"The grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." -- Joseph Addison
A friend of mine is getting interviewed by a company for a job, and here's what I wrote back about a snippet of the message.
"I hate you so much." I'm not even trying. Maybe it's because I don't care, and it's hard to, I mean, when you actually know you're going to hate your job so much. I know I will, man, and it sucks. I know that I'll be furthest from where I want to be, which is so far away from anywhere it's not even funny. I get so sad w/r/t my future and its hopelessness, and my wants and needs don't matter at all.
What life will be: I'm going to graduate, have a job I already dislike, stay in a town I despise, get married, work, shut off the creative gland and let everything bottle up.
What I want life to be: I graduate, work for the summer, go to grad school, get an MFA or PhD, teach writing somewhere not in the fucking state, while writing things I care about.
I get so lonely man, it's not even people being around, there's people everywhere, and no-one cares about anything beyond what's sitting in front of them (present company excluded). And the more I work the more I realize that I'm fucking alone, man, and I've got so much existential angst I could fuel an army of teenage poets and I wonder if that's the only thing I really have.
That's all. Poof. I've got 2 people down here that seems to like what I like and would condescend to talk with me and I'm intimidated by both of them.
And that's what it's like. Dead end. There is no exit here. I'm listening to Godspeed You Black Emperor!, and that makes me even more depressed, because I know that beauty will never be an extention of my body, I know that I will never be great, I will never be loved for what I see as worthy of love. Not simply because I am nice, but because I am lovable, and here I'm sitting wondering, hoping, and my frozen pizza is probably burning, and it's Jack's Pizza and I used to say "I am Jacks Naturally Rising Pizza!" and think it funny and now I can only remember the burn-scar on my arm from when I last had a Jack's Pizza and THIS IS MY LIFE, and it is ENDING ONE SECOND AT A TIME. I need cigarettes or religion or something to devote myself to.
This is the dark night of the soul, isn't it?