Dark and Stormy

Sometimes, on days like today, when the weather is weird and I'm not sure what season it's supposed to be and I'm overextended and under-rested and having a bad hair day and the afternoon just will not end -- sometimes, on days like today, I find myself struggling to live with myself. Maybe it's nothing, maybe it's normal, maybe everybody hears a random Warren Zevon song on their iPod and they start wondering whether the world would be different if they ceased to exist. Disappear, never to be seen or heard again. Not suicidal or anything, just ... existential.

I often joke that when I am no longer of this Earth, I will be driving the bus directly to Hell to assume my rightful place at Satan's left hand. Fire and brimstone do not scare me; I have lived through the Presidential administrations of two different Bushes, one of whom could not even successfully run a baseball team. Billy Joel and I are in agreement: "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints; the sinners are much more fun." And I already work in some super-secret Ninth Circle of Hell, the one reserved for middle managers and the designer of the collapsible cubicle wall and the inventor of Muzak.

And it's not like I expect to go to Heaven, either, to join in those pinochle games in the clouds, where one great-grandmother can give me shit for not knowing how to cook a two-minute egg and the other can raise holy hell because I wantonly leave the house without applying lipstick. Much as I would love them, I just don't see myself strolling around inside the Pearly Gates having spirited (heh) debates with my father-in-law about the merits of the designated hitter while my grandfather plies me with shots of blackberry brandy for a change.

What I think I am most afraid of is that nothing comes after -- that I will spend an eternity in an infinite abyss of nothingness, of desolate loneliness, where I won't remember anything or anyone I once knew. No cheesesteaks. No Mexico. No "War Pigs" or Weird Al or "What A Wonderful World." No dragonflies or daffodils or Dutch-processed cocoa. My disembodied soul will also be disemboweled, directionless. Dark, and oh so very alone.

And what I know I actually fear, more than even that? Is that sometimes, on days like today, I will feel all those miles and all those aeons and all those metric tons of solitude when I am still here. This is what depression feels like to me.


  1. wow rockle. way to roll the funny with the hip and then go all deep and dark.

    Warren Zevon- eggcellent. I've heard only a few songs, and have liked them. Thanks for reminding me of him.

    if my life and your post is represenative of other people (which i'm not totally sure about), then it's perfectly normal to have moments of feeling infinitismal smallness and abyssness.

    I've finally come to peace with maybe nothing coming after life. It's like sleeping! Without dreams. It doesn't bother me that for a couple of hours day, I have no awareness. Now, stretch that out. That's the worst that can happen (excluding fire and brimstone). Hah! I can handle sleep. I can handle lots of it.

    Nah, my fear is wasting my time on Earth. And to be honest, not awnting to be a downer but, I've never liked it when other people went to bed early and I was left in the playroom alone. Not as fun.

    anyways, why waste time being down, when it's obviously our playtime right this minute? no brooding, plz. kthxbai.

  2. Yeah, sorry ... I have seasonal affective disorder in the worst way and of course you hear "Keep Me In Your Heart" and "In My Life" and "My Sweet Lord" back to back to back on the iPod and you begin to wonder if the Universe is maybe trying to tell you something. Plus, your favorite presidential candidate is dropping out of the race, to add insult to injury.

    And then you go to bed and dream about lolcats and suddenly, everything is not all the way better, but it's definitely bearable.

  3. You were rooting for Richardson? I liked him. Very down to earth, funny. When they asked the candidates what they would take back, I loved his reply. Hilary's reply to that question was blah. I wish she'd pulled a Richardson.

    Who are you rooting for now?

  4. Not really sure. Most of the time I'm a big ol' pinko commie bleeding-heart liberal of the radical variety, so nobody really appeals to me. There are pluses and minuses of everyone still running, and I can't figure out if I want to be optimistic or pessimistic. Maybe I'll start backing Kucinich because he's a lunatic wingnut whose wife (a) is smoking hot and (b) has a tongue piercing and (c) is TOTALLY smoking hot.

    Like: like, haha France, your future First Lady might be a knocked-up over the hill former Italian supermodel, but our First Lady is a redheaded bombshell who used to work for Mother Teresa, so SUCK IT.