This End Up

When reason and emotions have failed is there a third alternative? Or, why limit the possibilities? My self restricting limitations seem to be the undercurrent running over, under, through, and even, permeating the stuff of which I am. This is essentially the “riddle of the ages” question of labeling and identifying “ME.” I am pondering all of this as I am alone with my own thoughts and feelings entirely too much for my liking. And, people keep asking me how I feel with seemingly more intent and interest these days. I am really not all that concerned with how I feel. My feelings are not reliable indicators or even necessarily associated with anything of substance. That, I suppose, is the real rub for me. I do not feel connected, involved, or, engaged in anything other than consequence. I have had nothing to be about doing and nothing of any importance to say for a very long time. I do not even have busy work to distract me from the banality of my daily routine. So, what am I all about?

Besides the age old question of “Why am I here?” and “What is my purpose?” comes the more direct question of ”Why Bother?” I have the “opportunity” to reinvent myself, yet again. I really don’t want to. While I actually don’t have the chance to be anything I’d like to become I still have occasion to be many other things than what I have become. But? Why? All of these sorts of exercises are supposed to be for self benefit and be because they are the things that I want for myself. In reality, all such efforts are to placate detractors, dissenters, and well-wishers alike. I am simply tired of it all, tired of myself, tired, tired, tired. The thrill is gone. My life is endless drivel.

The entire quest of the past six months to return to my latest career (and reinvention of self) ended in an all too expected but entirely undesirably protracted way. Had someone merely decided they were going to abandon and then dismiss me months earlier I could have made different plans and pursued another course of action. Now, I am dazed and angry; disenfranchised, stunned, and immobile. I have no luxury of capital at my disposal to be selective and must take on some very unappealing work to try to extract myself from the muck and mire in which I find I am sucked under. How do I feel? Please refrain from asking such questions if you REALLY care about my well being. Also, add the following other attempts at concern for me to the list of topics to avoid; in fact . . . let’s list them all:

1) How are you feeling?
2) What’s new?
3) What have you been up to?
4) Has there been any news?
5) Why aren’t you rich?
6) How come you’re single?
7) How are your children?
8) Have you got a social life?

I’m sure there are others but those nine pretty much test the limits of my civility in not going blind with dismay mingled with rage and screaming unpleasantries at the person who has asked them. The reason I get so testy about those questions is that (in some cases every day) I have to remind the same people how much I despise those questions and have repeatedly asked them to refrain from asking. So, I suppose the truly frustrating aspect for me is the general indifference and lack of attention I am paid by my friends. That alone keeps me mostly occupied so that I do not extrapolate the data to the logical conclusion that if my “concerned friends” care so little to oblige my requests then how vastly uninterested in me does that make everyone else? Right? If the sympathetic souls – aren’t ??? Never mind.