I’m smack in the throes of an existential crisis. And that’s a good thing.
Truthfully, it’s a version of the same existential crisis in which I’ve found myself since 2005, when I very nearly sold my soul to the Devil of Forgotten Dreams. (Translation: I very nearly took the LSAT.) Fortunately, my beloved Tinman was there in 2005 to say: “Dude, you don’t want to be a lawyer. You want to play one on TV.” And, fortunately, he’s still in my life, reminding me of that shit every time I talk to him.
I frequently mention in this very-21st-century space how much I loathe the 21st century. And no, the irony of that neither escapes nor bothers me in the slightest. Among everything that maddens me about first-world life in the Tech Era, mass self-excusing touchy-feeliness is second only to teenagers (yes, in general) when it comes to relatively harmless things that enrage me to a disproportionate degree.
Don’t bitch at me over the teenager comment, Internet. I would prefer not to live in a world wherein I know that a 13-year-old in California sang a song (her mother paid for) about the weekend.
I will not apologize for it. (And that shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s ever read this column.)
Now, where was I? Oh, right. Smack in the throes of an existential crisis that is good. Why is it good, and how does it pertain to my crotchety third paragraph? I do not believe in going easy on myself; giving myself a proverbial “break.” By that I do not mean downtime. I give myself plenty of downtime, which is precisely the problem.
I mean that I don’t believe in not berating myself 24/7 for being a loser.
And please don’t tell me that I’m not a loser. That is not helpful. I deplore the chronic encouragement of history’s laziest first-world population to “go easy” on its collective self. Why?
Because left to non-self-evisceration, I’m the laziest bitch you could ever hope to find. I know it, and I’ve been at war with it all my life.
I’ve got mad work to do. My lot in life at 34 is unacceptable to me. The only action I can realistically take to alter the status quo is going full-throttle, balls-to-the-wall, whole hog and (frankly) postal at that work. And what propels me straight from shameful downtime to that work in my hard-earned free time? Non-stop self-flagellation.
I’m not telling you what to do (though I do recommend the strategy). Just saying it works for my lazy ass.
Headshot by Alexandra Batsford
But, above all, I’m a damn coward.
That admitted for the umpteenth time, I’m really trying (with the Tinman’s wonderful, passionate, never-ending support) to wage good war against my own evil predilection. And, as stated above, this damn coward has mad work to do.
Thus, with apologies for being mildly cryptic this month, I’m signing off now to work on the future I’ve been avoiding inexcusably since at least 2007.
Oh, what? Did you think I was going to tell you how I spent my seven-year tenure as “Waste of Space”?
It’s none of your damn business, Internet!
If only the teenagers of today could grasp that concept.
Until next month (when, I swear, I’ll be far happier with myself), “Damn the cowardice, full speed ahead!”