so far this week I’ve mostly been lying around the house feeling nauseous and listening to Open Mike Eagle. not the worst way to spend a couple of days, but it could be better. there’s a good joke somewhere in here — that my body’s agreeing with my predilection for hyperbole — I actually get sick when I think about the future. funny, but a hard punchline to land. I tried to tell my sweetheart and she just felt sorry for me, which alright, I’ll take that too.
we’re getting towards the end of the summer, the end of warmth and freedom. there are two paths ahead of me: one of stability and drudgery, the other adventure and absolute terror. I’m not sure which would be better for me, but damn, I’d like to know what to expect from September. I’m bad at long term plans, but this is trying my tolerance for uncertainty. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I haven’t been eating right, and really, that’s what’s making me feel crummy, not the future. but it’s easier to blame something that’s out of my control.
and now I have to blog about it, like a good millennial, who thinks the minutiae of my anxiety merits extensive documentation. I mean, why not? I might as well write this as a break from all the other things I’m trying to write that aren’t working the way I want them to. whatever whatever.
at least I’ve been listening to good music. and watching good tv. and I can keep making terrible-good jokes. who cares about the future when you have all that? maybe if I can make myself believe that lie I won’t feel so ill? I do mostly believe that. take your joy where you can find it and all that. it’s a beautiful day outside, there’s a nice breeze coming through my window, the cat thinks I’m alright. good enough.