Just a Stranger on the Bus
They should make documentaries for people who just want to see how beautiful the world is without also watching cute animals get straight-up murdered.
Like, I should be able to just watch a documentary about how fucking cool a whale is. “Look at this fucking massive whale. That bitch is huge and beautiful. He sings to his children to talk. Isn’t that buckwild?” Without it then going “Now checkout this group of sharks just obliterate him while his son watches in fear and confusion.” I DON’T WANT THAT. Come on, Sir Attenborough. I can’t even see a squirrel at a Burger King with a limp without getting emotional.
All this is to say that I’ve been pretty overwhelmed with depression lately. More than usual. I’ve been focusing on getting my apartment under control (the whole is SO MUCH better, the office is almost impossible to walk into. We’re… working on it) and I’ve been really working on trying to figure out the future of my career (if you follow me on Goodreads, you may be deeply aware of this). A big fixture of my focus has been on trying to reconcile working to better the world in any way I can and am skilled and able to, but without BUMMING MYSELF THE FUCK OUT. It’s a challenge, since I seem best equipped for… let’s call it “empathic rhetoric”, but the rhetoric with which I interact with tends to be… uhm… shitty as shit. Ballsy as balls? Honestly, either. And both? So, it’s been a balancing act sort of trying to narrow down my interests and skills into something I feel can help but also won’t cause me to have complete psychological breakdowns every few months (*cough* Tomefoolery *cough*).
The issue is… and this won’t be new to anyone (and if it is, can I come live under your rock with you?) but the world SUCKS right now. Politics, government, every person in power right now seems like either a silent movie antagonist or a benchwarmer for the Washington Generals. The planet is exploding and imploding all at once (fucking ONE BILLION animals have died in Australia… I need a nap just trying to reconcile that). Everything just feels… hopeless. And so trying to do the balancing act seems like a waste of time because even if I sacrifice my own mental well-being for the greater good, it feels like it won’t even make a dent in the side of the Titanic we’re all putting along on. Does that metaphor even make sense? Who the fuck knows.
I know, I know, it’s what a lot of people have felt, feel, and will feel, but just because pain and fear is widespread doesn’t make it easier to absorb. I’m just trying to figure out how to be the Sebastian Shaw of Horrible Truths but right now I just feel like the Bailey Hoskins.
Do I have some sort of greater message here? Nope. That’s not what Thursdays are for. Caesura Thursdays are for existentialism. If you want pragmatic reconciliation, then tune in Monday after next for Vade Mecum Monday.
And on top of it all, I have “Bustopher Jones”—of all things—stuck in my head. For all time.
