29 May 2014
0709 hrs
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(c) Properfessor
Good Morning, Patient Reader
Well, here we are again. It’s really 0821 hrs, now. I was inundated with interrupting subjects
requiring counsel in my Court. So many
problems; only one sagacious genius around, one Lord and Master of All He
Surveys, for to impart profundity.
Good thing my modesty keeps my ego
in check . . .
So here I am, once again, or still,
in the depths of depression. I finally
shaved after a week of not doing so; the grey in my beard overpowering my
reticence to groom myself. The world is
in black and white, colour having left so very long ago.
I find it darkly humorous that mental health
providers ask if those of us in such throes are suicidal or homicidal. I flat out told them not to ask me that, because
if I were, why on Earth would I tell them so?
At that point, should I so reach it, the last thing I would want is to
be involuntarily committed for a minimum of 72 hours. I told them that no matter how I felt, I
would always say, “Jesus, no . . .”
I can play that fucking game.
Now don’t worry, y’all. This is not my Manifesto; I am not getting
all Elliot Rodger, here. I am not
homicidal or suicidal. Of course, how
would you know for sure after the last paragraph’s admission?
OK, I admit that I am lonely,
sometimes. I come home to an empty
apartment, devoid of color and pet, and I have actually gone entire weekends
without speaking; a hoarse, unused voice croaks from my gullet when I return to
school on Monday.
Everyone says that, “You should get
out more,” without understanding that agoraphobia keeps me tied in the
pen. The cycle is vicious and perpetual,
and in this miasma I see no path of extrication.
I have friends whom I know that I
do see on occasion. I have lady friends
who express interest but like me, they have been burned by their own hearts and
they are reluctant to move forwardly and steadily, choosing instead the fits
and starts of apprehension.
Not all of them are stepping
lightly and carefully, though. There are
those who are still in it for the GAME, and I do not wish to play it. Often times, however, I am still too much the
Dense Neutron Star
to see the collision course until it is far too late. I am sucked in by the gravity of their black
holes; I detect them only by detecting the minute changes that increase
exponentially as time and space deform into relativity.
(c) Properfessor
I keep running into women that are
my age and still think that games are the way to go. Why don’t they see that there is less of life
before them than there is behind them?
Why don’t they see that life is being pissed away
and reach out and grab
it and squeeze all that they can out of it?
A thousand rhetorical questions, and no such things as rhetorical answers.
So I shall leave you all to
ruminate over what I have said today. Or
not; it’s up to you. If you are
depressed, or know someone who is, hugs are invaluable. I reach, but my arms come back to me empty.
(c) Properfessor
(c) Properfessor
Always,
The Cunning Fennec Fox
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