Staring through a windshield
I've just got off the bus from Ian's. I'm crossing the street to go 'home.' The light has barely changed. And a car is speeding up to the intersection so fast it's about fifty-fifty whether it'll stop in time.
I stare at the driver and step out in front of him. I'm half daring him not to stop, but I know he will. The fucker's got to behave by the rules, doesn't he?
Did I mention I'm in a shitty mood?
This happens to me periodically. I'll just have had a good night, and for some reason the mere fact that I've enjoyed myself with people I care deeply for will have driven home the fact that for the most part, I hate my life.
It's like I can't appreciate the depth of my disdain for my daily existence until I've experienced a spike in how good things are going, even if the spike only lasts a few hours.
What's wrong with my life? Glad you asked. Wish I could answer briefly. And knowing I can't, I'm going to try anyway. I sneer as I type this, for that is a common trait of mine that has contributed to the situation I'm in.
One, I have now what a year ago I would have described as my dream job. I'm the news editor of a student newspaper. It's not what I would have wanted to do for the rest of my life, but a year ago I thought I'd love the job. I fucking hate it. Misunderstand if you want. I could care less. But understand this: I love training volunteers, interviewing sources, writing stories, editing pieces, deciding what's news. I just hate the fucking radical politics. And Guelph is not the place to be if you hate radical politics. Those politics invaded the paper and corrupted something I once believed in. Now I just go through the motions, trying to make my tiny piece of the paper as good as I can make it. Never mind that nobody ever takes the time to say, "I appreciate all the time you give this and think you're doing a good job." But fuck it and fuck them and fuck me for being annoyed at that.
Two, I'm lonely. There, I've said it. It's the most embarassing word in the entire language as far as I'm concerned. And I've finally reached the point where I can admit it. I have many great friends and an amazing family. But I am alone. There is nobody with whom I feel I can share myself completely. There have only ever been two such people, both women I was in love with. That I love no longer.
Ian says that you shouldn't require love (and I'm probably grossly oversimplifying his point) to live a complete and happy life. That's a nice intellectual statement that might even work for some people. It doesn't for me.
As far as I'm concerned, romantic love is a required part of a complete life. And it's not a part of mine. So take from that what you will. And if you conclude that I'm wrong about whether love is necessary, then fuck you. I'm talking about my life and what I consider necessary. You don't get a say.
Three, people are stupid, and that includes me. They're so wrapped up in their own lives that they won't step outside to look at the bigger picture. They're ignorant and uninformed and uninterested in being anything else. But for me to be who I choose to be - a journalist - I must act as if they're not.
Fuck them too.
I'm so angry right now. And to be honest, I'm considering not posting this because I don't want to worry anybody who might read this.
But fuck it. Honesty wins. As a writer, you can't be afraid of what comes out.
I stare at the driver and step out in front of him. I'm half daring him not to stop, but I know he will. The fucker's got to behave by the rules, doesn't he?
Did I mention I'm in a shitty mood?
This happens to me periodically. I'll just have had a good night, and for some reason the mere fact that I've enjoyed myself with people I care deeply for will have driven home the fact that for the most part, I hate my life.
It's like I can't appreciate the depth of my disdain for my daily existence until I've experienced a spike in how good things are going, even if the spike only lasts a few hours.
What's wrong with my life? Glad you asked. Wish I could answer briefly. And knowing I can't, I'm going to try anyway. I sneer as I type this, for that is a common trait of mine that has contributed to the situation I'm in.
One, I have now what a year ago I would have described as my dream job. I'm the news editor of a student newspaper. It's not what I would have wanted to do for the rest of my life, but a year ago I thought I'd love the job. I fucking hate it. Misunderstand if you want. I could care less. But understand this: I love training volunteers, interviewing sources, writing stories, editing pieces, deciding what's news. I just hate the fucking radical politics. And Guelph is not the place to be if you hate radical politics. Those politics invaded the paper and corrupted something I once believed in. Now I just go through the motions, trying to make my tiny piece of the paper as good as I can make it. Never mind that nobody ever takes the time to say, "I appreciate all the time you give this and think you're doing a good job." But fuck it and fuck them and fuck me for being annoyed at that.
Two, I'm lonely. There, I've said it. It's the most embarassing word in the entire language as far as I'm concerned. And I've finally reached the point where I can admit it. I have many great friends and an amazing family. But I am alone. There is nobody with whom I feel I can share myself completely. There have only ever been two such people, both women I was in love with. That I love no longer.
Ian says that you shouldn't require love (and I'm probably grossly oversimplifying his point) to live a complete and happy life. That's a nice intellectual statement that might even work for some people. It doesn't for me.
As far as I'm concerned, romantic love is a required part of a complete life. And it's not a part of mine. So take from that what you will. And if you conclude that I'm wrong about whether love is necessary, then fuck you. I'm talking about my life and what I consider necessary. You don't get a say.
Three, people are stupid, and that includes me. They're so wrapped up in their own lives that they won't step outside to look at the bigger picture. They're ignorant and uninformed and uninterested in being anything else. But for me to be who I choose to be - a journalist - I must act as if they're not.
Fuck them too.
I'm so angry right now. And to be honest, I'm considering not posting this because I don't want to worry anybody who might read this.
But fuck it. Honesty wins. As a writer, you can't be afraid of what comes out.
