So, on top of the fact that I am feeling guilty for missing a day of this blog, I am feeling like a failure – which is how I always like to start out my Labor Day weekend.
Here’s what I’ve learned from recent experiences – vacations don’t work for me if I go alone. I have to go with somebody else, so I can be aggravated instead of depressed. The only way for me to take a vacation is to trade one negative emotion for another. So, I’m thinking for Labor Day that I will be traveling to the city of Rage.
Every day that I get older, I feel the possibility of the life I truly want to lead slipping away a bit further and further. (Or is it farther and farther? I could look this up, but I don’t want to. Soon, Google will just know that I need an answer to this and fix it for me, at which point, the human race will be totally useless, and all the art and culture we have generated will dissolve into nothingness, because nothing matters and we’re all insignificant). At any rate, I’m feeling a lot of regret today.
I will never be able to have sex in my 20’s. That is to say, i will never be able to have sex and still be able to function the next morning (who am I kidding – I wasn’t even in that good of shape in my 20’s).
Best case scenario, from this point forward, I can only have mid to late 30’s sex. That is sex that has to be put on a calendar along with a list of corresponding dietary dos and don’ts.
I will never be the wunderkind 20 year-old-success – the hot young breakout star. My one hope is to be more like Nathaniel Hawthorne, who achieved fame at the middle of his life (you might remember him as the man who tormented you in high school lit class. The man who believed that eighty-seven million words was worth a thousand words.)
My biggest fear is that anything I achieve will occur after my parents are gone. I don’t want them to leave this earth with a loser for a son.
Incidentally, I’m tired of people saying “awww” when I call myself a loser. That is an accurate term for who and what I am. Because you must remember that, at the end of the day, I am the one who determines whether or not I am successful. And since I define success as being the best at whatever it is I am doing, I am, by my own reckoning, a loser. Also, I sleep on a 15 year old ikea mattress, I have no furniture, I’ve only ever been with one woman, I have written books and plays that ten total people have read, the IRS could care less about me, and, as I have already mentioned, in the cosmic scheme of things, I am insignificant. Just ask the Milky Way galaxy.
MILKY WAY GALAXY: He’s onto something.
Thank you, Milky Way Galaxy.
MILKY WAY GALAXY: Don’t mention it.
So, then, the problem is how I define success – perhaps I should define success by how I treat others, and by how much kindness I project into the world.
MILKY WAY GALAXY: You and I both know that’s bullshit. If you can afford a Tesla, you’re doing well. If not, you’re a disaster.
I know, I know.