I’m a distressed blogger tonight.
There are a lot of us out here. You know who you are. You’re students, stay-at-home parents and office workers. You know how to use a computer — many of you are certified computer gurus, twiddling with your blog templates, writing your own code, tracking the IP addresses of your readers. Some of you know just enough to get Blogger working, don’t care about anything but typing your thoughts.
And a lot of those thoughts are unhappy. Marital problems are huge these days. There are husbands frankly admitting that they want to find some nookie on the side, wives who are at the ends of their ropes with unresponsive, uncommunicative husbands; students who are so bored with classes that they are blogging during lectures; receptionists, secretaries, IT personnel and various levels of administrator who are so disgusted by their jobs/paychecks that it seems all they do at the office is blog about how they’d rather not be at the office.
I am your brother tonight. My life hasn’t changed, but something is different. This has nothing to do with the Superbowl and the imminent end of the football season. The Vikings got drunk after Thanksgiving dinner as usual, and they’re just sobering up now, so I haven’t been following football since then.
I have a sense of foreboding this evening, as if something bad is happening, but I am not in on it. Yet. I have dark confessions burning within me that must not escape. I am contemptible. I am wallowing in undefined self-pity. It’s unworthy of me. My mind knows this, and is repulsed, but my heart doesn’t care. It is heavy with longing and broken hope.
I have never shown my face but I can’t hide from myself. I have gone too far, or have I moved at all? No one knows me, or have I revealed too much? I have nothing to say, but an urgent need to talk. I am your distressed blogger.
I’ll be fine by the time the sun comes up.
15 Replies to “Mama Said There’d Be Days Like This”
You’re like everyone else. You’re having a crappy few hours (maybe even a day), but you’ve got the wisdom to know that you’ll get over it.
Sorry for the self-loathing and hopelessness. I know those particular aches and pains too well.
I know the feeling of having nothing to say, but feeling the need to talk.
Been there. The itchy sensation of the overly aware. Hope your morning dawns sunnier.
The shield of the web and the distance between many is a perfect path of a bit of reality. A place to put those feeling we could not otherwise place. To say some things without the akward conversations that would follow something like this…honey,I love you, and I don’t want to break it off, but I would really like to fuck someone else. Or maybe–hey Mr. Bossman, we’ve surpassed Japan on work hours. Go get your own fucking copies…haha.
We can say that we may be a bit lonely, even if we would never admit it aloud, and we can say what we are really looking for in a mate, and we whine about never meeting anyone as in reality we aren’t really looking. But, I’m interpreting…
Hopefully, your mood has passed by now.
Still alive Larry?
comments not updating?
guess that’s not it.
Still alive. Crazy how you make me feel better.
Fucking Vikings anyway.
I keep putting my comments on the wrong posts. Maybe I’m even on the wrong blog. You are Ethel Lugumbo, the woman with the big red lips, aren’t you? Oh? Sorry. I’ll try to stay in one place next time around.
I was just “playing”, but now it looks like I was playing with my own brain.
Larry, The more I know, the more I like.
You’ve felt it, too? Like looking into the abyss and making out something familiar there.
It will pass. Nothing that strong drink and getting punched in the face won’t help.
I’m not sure exactly what brings us to this point, but I’ve noticed quite a few bloggers are coming down with it lately, as if it were some kind of virus. Some kind of ennui-based depression bomb-like viral infection.
Keep fighting it.
Gotcha KP-Pig! However, the medical professionals in my life are certain that my condition is chronic.
Perhaps it’s a “Birds of a Feather” sort of thing?
that sense of foreboding was probably a sign that you had forgotten that “Love Your Robot Day” was going to be today :O
are you still distressed? I could try telling you knock-knock jokes, which would only make you feel worse…
Period of distress seems to be past. Now entering period of confusion. Might not be able to participate in interactive “knock-knock”-type jokes.
Theresa – If those medical professionals are prescribing anything fun, let me know.
*Cough, cough* I feel another bout of it coming on and I think I need some happy pills.
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