Monday, July 22, 2013
I feel meh.
It is a feeling of apathy rolled in a powdery-fine dusting of slothfulness.
I can pinpoint a number of times in my life when I have backslid into this uncomfortable feeling and each time I remember exactly why I hate it so much.
It steals my joy.
It blankets everything and everyone around me in its layers of gray, unfluffy, flatness and I forget how to cope and rise above it.
Until I do.
The worst part is not knowing how long it will take to work my way out of it.
Days, a week, maybe a couple months?
Meh feels a lot like anxiety only without the heart-pounding awfulness.
Meh and anxiety can both go fuck themselves.
In fact, why don't they both just hook up with each other and leave me the hell out of it?
Why do I even have to be a part of this twisted, gut-wrenching end of the road relationship?
And yet, I keep inviting myself to their pity party where I serve hors d'œuvres and make sure everyone is nice and comfy while I am left fidgeting in the corner watching the clock until the moment I can leave.
I'm ready to leave now.