I woke early today. I used to be able to wake up before dawn, but now I have to drag myself out of bed, and not even the occasional ray of sunshine seems to help.
So... I opened my eyes and was plagued with random thoughts and memories. I walked to the bathroom to find a fox sitting in the garden. I thought that was odd, but then nothing really surprises me anymore. I made myself some coffee, the first of many to come, and I lit up a cigarette. I sat in front of the computer to indulge in more pointless thinking that will only lead me to a self-induced headache.
I wondered about this wasted year I've just spent on my own, and I wondered what it would be like going back to university in September, because let's face it, I'm going back. I mean, one year left. Wouldn't that be a waste not to finish what was started? I guess I still fail to see what I could do apart from finishing my studies. Then at least I'll get a shiny piece of paper to hang on the wall of my toilet at the end of it. I'll be able to boast about having a degree, even though technically I already have one under my belt, except I don't remember anything I was meant to learn there. Call it a mistake of youth, I only got an idea of what I wanted to do when I was about 23, and now I just turned 26. I choose to call the period before my 25th birthday a coma.
I thought that maybe if I sat for a very long time thinking I would get to understand the meaning of quite a few things in this messed up life. But then, I'm no Buddha, am I?
A part of me urged me to go out and actually see people, anyone. I thought, hell yeah, why not? If I'm going to see people then I might as well ensure that I'll be able to drink so that the pointless chatting and empty words can drown in my torpor.
I should get out of my own head more often, maybe. Pretend that everything is great and interesting when everything means pretty much nothing. I should make more of an effort to find a job, or work experience. I should make a list of all the things I ought to be doing and then burn it. Now, that is a joyful thought to me.
Ought, should, must, have to... Expectations. I fail to see the point in any of this, apart from the fact that it answers others' wishes but mine.
Does that make me selfish, silly, immature, maybe? Well, does it?
Or am I plain depressed? Well, am I?
And if I am, does it matter?
My mind is a black hole filled with junk rotting in the sun, yet you would never guess walking past me in the street, because, hey, apparently I give off the impression of sheer confidence brimming with joy.
That reminds me of the time, a couple of years ago when I was actually depressed and on those wondrous little happy-chirping pills. I was on the bus with a guy from work and we were laughing at something stupid. Then our conversation somehow brushed the topic of depression. The guy said he had been depressed in the past, and I nodded heartily, saying "Oh yeah, that kinda happened to me, too."
He stared at me for a moment as though I had just spoken in another language.
"You? Never. You're too happy all the time to be depressed," He said.
Strangely enough, I felt a little offended by his reply. You see, it is a recurring pattern in my life: People always dismiss whatever I have to say because somehow I must be so happy, so confident, so arrogant and clever.
Well, I don't believe in the empty shell of words like happiness, my mind feels as blank as a newborn's slate, and the world scares me shitless.
I'm forever the odd one out because somehow I manage to get where I wasn't supposed to get.
But maybe it's starting to grow on me. Maybe, just maybe, I'm beginning to see the irony of my life as a whole and at least that makes me laugh.
Then again I have a lousy sense of humor. I like dark and sarcastic because it reflects reality more faithfully than any other sugar-coated form of humor.
I don't care what happens next. This life is a joke.
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