April 17th, 2008


I Got Zonked By Monty Hall

So, it probably comes as no shock that I haven't been writing much lately. Indeed, that extends all the way through the realm of even the un-blog-publishable. I just haven't been writing.

It's tough when two hours of your morning are gobbled up in pre-work rituals, when you lose another hour to commuting, you pound through 8 hours on the job where reading pretty much takes up all your free time, you lose yet another hour to commuting, and then you've got two hours to wind down before bed. Couple that with the fact that you try to make up for all the weekday monotony by powering through your weekends at warp speed with a beer and a bowling ball in each hand, and that pretty much sums everything up.

Well, not quite, because truth be told, there isn't much of a desire on my part to put hand to keyboard. I can hardly cobble together the occasional e-mail to a friend I haven't seen in weeks, let alone sit down in a darkened room trying to replicate an imaginary world I've concocted in my head.

I feel that there's some kind of monumental shift going on in my life right now. Like, you know how The Incredible Hulk doesn't just BECOME The Incredible Hulk with the snap of a finger; it's a lot of writhing around in agony, slowly growing and turning green, tearing away of the t-shirt with his bare hands with a look of rage-induced anguish on his face. I feel like THAT'S what's going on with me right now. The Incredible Hulk doesn't WANT to become The Incredible Hulk, but it's predestined. Hulk gets mad, Hulk gets big, Hulk goes and kicks some fuckin' ass.

I think that's what it's like to become an adult.

It's a painful transition where you put responsibility above personal desire. And you stop questioning your priorities in lieu of just putting your head down and powering your way through the week, to the next opportunity to drink, to the next paycheck that goes almost entirely to paying down your debt, to the next 3-day weekend six weeks from now that feels further away than the next presidential election.

I'm kind of at this point where I'm finished with school, I'm finished with my year of post-graduation partying, I'm finished with my Moving Far Away Midlife Crisis, I'm back, I'm settling in, I'm acquiring more possessions, I'm setting a plan to move into my own place, I'm entrenched in a job I'm fairly ambivalent about, I'm getting ready to sign up for health benefits and a 401k (only for realsies this time), and it all makes me feel a little wretched inside. Selling Out, I believe, is the term I'm too afraid to use.

But, the nauseating thing is, I'm unequivocal about it. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing. This isn't something I'm just taking for granted because I don't have a better Door #2 to open; this is it. I've gone through Door #2. I've gone through about five other doors for good measure. This is it, it's Door #1 for me.

Grin and bear it, that's the ol' motto right?

I might have more to say, but I just spent 5 minutes looking up that Monty Hall business and now I have to get ready to shower for work. I'll close by saying I just read Chuck Klosterman's 'Killing Yourself To Live' and now I'm on Bukowski's 'Ham On Rye'. Both explain who I am in eerie and wholehearted detail. And no, that's not a good thing.