I think it’s just a matter of time before reality decides to bite me in the ass. I’ve been skating by these past few weeks, trying to desperately catch up on some direly needed sleep, and failing to do so. Tomorrow I am once again on call, and I know for a fact that I’m never going to shake this damned cold. And sadly, my next full weekend off isn’t for another week and a half.

Objectively speaking, as far as work goes, and how little free time I have to fuck around, my life sucks.

Relatively speaking, as far as the rest of my life has gone, I guess I really don’t have it bad at all and I don’t understand why I’m bitching and moaning.

(Such is the life of a masochist.)

I continue to hopelessly ponder my rather singular existence. I mean, yeah, I’ve got a few friends, and my parents and my brother are only a 2 hour drive away (when there isn’t any traffic), but I dunno. I just feel lonely for some reason.

No, it’s not because I don’t have a significant other. There are times in which, indeed, I pine, but talking to various people (the latest being E), I’m far from being convinced. Honestly, a romantic relationship seems more of a pain-in-the-ass and a timesuck than it’s worth, at least as far as the parameters of my life are concerned. Bottomline is that I barely have any time to properly take care of myself, much less include someone else deeply into my life. Call it rationalization, call it what you will for the reason that I avoid dating.

(I admit it. I am a chickenshit. But that doesn’t invalidate my point.)

Rather, I think I just miss hanging out with people. The way my life goes, I simply no longer have this luxury. Any free time that I have, I have to take care of various aspects of my life. Paying bills, basic hygiene, sleep. That last one seems to be occupying a lot of my time lately, particularly since I feel like I’ve been sick for a long time now.

Bleh.

So in general, I guess I’m just longing for a life outside of this one. Dreaming of free time, fearing that in the end, there is no such thing, and I’m just going to be bound to this treadmill known as debt-repayment and sometimes also known as the American Dream until I drop dead from a heart attack, never mind my vast, whimsical, and fantastic ambitions.

Why, oh, why, can’t I seem to refuse to run this rat-race, and for once think outside of the box?

I blame it all on subtle brain damage from mild hypoxia when I got my tonsils taken out as a child.

Or some such shit.

It would be nice to know that someone gave a shit, but it’s probably way too much to ask. The only person who seems to worry about my existence is my mom, and this not really all that comforting because she merely harries and harasses me about all the things I haven’t taken care of, and makes me worry even more about the possibility that my life is falling apart and that if I don’t take care of my shit now I may find myself homeless, broke, or possibly dead by Monday. I could use a lot less anxiety in my life. What I crave is sympathy.

No, what I need, really, is another vacation. Despite the fact that I just had one a couple of months ago.

Really, one of these days I may very well lose my mind. I keep hoping uselessly for someone to save me from myself, but salvation is probably way too gargantuan of a task for any mere human being.

What I would like is maybe 15 minutes of tranquility every day, free from the worries of the world, simply being happy with what I am at this moment. I can’t help think that this should be an easy task, and yet I have yet to achieve it.

I feel like I’m being slowly pounded into the ground, one mallet blow at a time.