What’s My Motivation?
Maybe this:
Depression, in the normal, non-psychological, sense, certainly doesn’t cover it. It’s not the sort of sadness that implies. The sadness, is there, I mean, but it’s not paramount—more peripheral.
It’s more a sort of malaise, a general faded quality to things, a weariness. An emptiness.
A lot of it, I realize, comes from the way the newness of things wears off, my apartment specifically. I still like the apartment, of course; it’s just that it’s no longer exciting and different. It’s all right, it’s just near.
Another part of comes from the truly phenomenal amount of stuff I have, and my inability to be entertained by it. I have more books, CDs, and videos than places to put them, but no desire to read, listen to, or watch them. I have this vast pile of things doing nothing, absolutely nothing, except taking up space. And still it feels like there’s nothing here.
Or, maybe:
I woke up, lay in bed for a bit, did the morning bathroom things. I went downstairs and made toast, and watched a movie I don’t remember only a few hours later. It stopped raining, and I went outside for a cigarette. Then inside, video, shift the mess around without actually doing anything with it, food, cigarette, inside, video, and now this, twelve hours later, thinking about some whisky.
Waste doesn’t even begin to describe what I do with time.
Filed by shaun at May 27th, 2002 under fidelite
Your life is pretty damn lame.
Comment by Scarwood — 27 May 2002 @ 1:34 am