking to. I’d rather have some suggestions to try than pats on the head. (YES I did just use an Oxford comma. Make a note of it, it happens once in 1000 posts.) That doesn’t mean I want flames, either. I get enough of that shit on LJ. Fuck, I don’t know what I want. THAT’S THE PROBLEM. Just damn.