Today's updates and x-posts: None
Writer's block has struck again. It is not truly writer's block it is just plain disinterest. I am utterly bummed out these days. I guess it is just the depression. I can't seem to get anything started or to stay with it on the rare occasions that I do begin. I am struck with an intense feeling of futility.
I am quite philosophical these days. I am analytical by nature and can see my future. My income will drop still lower. I'll have to do the job search thing. Nothing much is available in Jefferson City. I'll get by for months, hanging onto the house while the bills mount. I'll eventually sell the house to Mario and Kim or to my cousin Eric on a "take over payments" basis. I'll basically lose all my investment. I'll get by in Jefferson CIty, sharing a cheap apartment with my sister. That can only go on so long. At that point I'll move south, probably impose on my kids or on friends until I wind up in a cheap sleeping room. I can't see much of a job in my future. I hate the thought of wiping tables at McDonalds or stocking shelves at Wal-Mart. Given the likelihood that I am right a high one I think I wonder what would be the point. I'll acknowledge that things may not be as bleak as I paint them. Something good may happen that extends my time in the house. I may find a job better than than I think possible. Given the best scenario, however, I fail to see anything I would call a future.
Don't read much into this, but I really would be better off had my suicide attempt succeeded. Honestly. Nothing that has happened since then is of any value to me. I survived to be with my mother when she died. It certainly is nothing I treasure. She did not know I was there. I have stayed around to see my carreer fail, my faculties diminish, my life begin a spiral into poverty and marginality. My kids are grown. My friends, for the most part, have moved on. My family has dissolved into nothing. Where is the value in going on?
I'm a survivor. I always have been. Nobody that knows me will dispute that I'm clever enough to get by. I've adapted well to my blindness and my seizures. Too well, maybe. If I hear one more person tell me "You're dealing with it really well" I will be moved to violence. I will get around despite my vision. I'll not die from a fall because I can arrange my living situation to keep me from falling onto my salad fork and piercing a vital organ. I will live somewhere, even if it is a storm drain. I will eat, even if it is not desirable. I will manage somehow.
I don't think I'm going to like it.