A good song on the radio, a dreary day, coffee and the drowsiness of a monday morning (and a cigarette, although I no longer smoke) used to inspire of a mood of hopeful yet melancholy reflection. I would then set to work knowing that darkness brings with it connection to the world, and that I was on to something in my life, something that would lead me to a better place. Now I just feel empty. The heaviness of the need to support yourself with income sucks the life out of all realism. My soul was never listed in the deductions on my pay stub. And I want it back. I’m writing the IRS.
Last night I was at the Bad Waitress with a friend. We were just sitting there using our computers. I closed mine, hopeless and unaccomplished. I was looking for a job and places to tour. Prospects seem so slim, and I spiraled down into a metaphor involving the jelly packets, how some are in the little bowl, but some fall out and get put back in, and then… I don’t know. Being outside the system, you need a rope or you die. I hold on by working crap jobs for people who don’t respect me.
Part of it is depression. Then part of it is my personality. Still another part is this place.
Can a depressed misfit survive in a small city with an identity crisis and a passive aggressive personality disorder?
Come 8/31, there’s nothing keeping me here. Unless I start a fun dance band, or find my calling in middle management, or give myself a labotomy, I’m moving.