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Avoidant

Wednesday, January 5

Blogger's #1 user reporting for duty.

Avoidance. Avoidant behavior. That's how I've lived the last, let's say, four or five years of my life.

Where has it gotten me? Here! What is here? I don't know.

Do I really want to be a writer? Do I REALLY want to be a writer?

Do I really want to do comedy?

Is such a "pursuit" just a simple way to tuck away all my insecurities/self-hatred into a nice, tiny little capsule of doing nothing?

A couple years ago, I felt I had "sToRieS" worth sharing. I don't know if that's true anymore. I know that I had them, but now such memories/sToriES feel like a distant wisp of a fart.

I cannot remember how it smelled or felt or even sounded. I just know that it's slightly warmer in here than it was before. Let my stupid aspirations fill the atmosphere like cow farts and pig burps and something something Ozone Layer.

I still need therapy. Why don't I go? To be fair, I need more than just mental care. My body is not holding up quite well to the decades of neglect. I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing this. Actually, I do. It's another form of avoidant behavior. A nice little safety valve I can channel my existential anxiety into, while still actually doing absolutely nothing.

Is life passing me by? What a cliche. Let's bring it back to fart metaphors: Life is not passing me by, Life is simply passing me, like a fart. An unctuous fart. Maybe not unctuous, actually. More dry than unctuous. Like dust in the wind.

Carpe diem, seize the day. Don't worry, be happy. Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme, something something bobsled time.

Well, at least this still feels good. Sort of. It's not a terrible feeling to vent in here. But it just feels so surface level and basic, at this point. I wish I read more. I wish I was braver and bolder and less apologetic. My apologetic attitude towards life is like a mold. It lingers in the air, gets in the moist cracks, and may or may not cause respiratory problems. I don't know.

New roomie moves in tomorrow, hoping it's some sort of Manic Pixie Dream Roomie but we all know that don't exist. And, in reality, I'd rather no one move in at all.

I need a job.