Yet I can’t help but feel a bit down about it, nor can I shake this sense that I’m perpetuation some kind of pattern in my life. I can’t seem to find work, not that I’m willing to do anyway, and I can’t seem to find love, not that I’m willing to do, anyway. I suppose there are crappy jobs that I could take, but they’re just a band-aid – a dead-end, and for the money I make, it doesn’t change anything. There simply isn’t enough financial incentive for me to care. On these salaries, it would take me 40 years to pay for a house. Oh yes, I did the math. That means I’ll be 70 when I’ve paid for my own house. Then I’ll promptly sell it, because I’ll be completely senile, and all that money will get pissed away in a retirement lodge, where they’ll treat me like crap and talk to me like I’m a baby.
Yesterday at my grandma’s lodge, an old codger came up to me and asked, “Can you tell me where the car is? The car that brought the babies?” And I remember thinking, ‘What? Oh, right. She has dementia.’
“I left the car in your room. Go back to it.” No I didn’t, but I wanted to. I just told her we didn’t have a car, and then she moved on to the next person to ask. I kept hearing her husband saying to her, “There is no car, Agnes. We live here now. We have our own room here at the lodge.” He said this over and over. What kind of an existence must that be for him, I wonder. I’d go crazy if I had to tell me wife the same shit over and over. And nothing ever stuck. Grandma Loopy is tedious as hell to deal with too. At least now she does really talk anymore. She just makes weird gestures.
Also, my Auntie Flo is coming in from out of town, and her 15-year-old dog just died, so I’m sure she’ll look and feel her best when she gets here, and I’m sure she’ll be extra friendly, and not in the least bit bossy, tedious, annoying, bitchy fucking asshole that she always is. Damn, now I feel like drinking.
I want a woman of my own, but I don’t actually think I like them. I’m certain they don’t like me. I want to have a job, but I don’t want the jobs I can have. I’m stuck in a paradox where nothing seems to be good enough, yet conversely, nothing is worse than something.
One might accuse me of being picky, but the last two women I dated, were women that no one wants. And they turned me down. How is that supposed to make me feel. If I lower my standard, people seem to think even less of me. Fuck my life.
The thing that annoys me the most about the patterns is that I’m aware of it. I just don’t know how to break the cycle.