Friday, April 24, 2009

Depression, Thy Name is Paul

There, I've said it, I am depressed, really bummed, in a state of ennui, blue, and wallowing in good old general all around self loathing. That tape that highlights all the bad decisions and lowlights of my life is running with Imax clarity. I can't even smoke. I quit several weeks ago and am now an ex-smoker with a lot of time on his hands and no cigarettes in them. I don't even want one that bad, it would just be something to do. Not that I don't have a million things I could be doing. This trailer that I huddle in is a disaster, but probably reflects my mental state: cluttered, unkept, full of bugs. there are so many jobs that I could do, but am not qualified for...the tape starts again.

I apply for a job which I know that I could do, but I don't have a place on their poorly designed form to tell them I could do the job. Truthfully, it's not really work, but lack of money. I have plenty of interests, but it's hard to do much with less than a dollar to your name, and did I mention the bugs:
The notorious box elder bugs. Right now they are out and about in a shamless buggy orgy, breeding like rabbits, if rabbits had wings and six legs. Far too many have managed to be inside and so I have become a bug transporter, often catching them and tossing the little guy out the door. I will admit to the occasional less than Ghandi/Schweitzer like grab and crush, but I have given many a second chance...more than they deserve

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