Dear Poor Lucky Me,
I don’t get what I’m supposed to do anymore. Are we all supposed to plod along- work, eat, get drunk, sleep, work, eat, get drunk, sleep until we retire? Is retirement the goal or am I missing something?
I guess I feel like I’m seriously not getting the point of having an average life. I don’t mean average in a bad way, just you know- normal.
Signed,
Maybe I’m Just Depressed
Dear Maybe,
I’m pretty sure that a general feeling of dissatisfaction or angst is part of our evolutionary advantage. My dog seems ridiculously happy all the time, but when was the last time you heard about a dog exploring space or toying with the theory of relativity? I can’t even get my dog to follow a recipe and cook me dinner for god’s sake.
Without the very normal human feeling that you are missing out on something, you wouldn’t be driven to try new things.
I used to try and fill it up with cigarettes and booze and tacos and Red Bull. Then later I tried exercise, reading, writing, more tacos, soy milk, and Butterfingers. Nothing worked. I ended up fat and sleepless but with a lot of muscles from working out. Then yesterday I decided to think of the hole like an engine. Right now it’s like the engine in a hand held fan. It’s going to push me off the couch and around my apartment until I am inspired to start something. Maybe eventually the motor will get bigger and it will propel me to finish things.
Poor Lucky Me
