(Step 1: Admit that one cannot control one’s suck.)
Hello out there to all you wimps, misfits, creepy basement-dwellers, and human garbage. My name’s Doug, and I am a loser. I am a bitter, self-punishing, clinically depressive, passive-aggressive, binge-drinking, socially-averse, involuntarily celibate, chronically underemployed, high-functioning-learning-disabled 41-year-old adult child.
I am newly moved back into the house I grew up in and am pretending to work on a master’s degree at the local university. In reality, however, I have spent the past 72 hours resolutely refusing to get started on the second draft of an important assignment because I totally misunderstood it in the first draft. I just will not face up to such a high level of suck, or indeed, that I am going to have to make such grievous mistakes fairly often if I’m to learn anything from this program and get a degree.
Indeed, if I want any shot at the last half of my life being anything other than a slow inexorable descent into the deepest circles of hell, I am clearly going to have to embrace the essential cosmic joke here and begin actively pursuing the kinds of failure I have no constructive way to deal with - the kinds that make me want to go off my meds and just shamble around in a walking coma of self-pitying rage.
It’s a case of having to tempt my self-destructive instincts now or watch life’s realities slowly dissolve me over a period of years. It’s been made much worse by the fact that I’ve been prolonging the inevitability of it all since I was, oh, 25 or so—about the age I discovered that work was not only never going to be my life, but was actually going to be a garden of psychic hurt and a lose/lose situation for me.
So I hereby embrace my essential suck. I am, in and of myself, worth exactly dick to any decent human being, and I am okay with that. Fuck you, world, we have nothing to offer each other, and yet I must go on. Anybody have any ideas how?
Come on, fuckoffs, we’re all in this together. Let’s help each other!