I can tell that I’m circling the drain again. Friday has finally come. What a horrible week it has been. Sometimes I absolutely love what I do—the part about connecting with my clients—that’s the best, when it’s one-on-one. They know that I will always go to bat for them and do everything in my power to give them the best service that I can—the highlight of my day.
I have been waiting for Friday since I woke up Monday morning. Pretty sad state of affairs.
I am censoring myself less and less in my blog. Not that I ever censored any topic, but I was always careful of the language I used. I try to be respectful when I write something that someone might actually take the time to read. Our language is chock-full of appropriate choices and not having to resort to epithets, but sometimes I plain don’t fucking care what I write when I get in this space.
Language is a good thermometer of someone’s faculties. I’d like to think that my vocabulary was worthy of at least a twelfth grade read, yet I often feel compelled to be rather base in my approach. No, it’s not because I’m a good girl and I was taught that nice girls don’t talk like that (fuck whoever came up with that inane saying), I just prefer to use what seasoning is needed only at the appropriate times so as not to abuse the effect.
One more of my week gone out of my life. Nothing accomplished. I left no fingerprints anywhere. So, I keep coming back to the same age-old question: why bother to press onward? Why put myself through this misery day after day? Why wrestle with these emotions and demons? Why put myself through this continuous cycle of questions about myself when I can’t even come up with the damn answers anymore? There is a part of me deep down that probably knows where I could go to get the answers that might buy me some peace, albeit temporarily. But, therein lies the biggest question of it all. I’m not even sure of what is real any more. Are my beliefs real? Or are they a subset of a system of beliefs that I’ve let sway me?
What do I know for real? That I live alone, that there is no one in my life, that I have no friends, and there isn’t one damned person in this godforsaken world who gives a fucking damn about me. So, again I pose the question: why the fuck bother?©2009
I empathise on so many levels.
ReplyDeleteWhen I first started writing my blog, I too was relatively careful about what I said - certainly, I'd have thrown in the odd swear word, but not anything like what I would in real life.
There comes a point when you just go, "fuck it".
As for your more philosophical meanderings, again I can totally relate, and although ostensibly I am lucky enough to have some supportive people in my life, sadly no one outside of the internet really "gets" it, which is obviously not their fault, but it certainly feels like you're banging your head off a brick wall at times (sometimes, I literally am doing so).
Anyway, I know we don't really know each other - um, obviously, SI - when one finds another astute and intelligent person with such insight it's incredibly refreshing. So, I am sorry to hear that you're so disillusioned at the minute, but I'd like you to know that I do give a damn about you. It's not the same as it being someone real and tangibly 'there', I know, but the thought is there nonetheless.
Take care of yourself. x
It's to good to hear from you. I hope you had a marvelous time on holiday. I noticed your latest posts, only the most recent was pw protected, so, alas, I could not read it. I look foward to our continued dialog.
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