I think I can make it, writing, if I keep at it. That's not where the despair comes from. No, my despair ismuch deeper than a superficial need for fame, glory, or even the success of several things being published. Fundamentally, my despair comes from the feeling I don't contribute anything to the world, that I have no purpose for being here, no reason to continue in my attempt to make it. Obviously, I can have the internal logical dialog and say that yes, my husband and cat need me, but everyone else? The sad thing is, I'm alone up here. My student would miss me. That's the long and short of it.
Perhaps that's unfair. Other people have schedules. They don't have time for people. They don't have time for friends. It's not that they don't want to, it is that jobs and travel times, the obligations of modern life really don't allow for it. Not unless you're already working with the person can you spend fifteen minutes drinking a latte or laughing over the present governmental mishap. And I can't impose myself on them. I can't do it. I can't bring myself to make contact, in part because of my present state, and in part because I feel like they don't want me to. Does that make me less than proactive? That I can't pick up the phone or drop a line? Because I can't deal with being the annoying needy friend, regardless of whether or not that is actually the case.
So I'm left to my thoughts. Alone. All day. Everyday. You see the problem here. And how can I get out of this vicious spiral of despair? I don't know. I can't get a job, which only increases my despair. I don't have any interest in cleaning my apartment, which increases my despair. Sometimes I can't force myself to get out of my pajamas or eat more than hot chocolate, V8, and some toast (okay, I am eating these days, but there was some time when I wasn't). You see how it feeds on itself like some sick eternal wyrm. Blech.
Yet, even with no way out, I continue to make the attempt. It seems futile, infantile. But still, I get my workout things together and pump some iron. I eat vegetables and take vitamins. I pet Java, feed her, and let her cuddle up to me. I make cookies with Christian. Life goes on. The wheel turns. My hope is I won't get any more like Job, that the wheel will turn again and I will be free. One can hope.
I think the next thing is to volunteer somewhere. Since I'm not working, it doesn't matter as long as the gas it takes to get there isn't too much. I may as well do something with my time. Someone needs a warm body. Here I am. What else am I going to do?
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