I hate life. I know this is absurd, because all there is IS life. But I hate it. I’m an American, the most privileged people on the planet, born with a silver spoon up our asses, given everything, and the work we have to do isn’t exactly life or death, at least for most of us. But I hate this. I don’t know why I hate this, but I do. I hate life. I hate all this AWARENESS, knowing right from wrong, being outside the Matrix, bah, it’s all crap.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s all better than the alternatives. The two most likely versions of the after-death, in my uneducated American opinion, are either a never-ending family reunion, or nothingness. Let’s look at the first option, and my personal reflections. My parents divorced when I was 9 years old. After a few years of struggle, my Mom valiantly decided that living in her mother’s (my grandmother’s) walk-out basement was a more viable solution than living on the streets. Life wasn’t too bad, for the most part. Except when it came to family reunions. Suddenly 50-90 people were invading my house, and after a couple hours I would hide away in my bedroom with my cats, waiting for everyone to just disappear. So, for me, a family reunion is crap. I’m not looking forward to seeing relatives that died many years ago, because my youthful impressions of these people are much better than the adult impressions I will form of these people. My grandfathers both died before I was 10 years old, and I still hold them both in very high regard. I have learned from my parents and their siblings that my grandfathers were both flawed. My Dad’s Dad was anti-social and a bit of a jerk, giving family members the silent treatment for days at a time. My Mom’s Dad was probably alcoholic. And both smoked heavily, hand-rolled cigarettes and cigars/pipes respectively. (And both died of lung cancer, which is why I don’t smoke.) All in all, I’d rather have a jolly version of my grandfathers than to learn the truth first-hand, and realize they’re both dicks.
The other option, nothingness, is actually more preferable to me than the whole family reunion, mostly because I won’t freaking care. I won’t have to deal with my family, I can just be…nothing. And I won’t even know it. It’ll be great. I can’t wait to just be nothing. I’m not going to expedite the process, but I think nothing is definitely the way to go. I won’t be relaxed, I won’t be asleep, but I’ll just be zero, zilch, an ex-person.
Maybe all this is coming up because it’s election season, and I start to hate life around this time every four years. I hate the fact that my political views tend to clash in some way with everyone I know. And I care less about this than almost everyone I talk to on a regular basis, and a lot of those I don’t speak with. Because of this, everyone, to some extent, pisses me off.
Which is why my wife (the one person who doesn’t usually piss me off) and I are taking a cruise. Or trying to organize it to take one. We still haven’t decided for sure, but it’s almost a sure-thing that we’re going. Or not. I don’t know, but probably yes.
I used to hate the idea of cruises. A vacation, to 20-year-old me, meant awakenings, new experiences, getting away from civilization, rediscovering what it meant to be a part of the world. My first real vacation, to Hawaii, was a disaster, and helped to kill my first real relationship with Laura from Minnesota. (We were totally incompatible, so the relationship was doomed anyhow, but the vacation helped to expedite the doom 6 months or more.) I was still in the mindset that we needed to really EXPERIENCE Hawaii. She wanted to do all the tourist-y stuff. So we did all the tourist-y stuff. and I had a lot of fun. But I didn’t want to have fun doing that stuff, I wanted to have fun just relaxing on a beach, or wandering into a rain forest, just being zen with the world, and maybe learning how to surf.
Now, at age 36, I just don’t care. I just want to be one of the masses, the Sheeple. and let a cruise director dicate my plans. Sure, I can choose from a list of shore-expeditions, like snorkeling or shopping at some rustic-yet-overpriced gazette filled with crappy shirts, hats, and other souvenirs of the local populace. But there’s a specific list of stuff to do. I won’t be visiting the local slums and seeing how the populace actually lives. I’ll be sticking to the shores, with a cruise representative around at all times, until such time we need to board the ship, where I can renew my perma-buzz with boat drinks for days on end, until we reach Puerto Baltimore and I have to return to daily life once again. I don’t want to know myself, to find myself in some other locale. I just want to be stupid and have fun. Until I die, in some means or another.
But this is all crap. I wouldn’t even have written any of this if I really felt this way. I just don’t want the strain of life to weigh down as much as it does. Everything feels 10 times tougher than it actually is. In the past two months, I’ve just sort of reached my limit, and I need some sort of release. I just wish I could find myself at the same time, and live in the world, instead of watching from the sidelines.
I just wish life wasn’t so freaking…life-y.
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Bugloaf 
FML
I hate life. I know this is absurd, because all there is IS life. But I hate it. I’m an American, the most privileged people on the planet, born with a silver spoon up our asses, given everything, and the work we have to do isn’t exactly life or death, at least for most of us. But I hate this. I don’t know why I hate this, but I do. I hate life. I hate all this AWARENESS, knowing right from wrong, being outside the Matrix, bah, it’s all crap.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s all better than the alternatives. The two most likely versions of the after-death, in my uneducated American opinion, are either a never-ending family reunion, or nothingness. Let’s look at the first option, and my personal reflections. My parents divorced when I was 9 years old. After a few years of struggle, my Mom valiantly decided that living in her mother’s (my grandmother’s) walk-out basement was a more viable solution than living on the streets. Life wasn’t too bad, for the most part. Except when it came to family reunions. Suddenly 50-90 people were invading my house, and after a couple hours I would hide away in my bedroom with my cats, waiting for everyone to just disappear. So, for me, a family reunion is crap. I’m not looking forward to seeing relatives that died many years ago, because my youthful impressions of these people are much better than the adult impressions I will form of these people. My grandfathers both died before I was 10 years old, and I still hold them both in very high regard. I have learned from my parents and their siblings that my grandfathers were both flawed. My Dad’s Dad was anti-social and a bit of a jerk, giving family members the silent treatment for days at a time. My Mom’s Dad was probably alcoholic. And both smoked heavily, hand-rolled cigarettes and cigars/pipes respectively. (And both died of lung cancer, which is why I don’t smoke.) All in all, I’d rather have a jolly version of my grandfathers than to learn the truth first-hand, and realize they’re both dicks.
The other option, nothingness, is actually more preferable to me than the whole family reunion, mostly because I won’t freaking care. I won’t have to deal with my family, I can just be…nothing. And I won’t even know it. It’ll be great. I can’t wait to just be nothing. I’m not going to expedite the process, but I think nothing is definitely the way to go. I won’t be relaxed, I won’t be asleep, but I’ll just be zero, zilch, an ex-person.
Maybe all this is coming up because it’s election season, and I start to hate life around this time every four years. I hate the fact that my political views tend to clash in some way with everyone I know. And I care less about this than almost everyone I talk to on a regular basis, and a lot of those I don’t speak with. Because of this, everyone, to some extent, pisses me off.
Which is why my wife (the one person who doesn’t usually piss me off) and I are taking a cruise. Or trying to organize it to take one. We still haven’t decided for sure, but it’s almost a sure-thing that we’re going. Or not. I don’t know, but probably yes.
I used to hate the idea of cruises. A vacation, to 20-year-old me, meant awakenings, new experiences, getting away from civilization, rediscovering what it meant to be a part of the world. My first real vacation, to Hawaii, was a disaster, and helped to kill my first real relationship with Laura from Minnesota. (We were totally incompatible, so the relationship was doomed anyhow, but the vacation helped to expedite the doom 6 months or more.) I was still in the mindset that we needed to really EXPERIENCE Hawaii. She wanted to do all the tourist-y stuff. So we did all the tourist-y stuff. and I had a lot of fun. But I didn’t want to have fun doing that stuff, I wanted to have fun just relaxing on a beach, or wandering into a rain forest, just being zen with the world, and maybe learning how to surf.
Now, at age 36, I just don’t care. I just want to be one of the masses, the Sheeple. and let a cruise director dicate my plans. Sure, I can choose from a list of shore-expeditions, like snorkeling or shopping at some rustic-yet-overpriced gazette filled with crappy shirts, hats, and other souvenirs of the local populace. But there’s a specific list of stuff to do. I won’t be visiting the local slums and seeing how the populace actually lives. I’ll be sticking to the shores, with a cruise representative around at all times, until such time we need to board the ship, where I can renew my perma-buzz with boat drinks for days on end, until we reach Puerto Baltimore and I have to return to daily life once again. I don’t want to know myself, to find myself in some other locale. I just want to be stupid and have fun. Until I die, in some means or another.
But this is all crap. I wouldn’t even have written any of this if I really felt this way. I just don’t want the strain of life to weigh down as much as it does. Everything feels 10 times tougher than it actually is. In the past two months, I’ve just sort of reached my limit, and I need some sort of release. I just wish I could find myself at the same time, and live in the world, instead of watching from the sidelines.
I just wish life wasn’t so freaking…life-y.
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