Things That Go Bump in the Night

It's getting pretty dark for me, I must admit. I was supposedly feeling better, doing better, but I must confess that it's getting darker again.

I wake up, get ready for work, walk my dog, commute, work and stare at the fucking database all day, go to lunch (sort of, I'm on a self-imposed, I-don't-want-to-go-to-lunch-with-anybody type thing right now), work some more, have superficial, completely pointless discussions, leave work, commute, come home, stare at this computer, write (usually), surf (usually), walk the dog, stay up too late, eat crap for dinner unless I go out. Sometimes I have things planned. Sometimes I talk to my good friends. Sometimes I clean my apartment and do my laundry.

This is my life, people, and it's about as uneventful as you might guess.

I just spent an hour or so shutting down one of my old email addresses. I had to move all the old emails to my gmail account. Brought back sad memories, feelings of regret, feelings of disgust at my own behavior, feelings like I would stick an ice pick in my eye if I only had one.

Fortunately that feeling passed (the ice pick one, anyway).

Back when I was enduring the shattering pain of my divorce, I used to think the only reason why I didn't just kill myself was because it would really upset my dog. She's very sensitive. I'm glad to be out of that dark place, but it seems I have settled into another one.

I read about the Law of Attraction, about how you draw to you what you ask for or think about all the time. It's true, I know it works. I did ask for this scenario: I wanted to be alone, living in my own apartment so I could focus my time on writing and I wanted to be here in SF. I got what I asked for.

I can't see the point of it, though. I mean, why write at all? I suppose if it makes you happy, then perhaps you should do it, but there are no guarantees that you'll be successful. Of course, you never know until you try, but still the odds are that no one will see what you write. Or care at all. Besides what is a story anyway? Something people read and then forget about. Human beings have a short attention span. They read, move on and forget about it. Most human beings aren't like me: they aren't affected by what they read. It doesn't burn in their soul for hours and days, coming back at odd times to remind you of how moved you were, and how moved you could be by everything in the world. Because let's face it, most people aren't moved worth a shit. I am constantly amazed by how so many things in the world affect me, but most people aren't like me. They are not moved, they don't even notice shit half the time. They're too busy plugged into their iPods and on their cell phones, unreachable and preoccupied.

In fact, why do anything at all? Why try to be happy when you know you're just going to be sad again? Or angry. Or afraid. Isn't all the same thing anyway? The problem with this thinking is sitting here in front of the computer being brutally honest about my current state of mind doesn't feel right either. I keep telling myself I'm too fucked up to be in a relationship anyway, that probably the whole world knows that, sees that and so shies away from me, but I don't know what to do with myself otherwise. Shouldn't I learn to be happy with myself first? What if I've been there and done that already? I have proved that I can be alone and have a decent time. Now I retreat and having been retreating for a long time. Now I live in state of self-imposed isolation with no one but my dog for company.

It's a good thing I have a dog. She keeps me interacting with the world even when I don't want to be.

What I don't understand is why do I have to be so smart in the first place? Why am I so damn curious? Why do I love to learn new things, experience new things? Why do I have so much damn depth? It's a curse, is what it is. I wish sometimes I could be content listening to my iPod all day long and then coming home to watch 4-6 hours of TV, be happy shopping and gossiping with everybody, but I'm not.

Sometimes I think of grabbing my dog, my Eagle Creek Switchback, some clothes and just disappearing into the sunset forever. Maybe you'll find me wandering in the desert, jobless and looking for water. Maybe you'll find me in some foreign country with a military dictatorship. Maybe you'll find me on the street in some huge bustling city, living on handfuls of change.

Most likely, you'll find me at home. Sitting in front of this computer doing the same thing day in and day out.