Wow! Way to make me feel awesome Frazzled Followers! I woke up this morning to find not only many emails but comments (real live comments! I feed on those, people! I like when the world knows you like me, I need that kind of reassurance! Keep ’em coming!) in response to this post.
Spurred on by your positive feedback to my malaise, I give you this iffy hideousness:
Settle for mediocrity. Bathe in it.
Each night ending fitfully on your impotent couch or liars chair. Avoid your bed. You made it well with false desires for success but still refuse to climb in. Fitful nights filled with fantasy of fierce purposefulness. Tuck yourself in, try to sleep. Wait for the end.
Fantasize you are railing against something. Anything. Be aggressive. “Be BE aggressive!” Find small, meaningless ways to be anarchistic, to re-grasp even just a sliver of your former conviction. You aren’t a follower if you goose-step angrily, right?
Each morning, wake tired and uninspired. Shake off the night like so many webs of dreams unrealized. Inundate your day with priorities of false importance. Force the memories deep down into your deadened keep. Shadows of your psuedo-rebellion projected on the shower wall, quickly washed down the drain. Reminders of what you could almost feel in the dark of the night, when you were truly, if only for the briefest moment, alone.
Put on your armor. Melancholy, your high-priced custom tailor, threading every stitch you don. Slip on shoes by Sub-par, weighting your feet, shuffle the streets as only those who have everything they ever wanted could. Your trepidation rewarded by a custom neck noose whittled from slabs of your once true self. It binds, never fully extinguishing the breath you pull in and out like an addict bent on the next oxygen high, yet tight enough to inhibit your every thought.
Drudge through your days that never cease. Try to remember angst, never fully experience it. Pine for the days of your youth, pretend you didn’t hate them as fully as you hate these days. Wave your gangrenous extremities about with mustered conviction. Convince yourself.
You have arrived!
Now wait to die. It won’t come soon enough and it won’t be quick. You will surely feel regret press upon your chest long before you are blessed with final breath. No matter how young or aged when that time comes, you will lust after the days when you had more time. When you could have been something. Someone. Anything. You will conveniently forget you traded all those opportunities for the freedom of giving up control. For the fear of being responsible for someone else’s unhappiness.
Each day you wasted worrying about the ones that were past resigned to trudge through those in your future. Each day you waited to finish, but upon the edge of your cessation, you will beg for more., knowing in your heart you would do the same thing all over again.
In the sleepless dead of night, when eyes burn and nothing makes sense? When everything becomes complicated, each conversation turning towards anger? When you wish your eyes would close, if only for a minute? When sanity is thinnest and you can almost see the other side? The other You? That’s the time.
That is your truth.