I’m really glad these fucking Christmas days are over. Not only does the radio keep pumping out shitty songs that make me want to tear down the Christmas tree so I can impale myself from ear to ear with the spike in the top, not only are the days darkest this time of the year, not only do people you don’t see all year round suddenly pop up to wish you a happy year (whatever that means), but for once in the year there is this moral imperative to be nice to fucking everyone, especially homeless people, but also family, but the worst is: you can’t escape it.
It was a lot more fun when I wasn’t the only one who hated every aspect about it and who made fun of all the meaningless rituals. But my dad has been dead for two years now. I mean physically, I guess mentally, he’s been dead for about five or six or seven years. Hard to tell. Perhaps I never saw him alive, it’s quite possible.
After my dad died I lost my favorite comedian, 80 percent of my inner drive, any pride I had left to make myself look half-way decent, but also the only person I could really talk to in my native quagmire. Now I have to face it alone. So outside of this couch there is no intellectual in this bog. So I have taken on the dual role of being the town’s idiot and the town’s wise man.
This comes fairly easy as no one will listen to either of them. So no one notices it if for example the one week I am the idiot and the next week I’m the intellectual.
Normally I would get attacked for having the mind-boggling arrogance to call myself an intellectual, but fortunately no one around here knows what it means, and simply thinks it’s a rare brain disease which makes people read and write books and do nothing productive nor constructive all day long. So basically, they have a much better understanding of what an intellectual is, than most any dictionary.
NEVER underestimate the bog dwellers. Never. They know nothing and refuse to absorb new knowledge and for good reason, because they have all the wisdom they need. If they see something they can’t eat or fuck, they piss on it and move on. A very commendable attitude, which makes life so much easier.
And never leads to DESPAIR.
Now, despair comes easy to me, having way too much imagination, combined with way too much desires and way too little self-discipline.
So most of the time I want to blow my brains out. But I don’t own a gun. In fact I’m against owning fire-arms. And any way, I’ve heard too many stories about people who only blew their jaw off. So no, thank you. Underneath all the despair lurks too much inexplicable will to live, so suicide is definitely NOT anywhere near the bright side.
And though suicide by the sea-side holds a certain poetic appeal, I’m too much of a solipsist to be swallowed by the ocean or any other water at all. So again, no, no, no, there won’t be any suicide.
But despair, yes, there is plenty of that. Will I ever find a job I like and is acutally right for me with enough career opportunities? Will I finally get some small token of recognition for my creative output outside of getting published in magazines nobody reads, not even me. Will I ever get my self-discipline back? I once had it, but when I started devoting most of my attention to women endowed with a more than healthy libido, it saw it’s chance and ran off to live the Bohemian life. So at night, after I pie in the garden, I yell for it, like the neighbour calls for the return of his prize-winning pigeon, but it doesn’t want to come back. So I better cook up some new, cause I need it badly. As I’ve found out that hard work is about the only thing that really counters despair in the long run.
So as promised, five ways to succesfully battle despair:
- stop thinking about life. Thinking about life is like trying to cook something that’s supposed to be eaten raw.
- Get friends and family that will give you the tough love treatment. People who listen to your despair and soothe you, without pushing you to action, acutally aggravate your condition.
- Get action. Go and be active. Not all action is good, but you never get anywhere without it. Don’t worry about the result and if you’ll ever see one. Be action-driven, more than you are result-driven, or you’ll never get active. Do add a clear goal to the mixture. A bolting colt is very action-driven, but is very likely to bump into something it doesn’t want to bump into.
- Remember: It’s only life. A couple millions have done it before you and the world is still turning. Focus more on what you have, than what you don’t have and keep breathing regularly. Most cats can do it, so can you.
- Don’t sedate yourself and your despair. Despair is a microbe that never sleeps, unless you wear it down so much, it has to slumber. Don’t stop to think about the point in being alive, if you hadn’t better done something else, if you’re doing the right thing and block out the what ifs, switch of the thoughts, and the rationalizations, embrace the timeless cliché and LISTEN TO YOUR FUCKING HEART.And six: go and make love to someone as if the world was coming to an end, tonight. If you are no longer praying the world will really come to an end this very minute: consider you and your cancer (cancer of the soul that is) to be in remission.