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11/10/2001 7:30 PM - Robert This is all pretty worthless, isn’t it? What in life really makes it all worthwhile? Money, jobs, women, possessions, drinking? I’m grasping for the answer here and I’m not coming up with anything. This life is worthless. The only things that seem to bring a shred of joy into the abyss are my photography and writing. I’m not skilled enough at either to make them into a profession. Exit stage left into the dark… This is who I am… I’m writing and getting dinner at a coffee shop on a Saturday night. This isn’t the case every weekend. I actually like being alone without deadlines or assignments to worry about from time to time. The lack of stress to occupy my mind lets me wonder, ponder my situation. That’s the problem, the deafening silence is very painful. Strip away the things that keep me busy, and I am left with almost nothing. How is anything I do worthwhile? Does my photography or writing actually touch anyone’s life? Does it make a difference? Nah, I thought not. I’m not doing anything like designing spaceships, finding a cure for cancer, designing a faster computer, saving anyone from a burning building, convincing anyone that they shouldn’t overdose on pills, telling someone that life is really worthwhile and they should step down from the ledge, or saving any pretty damsels in distress. I program transact-sql for a living; writing reports for an advertising agency. I don’t make the world a better place to live, I just tend to creep by. I have learned that women are nothing but trouble. There’s nothing more stress-inducing than developing feelings for one. I have fallen victim to that recently, and I don’t want to go through that again anytime soon. I guess I have already started to blow that plan. ****** had been out sick for the past week and a half, so I haven’t seen her in class or talked to her that whole time. On Thursday, she was back. When she walked into the room, my pulse quickened and I became anxious. We talked after the class was over and agreed to do something after she fully recovered. She seemed very happy to see me again. I realized something… I missed her company. Ok, so I like her. Let’s just open Pandora’s box-o-emotions all over again, shall we? Feelings… what a terrible thing. These things defy logic, turns you into bipolar idiots, and makes you completely vulnerable. They expose you to pain, anxiety, and a touch of insanity. Why do I have to be this complex? Maybe I should stab my brain with a q-tip. Would being stupid make me happy? I worry about things far too much. Oh my, I’m going to be fucked tonight. I’ve already had a mocha latte, and I’m starting on a cup of Kona. I’m going to a party tonight, so my metabolism is going to be really out of whack. Alcoholism is slowly taking a hold of me. I’ve learned that getting drunk makes me feel really good for a short amount of time. I had never really given drunkenness a try until a couple of months ago. I was in pain, I had a sigma6 show to go to, and it was at Kamikaze’s. I wasn’t driving, so I figured I’d fuck myself up to ease the pain. One hour, 3 whiskey & cokes, and one schnapps later, the pain was gone, I felt great, and I was socializing. Since then, drunkenness has become an almost-weekly experience. Why? It feels good. It takes away the pain, it works well, too well… I have decided that I need to cut back. Alcoholism is not another thing I want to add to my list of problems. I don’t want to be someone that has to drink every night just to feel normal. So, who am I really? Do the people that know me really see anything beyond the façade of a person that I project? I’m not really human, the me that you know is a mere projection. Is there anything worthwhile about me at all? Falling… gone |