Sometimes you can fight despair gently.
But sometimes gently won’t get you there.
Sometimes you have to fight despair with every last thing that you have.
I am fighting despair with every last thing that I have.
— § —
Here’s a nod to all the things that I won’t write. The things that you can’t say on your blog or anywhere else for that matter because they would make other people like you less and because they would make you like yourself less.
The things that you think anyway, even though this is the case and you won’t write them down or admit to it.
Here’s to being sad about the way that life has turned out so far. About all the times you choose and pursue and win the wrong triumphs. Some people do that a lot. I’m one of them. They’re wrong because they don’t get you anything in the end and because later on you regret them.
Here’s to being lonely and getting lonelier each time a new face is added to your life somhow.
Here’s to the self-indulgent feeling that some people are just cursed by destiny.
— § —
Some people are designed to be happy, and they are.
Some people are designed to be sad, and they are.
I’ve had some very high highs in my life, but they don’t seem durable. They don’t last for me. Even things that people say are the “enduring” highs that we’re supposed to pursue. Family. Education. Health. And so on.
They didn’t endure for me, even though they did for other people.
But I suppose I’m still lucky in a way.
I haven’t been diagnosed with a brain tumor or lost a loved one to a car accident. Thank God.
But I confess to significant envy of the people that went to college, got an advanced degree, got a good job, got married, had kids, bought a house, grew a 401k, took out a giant life insurance policy, and how have nice barbecues or weekends on their boat on Lake Powell.
I went to college, got an advanced degree, got a good job, got married, had kids, got hated, got threatened, got divorced, ended up in a mountain of debt, own nothing, have no 401k, have no life insurance, and now think I will be working at 80 while my ex is out having nice barbecues or weekends on their boat on Lake Powell.
What sin did I commit?
I was a damned good husband. And I’m a damned good father. And I won awards with my advanced degree. And I wrote a bunch of books. And everyone always congratulates me and tells me they look up to me.
So why can’t I have a good middle class life?
— § —
I guess it’s just not on the cards for some people. Fate’s a bitch.