mahiwaga

Is it really that unhealthy to love only what you do? Is it wrong to identify solely with your job, and to not have anything fulfilling outside of it?

I know the answer. I feel it in my gut. But to realize that there is nothing else as fulfilling outside of your job is an equally desolate thought.

I am floating in the void, here.

Now, for some weird (undoubtedly organic disease-related) reason, I get very anti-social during the summertime. I mean, it doesn't make me want to avoid people completely, but, let's say if people call me, or even IM me, I just don't want to reply. I can't explain it. It's some kind of Axis II diagnosis, I'm sure. Some kind of anxiety disorder. And the happy purple pills don't work on Axis II problems.

So, instead of hanging out and meeting people, I hunker down in my 1-bedroom apartment and brood. About what, I don't know. Well, that's not true. It's just difficult to ponder nothingingness. To ponder this emptiness existing outside of my job.

So, yeah, I know, get a hobby. Sure. Well, there's this blog, but despite being broadcast throughout the nether reaches of the Googlescape, it is nonetheless a lonely endeavor. The number of automated bots that visit this site and leave spam-spoor vastly outnumber the few readers of this blog, by several magnitudes of order, in fact.

So I could go out. Which used to give me such joy, however ill-considered and occasionally disastrous at times.

But, as I've whined about before, I really can't do this thing again. I'm just burnt out. I can't go out and meet people and make new friends just one more time. Whether it's some form of insanity, or whether I'm just pathologically lazy, I don't know. But my heart quails at the thought of calling some person up, on the pretext that I have some tenuous connection with them because of work, and ask them if they want to hang-out. Hell, if you think about it, I can't do that easily with my established friends.

There is, without a doubt, something seriously wrong with me.

The trick is, I suppose, to figure out how to get over it before the ever-ticking clock finally runs down, signalling my probable complete mental implosion.

I live in dread of the stark realization that no man is an island, and that human contact is as necessary as air, water, and food for survival. I'd love to be part of the human race somehow, but I just can't seem to figure out how to do it in a way that doesn't paralyze me with fear and self-loathing.

Pathetic.

Ah well.

Everything eventually comes down to do-or-die, no?