January 1st, 2009



You'd think that when you got to be my age, you'd do it better. But even still, when I talk to this one female co-worker - who is surprisingly 5 years older than me; who is not surprisingly married - I sound like a babbling lunatic. It takes all of my fortified energy to withstand a one-sided conversation fraught with overtures of potential friendship without hyperventilating and collapsing in spasmatic fits of utter worthlessness. As it stands, I just get all red in the face and start sweating profusely; I'm not going to blame it all on 9/11, but maybe a collective losing of weight could alleviate some of these side effects.

I'm pretty sure I can only withstand so many Years Of Transition before somebody has to put me out to pasture. 2008, without a doubt, was the single worst year in the history of the world, and I say that LITERALLY without a microscopic speck of hyperbole. 2008 is causing me to consider starting a brand new journal and calling it "70,000 Reasons To Hate Everyone & Everything." Not that anything REALLY changes; the same corrupt, fucked-up bullshit happened in 2008 that happens every year in every decade in every generation. But it just seems that every ounce of syphilitic, diarrhea-infused shit hit the fan in one calendar year, thus giving me one monster of a migrane.

The obvious place to start, especially for someone like me, would be in the Seattle Sports Arena. We start the year with the Seahawks taking a 14-point lead in the snowy Green Bay field of Lambeau only to get routed by practically giving up 42 unanswered in losing 42-20, ending our playoff hopes in the Divisional Round. Meanwhile, the Sonics are well on their way to their worst record in 41 years. Then the Mariners take the field with a bloated, worthless lineup of sorry sacks of shit, lose over 100 games with a payroll of over 100 million. Then, we've got to deal with the trial, the scandal, the corruption that was the Sonics leaving Seattle for Oklahoma City, thereby ending my association with the NBA. Never fear though, because there's still hope for the football teams! Sure, the Huskies have one of the toughest schedules in the nation going into the season, but all the better to get us to a bowl when we scratch and claw our way to 6 wins! Oh, wait, scratch that. Subtract 6 from that prediction and you'd be right on the button. But ... but we still have the Seahawks! Oh, damn, down goes Hasselbeck in the preseason. Down goes Branch, Engram, Burleson, Obamanu, Payne, Kerney, Walter Jones, the rest of the O-Line, Hasselbeck in the regular season (twice), Leroy Hill, our 6th round draft pick long-snapper, Leonard Weaver for a couple games, Mo-Morris for a couple games, another O-lineman, Seneca Wallace for a couple games ... let's just say it would've been easier to count the players who stayed healthy all year. 4-12. Fortunately, the Husky basketball team got out of the calendar year without Brockman severing a toe or something.

But, I'm not going to dwell on a historically abysmal sports season. Not when our economy is in the toilet, when there are still soldiers dying in a useless war, when Africans are still getting butchered by the countryful, when people on The Hills matter more than anything real.

Fuck all that, though. That has nothing to do with me. I got my car fixed (that's good) and now owe more money to credit cards than I've ever owed before (that's bad). I moved out of my dad's house and into an apartment like a real-live adult (that's good) and proceeded to compound my debt on furnishing that real-live adult apartment (that's bad). I got a job way back in February (that's good) and it's the same exact one I had before I moved to New York; now let me tell you why that's bad. First of all, you could give me nine lobotomies and my job still wouldn't challenge me, brainwise. The only difference between me and a postal worker, or a DMV customer service person, or a fucking bus driver is that I get to break up the monotony by reading shit on the Internet. Of course, I knew this would happen going in, but it's not something you admit to yourself at the time because that would be getting off on the wrong foot. And let's face it, 90% of any endeavor is mental. Go in with a positive attitude and more often than not you'll actually find a way to enjoy yourself. It's not like I go around pouting at my job for forty hours a week, I'm essentially as good-natured as I am in any public situation, but there are side effects. Dangerous side effects that kill me a little more each day.

A creative mind is essentially a bone-dry radiator if it's not challenged. Try creating on a bone-dry radiator and you're bound to sieze up and ruin your motor. My brain has been dormant for so long, I'm utterly incapable of focusing on anything for any extended period of time. This is the shit they diagnose as A.D.D. for semi-retarded children who "act out" in school. I'm doing the same things day-in and day-out, therefore my mind is on autopilot. I can't write, I can't do anything if there's a TV or a Computer in front of me, I haven't read a book that hasn't been cracked open while my ass has been on a toilet in I don't know how long. I wake up early, I listen to my iPod on my way to work, I work, I listen to more iPod on my way home, and then it's all TV and Internet until whenever I feel like going to sleep. This is sometimes broken up by little projects, like my photo scanning or my gym membership.

And that's another thing that kicked my ass in 2008; my lazy, slothful default setting. Living the better part of a year at home turned me into High School Steve, The Musical (Now With More Masturbating!). Let's see if we can remember what Steve was like in high school: overweight shut-in who watched too much TV, excelled at school even though he never applied himself (just substitute "work" for "school" and you get the correlation), couldn't impress a member of the female population unless she was manipulated by his fanticizing mind in the throes of self-adulation. Essentially, Steve in high school hated himself and Steve of 2008 hasn't hated himself this much since he was High School Steve. Fortunately, since my job renders me an invalid, I don't have the mental capacity or fortitude to dwell on such unpleasant assessments of myself.


So, what else is there?

Do what you gotta do: enhance the positive. A new political administration is readying itself for ascension; that's good, right? Hell, Anybody But Bush was all but a certainty, so we've got to be grateful on that count. And shit, with "Chinese Democracy" coming out and not sucking as bad as I assumed it would ... that's two of my life goals achieved right there! New Guns N' Roses and Vote For A Winning Presidential Candidate! 4-slice toaster, I'm coming for ya.

And let's think about it this way: I left New York because I didn't have any friends; I'm living in Seattle because that's where they are, so I'm up on that score quite a bit. I'm out on my own, somewhat, and I've lived a third of a year with Nate and things are running as smoothly as ever. My brother lives a couple miles from me, so I can pretty much see him whenever I want, and I'm in a bowling league with my dad so I get to see him at least once a week. And shit man, at least I HAVE a job. It may not be stimulating, but it pays le rent (and has some ladies there who aren't too shabby to look at either). Anything I'm lacking in my life right now - a steady sex life, a live-in prostitute ... er, girlfriend, a satisfying drug habit and a 12-inch boner at all times - I've never really had anyway, so what do I know about regret?

All I can do is take care of what I'm able to control and fuck the rest. Let fate sort it all out.

Look, I'm never going to be happy, that's just my nature. I can fake it like a champ, but I can't fake it to myself. I could have all the shit I bitch about not having if I REALLY wanted it, but let's face it, I'd still find a way to be miserable. I want desperately who and what I can never have, and I reject and dismiss everything I've got or could have as beneath me. Sure, I appreciate the friendships I've got, as I don't really have that many people in my life I'd truly consider friends, compared to other people. But, I could still stand to be better. Then again, who couldn't?