I left my nocturnal lifestyle out of a desire to be ready if the odds decide the job posting that takes me is a daytime one. I woke up this morning, at 7AM, with ideas, things I wanted to bring into reality. I had plans.
Then this dysfunctional piece of shit chemical imbalance decided to wake up too. ‘Hey, you!’ it chirped cheerily, having sucked every ounce of positive energy out of the rest of my psyche in mere moments. ‘I’m eatin’ GOOD this mornin’! You should try doing something good for yourself more often!’
Yeah, go fuck yourself, me. I’m telling you, evolution really cocked it up when it decided to not worry about the ‘fuck it’ chemical machine being more prone to breaking than a McDonald’s ice cream machine. I just love having to fight my own mind just so I can actually wash my pale ass daily, or wear something beyond four-day old boxer-briefs and a bathrobe. Granted I would still wear the bathrobe but I’d have some fucking clean underwear at the very least.
The worst part is there’s no fix of course, just treatments and measures you can take to stave depression off. I’m too poor to take antidepressants (and already have enough trouble dropping fat) and am already taking what measures I can. I grit my teeth and muster the amassed willpower generated by my mind, the sole representation of what separates us from the animals, so that I may accomplish the herculean task of getting out of the god damned bed. Oh, what’s that? I need to cook breakfast too?
No, fuck it. I’ll just go down to the corner store and get an egg sandwich.
No, fuck it. I’ll just skip breakfast.
No, fuck it. I’ll just go back to fucking bed because who gives a shit. Eh? Eh?
That’s a freakin’ good day too. I sat at my desk just mad and upset for a good forty-five minutes before I finally had the good sense to write about it. It doesn’t fix anything by writing about it of course—it just makes me able to push the worst of the sadsack-shitheap out of mind so I can hopefully stay out of bed long enough to get a manic episode swinging in.
I don’t know. It probably helps that I’m aware of how screwballed my brain is. I had intended to write a post about hypnosis today, as well as a short story toying with the concept. I suppose I’ll just watch something comfortable and soothing before passing out at a reasonable hour.
Yeah, yeah go fuck yourself Kem Ickles von Embalaanc. If you had a body it’d probably look like the Metamucil mascot but with no bada, no bing and too much boom.
