MY DRY BATHTUB
I know I was supposed to write last night but I didn’t and I know that’s as disappointing as I always am but here we are. Yes I am aware that it’s only day 3 and I’m already fucking it up even though I promised I wouldn’t but let’s be real… if you have to promise the people in your life that you won’t fuck up we both know you will, and you do, and that’s why you have to say you won’t.
I’m sitting in a dry bathtub full of angst and existential dread but no water. I have all my clothes on with my laptop in my lap and I’m banging on the keys trying to write a blog post that makes sense to other humans but I don’t know how to do it. I crave so much more than what people are willing to give… or perhaps they are willing to give it all but they’re too vapid and shallow for it to make a difference in the interaction. But what’s probably closer to the truth is that most people have learned to protect their inner peace by blocking out real thoughts about life and other deeper philosophical concepts because they’ve realized we probably will never figure it out so we might as well watch TV our whole lives instead. This usually bores me to death, but tonight it’s making too much sense to me.
The true source of my restlessness comes from the undying curiosity about the meaning of life, why we are here, what I am destined for, and the question of who I am, really. Maybe these questions don’t need to be answered. Or almost certainly we are not equipped with the capacity to ever understand the meaning of existence and that’s just something I need to accept.
Regardless, I will continue to use it as a reason I am a raging drug/alcohol/sex addict and count on the fact that no one will question that reasoning further because that would require some effort on their part and that sounds fucking boring.