I miss the 3 years I spent in a Seroquel-induced emotional flatline. Caring sucks. It really does. I mean, I can still drink my face off and while away the hours with cartoons and card games, but I'm not used to doing so while dealing with emotions and other such nonsense. I'm used to being laconic, impassive, occasionally happy-go-lucky. I was of the opinion that the worst had already happened so having hopes, fears, or feelings was pretty much a waste of energy. This too shall pass, all things are fleeting, etc. I was all set to enjoy being alive until the day I died, and I was largely indifferent as to when that day should come. But now I have a new imaginary friend: righteous indignation. It's like a demon that chews on the back of my head all day reminding me that for all the setbacks I've had, most people have it worse. I'm angry and I get to thinking it's for no good reason, but then I remember that there are thousands of good reasons.
Here's one of them. Please do click, read, and watch. And this is up to you and your own viewing preferences, but I would prefer it if you didn't watch the Olympics. I'll admit I'm also angry that they preempt Community and Saturday Night Live, but my lacking in entertainment options is pretty far down the outrage list from a nation that shares my dad's views on LGBTQs getting all the money from hosting an Olympics. My entertainment options are usually pretty close to the top of my priorities list, so I guess this is a big fucking deal to me. Since the big hand slapped me "White Male American", I know I tend to overestimate my own problems and it's easy to forget that my life is pretty damn good compared to people in some other places. Like, being L, G, or B in Russia is horrific. Being T is probably worse, because you know, that's something they can choose and they're all just choosing wrong (If you failed to recognize that as sarcasm, you just lost the Rehabbing the Hoodie home edition. Time to eat the stick).
Maybe I have some big primal-scream type post coming up on this subject. It might be a week, a month, or ten years from now. Something's brewing and I have no idea what it is. I've been feeling the need to write, to stand on my roof and rant at 3 AM, to start fights, ever since the Dr. V. story broke. I have been waiting eagerly- if I were the praying type, I would be praying- for someone to use a gay or effeminate slur in my presence so I could let it all out through violence (I'm not a big guy, but I'm crazy and that's the equivalent of an extra 20 pounds of muscle in a fight. Also, most people aren't prepared for the suckerpunch). But when I sit down to express it I have nothing to say. I'm just pissed. If you are too, good. Let's hang out sometime. And that's all I got for now. Time to go to sleep and have another unnecessarily long and painful stress dream*.
*Last night's was fun. I got to taste the world's best frozen custard, but since I didn't have the $1200 to pay for my serving, I had to work off my debt by helping to make it. The only ingredient was human suffering. That's a lot of suffering when you're working it off at minimum wage. Come to find out, nobody who worked in the factory got paid. Everyone was working off a debt.
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