As much as I'd hate to see my blog turn into the whinging, melodramatic, my-life-sucks-even-though-I'm-better-off-than-those-poor-unfortunate-sods-in-Somalia variety of blogs which I love to despise, the truth is, in many ways, I'm not happy at the moment. Perhaps unhappy isn't really the word for it, though. I guess, in many ways, my discontent is more along the lines of uncertainty. It's that feeling that makes you want to make frustrated grunting noises and perhaps hit things, except I don't really like hitting things, because my head aches enough without having my knuckles compounding the general state of fucked-upness.
I seriously need to get a BA topic if I want to graduate with honors in psychology, and also need to get my life in order so that I know whether I really want to graduate at all, or rather, so that I know what the hell I'm going to do after I graduate. I've had this recurring fantasy of flipping burgers at McDonald's and being deliriously happy, but I'm sort of convinced that, without a shitload of recreational drugs which I wouldn't be able to afford on my burger flipper salary, I would probably kill myself from the Marxian immiseration of it all.
To be honest, I figure I'm the sort of person who could pretty much do anything and be reasonably happy. I've long since given up the ambition of being tremendously content with my lot. The whole best of all possible worlds idea is something which I'll never buy unless the social sorting algorithm somehow screws itself over immensely and puts me at the top of the heap in a bizarre sort of social order where the rulers sit around eating grapes and entertaining themselves all day, so I figure I'll end up leading the sort of reasonably happy, middle-income sort of lives; you know, the type which will lead to mid-life crises where I buy cars or adopt young mistresses (assuming that I'm attractive or rich enough for this, which is, at this stage, dubious), eventually having a beautiful family which I will, on occasion, thoroughly despise, since this is all the rage nowadays.
I figure that, after almost 24 years of life, I've decided that I'm absolutely hopeless at making decisions, a fact which, quite frankly, alarms me somewhat. Up to now, I've made life changing decisions by generally accepting whichever course, well, I don't know, seems easiest I suppose. It would be extremely helpful if a sign from God appeared just about now. I'd really like to live a life of anaesthetized contentment, but somehow, I have a feeling this will elude me. I'd love to lead a life where I wrote about my discontent, but I'm convinced that I'm such a rubbish writer that nobody would really care to read any of my rubbish along that lines. Hell, even I wouldn't read me.
Ok, that's enough whinging. Sorry for all this whinging. I thoroughly despise myself for all this whinging. But man, did I need to get this shit off my chest.
I seriously need to get a BA topic if I want to graduate with honors in psychology, and also need to get my life in order so that I know whether I really want to graduate at all, or rather, so that I know what the hell I'm going to do after I graduate. I've had this recurring fantasy of flipping burgers at McDonald's and being deliriously happy, but I'm sort of convinced that, without a shitload of recreational drugs which I wouldn't be able to afford on my burger flipper salary, I would probably kill myself from the Marxian immiseration of it all.
To be honest, I figure I'm the sort of person who could pretty much do anything and be reasonably happy. I've long since given up the ambition of being tremendously content with my lot. The whole best of all possible worlds idea is something which I'll never buy unless the social sorting algorithm somehow screws itself over immensely and puts me at the top of the heap in a bizarre sort of social order where the rulers sit around eating grapes and entertaining themselves all day, so I figure I'll end up leading the sort of reasonably happy, middle-income sort of lives; you know, the type which will lead to mid-life crises where I buy cars or adopt young mistresses (assuming that I'm attractive or rich enough for this, which is, at this stage, dubious), eventually having a beautiful family which I will, on occasion, thoroughly despise, since this is all the rage nowadays.
I figure that, after almost 24 years of life, I've decided that I'm absolutely hopeless at making decisions, a fact which, quite frankly, alarms me somewhat. Up to now, I've made life changing decisions by generally accepting whichever course, well, I don't know, seems easiest I suppose. It would be extremely helpful if a sign from God appeared just about now. I'd really like to live a life of anaesthetized contentment, but somehow, I have a feeling this will elude me. I'd love to lead a life where I wrote about my discontent, but I'm convinced that I'm such a rubbish writer that nobody would really care to read any of my rubbish along that lines. Hell, even I wouldn't read me.
Ok, that's enough whinging. Sorry for all this whinging. I thoroughly despise myself for all this whinging. But man, did I need to get this shit off my chest.
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