I'm starting to get used to what I'm doing for a living. That doesn't necessarily mean I LIKE what I'm doing for a living, but it does mean that the urge to walk in front of a moving bus in the morning as a means to avoid a few hours officebound is less all-encompassing. I guess that's all anyone can hope for.
The best thing I've got going for me right now: my Wednesday Night bowling league. How pathetic is that? It's the single one only thing I look forward to on any given week. It starts with a train ride to Tacoma with Jake & Lee Ann where they whisk me away to their house where they eat food and I change out of my work clothes. Then, we hop majestically back into the dented gray Kia and whisk ourselves merrily to the bowling alley where I order my food. 15 minutes of practice bowling brings us to 7 o'clock whereupon we commence the first of three games against that week's bitter rival. 4 vs 4, total team points per game, and then total points over the three games. The potential to win 4 points in any given week. When that's over, I grab my gear, catch a ride with my dad back to his house where the two of us with my brother drink beer for an hour. At around 10, my brother and I grab a couple beers each - in case you didn't know, the Tacoma-to-Seattle run is exactly two beers long - and pile into his car where his sober girlfriend drives us back to Seattle. We listen to loud music and talk about any number of topics, but mostly about the night's bowling results. I've raised my average from a lowly 120 up to 152 over the last few months. And this is the only joy I currently experience.
Of course, it doesn't help that I'm sexually deficient. The sad, lowly state I'm in doesn't even have me INTERACTING with anyone remotely attractive for anything more than the briefest of pleasantries. And you can only stare at the toned posterior on the treadmill in front of you for so long before it all just runs together with every other toned posterior.
If it sounds like a broken record, I can break it down into a pocket-sized outline you can laminate and stick in your wallet:
I'm in debt up to my ass.
I don't like my job.
I'm overweight and unattractive.
I'm in a rut that saps all of my energy and creative thought.
I've got nothing to look forward to.
I need to get laid.
Bitch bitch bitch, that's all you ever ARE. Somebody said that somewhere and I thought it was clever at the time. Besides, only assholes focus on all the positives in their lives.
So I'll leave you, with a full bladder, a mushy mind, and absolute apathy for all creatures living or dead. Off I go into the windy distance to run another 3 invisible miles on a treadmill, sweating off just enough weight to avoid growing another pant-size. But I'm not bitter. I'm not really anything. I could be clinically something, but I like to say I'm Tired, Not Sleepy.