Ex nihil nihilo fit.
Pardon the stereotypical gothiness of this, but everything sucks. I am, put mildly, unhappy. There are a number of things "wrong":
- I'm quite tired of being "the picture guy" - at least in the way that I am seen. I started taking these digital pictures so that I would have subject matter for paintings. But other people expect things now. "How come you never take pictures of me?" they ask. "Because I would never want to paint you," I think, but I don't say it.
- My birthday is coming up in two weeks. I feel obligated to throw a party, but I have absolutely no desire to celebrate anything. I'll be turning 34. I'm divorced, alone, and sit in a cubicle doing a job for which the highest praise I can muster is "it's tolerable."
- I can't even begin to figure out what it is I need, what it is that would make my days not feel like just another step along the road to dusty death.
No, that last one is not entirely true. But there is no explaining it. There is no way I can imagine to write what it is. It's not a matter of lack of clarity, but rather that I don't think in words. Never have.
Oringinal post: http://mbarrick.livejournal.com/63302.html