Sick. Sulking. And sober... mostly.

I don’t know what I intend this to be, but I know that what I’ve been doing lately to fight off this feeling I have in my stomach hasn’t worked. That sinking, horrible feeling when you start to think “things really might not be okay.”

Is this sounding like a suicide note yet? Good. Most everything I write starts that way. Perhaps it’s because the only time I ever get the urge to write is when I’m feeling like this and suddenly want to feel like I’m having some slow motion cathartic moment in a David Foster Wallace novel. I am writing this on my laptop. My big, expensive desktop has been put on timeout in another room. After one too many games of “DOTA 2” that ended with an embarrassing score, and the temptation to jam a fork in my eye, I shut down my computer and instantly started unplugging everything on the back of the machine. I was not mad. I have thrown more than my fair share of video game induced temper tantrums in my lifetime. This was different. This was something I knew I had to do, and this time it has to stick. Because at this point in my life, the very best title I’ve achieved is an open mic comedian and a writer who doesn’t write.

So, the computer has been moved to the other side of the hallway, I forced myself to do it knowing full well that I won’t have the inspiration to climb under my desk to reconnect all those cords again anytime soon. I’ve only just started on this weird little power trip, and my first move was to use my laziness as a weapon against my own laziness. I think there is a quote from the Buddha that would apply here, but I’m not sure if this shitty old laptop has the processing power to handle looking something up on Wikipedia, so I’ll leave the fat guy out of this for now.

 
Video games used to be something I really enjoyed doing, lately they’ve felt a bit more like a crippling vice, and an overall soul suck of a hobby. And it’s only been just recently how much I’ve allowed them to have a genuinely negative effect on my personal life and psyche. While I don’t expect this hiatus to last any profound amount of time, there is just absolutely no way I will be able to become an adult any time soon if I continue to live the way that I do. Video games are certainly not the sole culprit in my distraction and laziness, but if my unproductive habits were Batman villains, video games would be The Joker. That metaphor sucks. 

I’ve come down with a gross, mucusy cold now. Probably because my diet is terrible, I don’t exercise, and I’d say I wash my hands about 30% of the time that I should. Nearly all of my problems are created by me, and yet I find myself too often unable or unwilling to find solutions from the same source. 

So what is all this for? Am I just pettily bitching in angst in hopes that the internet will feel bad for me? Well, yes. I’m the middle child, everyone should always be looking at me, I’m special. But really I just want to be able to go to sleep tonight with the mild satisfaction of having actually created something. This is no proclamation or belated new years resolution. This will not pay off my student debt, clean the litter box, or make my face stop leaking. But tomorrow I will wake up. I will write. And if I cannot write, I will read. God damn it, I will be interesting.