I was talking to a friend online today, and we were both wondering just why the fuck we're both occasionally optimistic about our lives. Why do we set ourselves up for the inevitable gut punch?
I blame Brief Glimpses of False Hope. They confuse me; they make me think life actually has true meaning, that I won't die miserable and alone, when I know damn well what's in store for me.
For example, why why why do I always develop stupid teenage-like crushes on women who have absolutely no romantic interest in me? Because I meet so few people I can stand that when I finally do I kind of fall for them? Maybe. But this needs to stop, because it's fucking killing me inside. This is the entire process:
-Hey, she's cool and laughs at my jokes and isn't a goddamn hillbilly. Awesome.
-Shit, she's all I think about.
-I'm nothing more than a clown to her. Now I'm so depressed I can barely function.
-Hey, this new person is cool and laughs at my jokes and isn't a goddamn hillbilly. Awesome.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
This is an overshare, isn't it? This isn't something I should be blogging about. I should stick to hating Jay Leno and Sarah Palin and reviewing award shows at length. But I can't even write lately because I'm an empty shell of a human being. Jesus, I sound Emo now. That's all I need!
The only things that make me feel better are food and alcohol, but since no one loves a fat drunk, these are but temporary solutions to my problem.
Don't worry about me, though. A Brief Glimpse of False Hope will come around soon and I'll stupidly think things will be different.
Then they won't be different. I'm already bracing for the gut punch. Each punch hurts a little more than the previous one.