Friday, July 23, 2021

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

My life sucks. It sucks so bad that it's inappropriate to wax philosophic about it.

Alas, it's even getting boring to complain about how much I hate my life. I don't know how many times you guys need to read this. I'm guessing you don't need to at all., and I don't blame you. It's the end of the world with the world ending in a whimper. Only at the upper end of the world status of rich countries we are just beginning to notice. 

I'm one of the richest people in the world by simply having been born into one of those rich countries. Which just goes to show you that there is no justice in the world. Most of the world can't afford access to clean water. But I never hear those people complain. Are all you really poor people just not on Twitter? 

You guys may not complain, but I like to complain.  Like how it sucks that all my basic needs are met. Pro tip to real poor people getting all the stuff you need only takes away a certain kind of misery. The kind of not happy I am could probably be changed with some Prozac.

But I won't do that. Nor will I change jobs, or do anything else to make my life possibly better. I guess unlike some of you, the genuinely happy I don't forsee the possibility of being happy. Anywhere or anytime.

There's a level of self deception that I'm simply incapable of engaging if I want to be happy. Don't get me wrong. My refusal to deceive isn't based on some high moral principle, but just because I'm incapable of seeing myself as anything but the loser I am.

That's not to say I never have fun.

Today, I told a conspiracy theorist who visits my store about my aliens, virus, and artificial intelligence theory and he was like, 'that's plausible.'

So yeah.

Also, I saw my niece and she seemed as depressed as me so I think depression is genetic.

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