I’m sad but I’m euphoric at the same time, a dangerous combination at the best of times. What this means is that I’ll probably spend too much, give gifts away freely, end up in the bedrooms of strangers, on the ledges of bridges and eventually inside a clinic or two. Yes, I’ve turned into a walking cliche.
But no matter, we’re only halfway through the month of March, and plenty of time to go before I explode. So what I’m gona do aside from the eternal job-hunt is to see all the movies I can possibly see, live in a bubble of music all day, and savour the particular kind of aloneness that only socially anxious people can enjoy.
Because despite my best efforts, there’s an edge to all my days, a sourness, a rottenness at its core that can only be partially blamed on my utter wreck of a career and my non-existent love life. It’s like I’m a ghost within my own apartment, watching my body carefully and vigilantly for missteps. At the same time the feeling that the end is nigh is present, clear and dangerous, through every moment. And somehow I know I will fail to rescue myself should the need arise.
But away with melancholia for now. Let’s focus on better, brighter things, let’s try to remember that life is only half-lived and plenty of time to rectify those mistakes. Let’s try to regroup and not give up on your friends, even as they drift from you. Let’s try to read actual books with words in them once again. Let’s try and fit into that dress you bought long ago for a forgotten you. Chances are you will be saved. Chances are you will die trying. It’s worth the effort, if only for the look on your mother’s face.