2010 may not
have been a bad year. It just needed to be a great year after my 2009.
I probably did
not notice how bad 2009 was since I wrote a lot more. It was not actually
the writing, but more likely the publishing. That is weird because I
did not have a lot to say, and it also led to poor writing habits. Damn
the news media.
I do not mean
the conservative bullshit that fed my depression upon returning to
my parents in 2009, but the Illinois Central College newspaper, The
Harbinger. Writing movie reviews, no problem. Writing opinion pieces,
big problem. It was not the let down that I always had to endure when
the satirical bite was removed, but is was wanting to save the ideas
for pieces for the paper. Because of that, I was not writing the stories
when they came to mind. Thus, my production was dramatically less, but
the college audience was larger, so it was a necessary sacrifice. When
you are an unattractive 29 year-old with nothing to offer, you have
to take any attention you can get, even though it is more of a delusion.
Again, 2009
sucked. My highlight was selling out to a college newspaper. Based on
that, wanting to kill myself if 2010 was not an improvement seemed just.
2010 needed
to bury 2009, especially since I had just entered my third decade of
being directionless. In all honesty, the lack of direction has been
pressing on me since I turned 28 (all the cool people die at 27), but
I could ignore since I was getting laid triweekly.
I know I will
sound like a pig, but after an intercourse-free 2009, I could not go
on if 2010 was the same. It is pitiful, but at this age, how else do
I know if I am worthwhile? My therapy era started in 2006, the first
year where I did not get any action since becoming sexually active,
so does anyone want to invision where two nookie-free years would leave
me.
2006 was a bad
year for me, the bankruptcy I envision happening in 2011 came up that
year in an attempt to be the most awesome of guys. The entire reason
I went bankrupt was because that was what I thought was right. I would
like to think I have always lived my life that way. Returning back to
the Palahniuk attitude, if I would have died before the result could
be witnessed, I would still die at peace knowing I was trying to do right.
Unfortunately, I guess I thought there would be worldly rewards if I
did not
.
Really, the
reward could have been as simple as seeing something good coming out
of what I was devoting my time and debt to. It was about proving that
being a nice guy would be worthwhile. Instead, I am broken down by a
junkie who would fuck everyone (dead beat dads, toothless addicts, fat
fucks) except me. It was not about getting laid, it was more about not
being the guy who was getting laid. What hurts more is finding out about
the assholes she had screwed prior to meeting this nice guy and not even
being offered to pay for the services she provided like the fatties
got to.
Everyone I respect
(and despise) seem to have gotten to end up with someone by age 27 where
they had a chance to meet the one person that with a little faith (a
huge demand of a relationship) they can be happy with. I am talking about
something nearly tangible. Couples who got married or had kids. No,
the happy ending may not be there for the relationship, but history
cannot deny the greatness at some point. It just leaves me feeling like
a fuck up, especially after the reinforced nice guys finish last stigma.
An unsuccessful
Zoosk membership did not help the self esteem either.
No comments:
Post a Comment