Have you ever just woken up one day and felt completely and utterly disenchanted with life? Not your own life per se, just life in general. Optimists would say life is what you make it. I’m sure they’re right. Just not today. Today you’re giving yourself permission to be miserable and hate everyone and everything, down to the sadistic ants who feasted on your meaty flesh last Friday night at your son’s football game.
It’s not you, it’s me. Really. It’s me and my anger and my annoyance and my inability to just follow the crowd and drink the damn Kool Aid. If there were a pill, I would take it. If there were some changes to be made, I would make them. Who am I kidding? Probably not and definitely not today. But maybe. Maybe one day, some day.
Stop this life. Stop this world. Stop this madness and insufferable noise that goes on and on and on. Not out there, but in here. Always in here. But nothing ever stops. Life continues to be what you make it; I continue to make it something I wish it weren’t. ‘The cards are in your hands,’ she said. ‘You’re the problem now,’ she said.
If you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mind.