Still Lacking Desires

As I was posting the last entry, I realized that it didn’t have anything to do with the title, what I originally intended to write about. I might say that my current goal in life is developing flash games, because that’s what I’ve been kinda doing; I’m capable of doing it; And I need a means to make money. I apparently get really sick of being employed so it seems making flash games (or games for any other platform) seems like the right move to make for me. That all sounds okay but I don’t feel like doing shit. I’m simply lacking the motivation to do anything. What’s the point? So I can extend this shitty life? What’s there to enjoy in life? I seem to no longer enjoy movies, tv, games, and even sex (with hookers). I don’t like interacting with annoying people and everyone seems annoying to me. I could go on forever with things that I don’t like because I’m being a cunty little bitch. The problem is, I can’t find anything I do like, which makes it hard to find a reason to do anything.

I feel like I need to get my ass kicked by the world, face death, and let my survival instincts kick in. Maybe then, I’ll stop being such a pussy and complaining about how difficult it is to live my 100% stress-free life. That’s not true. It’s not 100% stress-free. But compared to most people, it might as well be.

It’s hard for people to talk to me about it because talking doesn’t get me anywhere. I try not to talk about it as freely as I used to because it’s not fun for others to hear about my lack of appreciation of life, especially when there are people struggling to live and I’m just wasting away my healthy body. This is particularly true with my cancerous uncle whom’s house I’m currently living in. He gave me a little speech today about how I should finish post-secondary education, get a degree in something, and face reality. His main point is that life isn’t fair and I should take every advantage I can get. I didn’t fight him at all, because I didn’t want to stress him to his death, but I could not agree with a single thing he said.

First, before the life lecture, he advised I wear more clothes because my aunt got sick and there are germs around the house. I’m cruising around in shorts and t-shirt during freezing winter by the way. I understand his concern, I really do, but I don’t get sick. I may catch a flu or whatever’s around, but I don’t get sick. I feel just as fine as my normal self with the exception of having a bit of a stuffy or runny nose. In either case, I just blow the shit out of it and I’ll be fine for at least 30 minutes. Maybe it’s a testament to my cardiovascular muscles that blowing my nose all day doesn’t wear me out. Even if I get a little sick, it’s not like I have any responsibilities anyway so I can just sleep it off. Maybe people are such pussies to me that I can’t stand them. I’ve gotten ill to the point where my body can hardly function anymore, but I can still handle it. I don’t want to disrespect a dying man, but my body’s fine. It’s probably as good as it is because I’ve forced it to endure much worse and it has become resilient as a result.

After that, he gave me a little lecture about the importance of a degree. As an older person who doesn’t delve in technology, my uncle doesn’t know shit about what I do. I fully understand that there’s a possibility, a pretty big possibility, that things don’t work out with my independent game development. I understand that, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t want to do anything else. Heck, I don’t even want to do what I’m doing now but it’s already a lot of effort on my part to at least attempt to do something rather just rot away. Yes, I’m wasting time, yes I know, but I’m wasting time on a life that was supposed to be dead anyway. There were a few nights I could’ve died and I’ve grown to accept it. Surviving those brief self-inflicted dangers didn’t give me a new perspective on life. If anything, it made (my) life seem more meaningless. Time is only precious when there’s stuff to do. With nothing to do, time is just a made-up concept that doesn’t affect real life, like string theory.

Am I just making excuses so I can relax at home and not go to work? I don’t think so. All I know is, people don’t trust my opinion at all. They have their mind set on what life is supposed to be and they can’t accept my nihilistic view. I’m not blaming anyone for my miseries, but every single person who talks to me has the power to add meaning to my life and make me want to live more, but they don’t. They’ve got their own lives and they’re too busy to deal with me. I’m not saying that people need to value me more, but if it’s gonna be the way it is, at least let me feel shitty instead of criticizing me about it. At the end of the day, their criticism doesn’t really matter because they only criticize me during our brief interaction, and then they go back to their lives as if I don’t exist, which is exactly the problem to begin with.

Sad, Funny, and Truthful Thoughts

Lately, I’ve been sadder and truer to myself but unfortunately not any funnier. I’m wrestling with depression and it’s pinning me down on my bed all day. I’ve been lacking a reason to do anything, lacking a reason to live, so I’ve just been pretty much waiting to die… at the age of 22. It’s going to be a long ass wait.

Girls never have to wait to die. Even if they just lie in bed and not go out, horny guys will find them somehow.

Girls never have to wait to die. Even if they just lie in bed and not go out, horny guys will find them somehow.

I tried to give myself reasons to live and do things. That’s just a nice way of saying I’ve been hitting on every girl who crosses my path on the internet. It’s sad how it actually surprised me that all I was able to accomplish was creep girls away. Even blogging is feeling more and more pointless to me. I really love it when people enjoy reading the things I write. When you guys leave a comment, it brightens me up for about 2 minutes and then I go back to feeling miserable for the remaining 23 hours and 58 minutes of the day. If I earn one new follower for each entry I write, I would need to write 720 entries and then continue writing everyday in order to feel alive. But sadly, I don’t even earn 1 new follower per entry so I would need to write more than that already retardedly high number. If blogging would get me anywhere, I would probably do it more but if I wanted to get anywhere with blogging, simply writing more isn’t the way to go. I would need to do annoying twitter, tumblr, reddit, diggs, diggit, or whatever there’s available out there. I’m the most un-tech savvy techy guy ever. It’d be great if someone would do all that for me.

Boy that's a lot of numbers. We'll research what it means by using my ass to point at things on the blackboard.

Boy that’s a lot of numbers. We’ll research what it means by using my ass to point at things on the blackboard.

A little while ago, someone asked me what I wanted to be in the future and I jokingly said that I wanted to be a parasite, living off other people. That was just a dumb joke. Then I thought about it for real and I think I want to be a stay at home dad. And then I realized that that was actually just a sugar coated parasite. This isn’t just some dumb joke. Well… it is, but it’s also true. I think about whether I want kids or not and I think I do, but I know I don’t want shitty kids. Because I’m kind of a shitty person, there’s a damn good chance my kids will turn out shitty. The best chance I have at nonshitty kids is if I can actually have the time and energy to parent the child to the best of my abilities. At that point, even if the kid is still shitty, at least it’s my little piece of shit. Most parents are all busy working and making money. They spend too much time away from the child and the times that they are home, they’re too tired to spend any quality time with the child.

If she was a mom, she'd be too busy posing in front mirrors to spend time with her child. She is blinded to her own poor parenting by that stupid hat.

If she was a mom, she’d be too busy posing in front mirrors to spend time with her child. She is blinded to her own poor parenting by that stupid hat.

When I watch Two and a Half Men, it’s sad that Alan Harper is actually the character I empathize with the most because I’m the most similar to him. Alan Harper is not a character that any respectable human being should identify with. What’s even sadder is that I’m a prettier version of Alan Harper but I get laid a lot less.


Alan Harper got to hit that.

Alan Harper got to hit that.

And that.

And that.