"Men weary as much of not doing the things they want to do as of doing the things they do not want to do." - Eric Hoffer
Our family, the Spolverinos, have what we like to call "Spolverino Luck." It's pretty much like Murphy's Law but with a slight addendum. Murphy's Law is "Whatever can go wrong, will." Spolverino Luck is "Whatever can go wrong, will. Whatever can't go wrong, can go wrong, and it will. Catastrophically." At this point in scientific process it has evolved past a postulate, migrated beyond theory, and has almost become law. We're just waiting on data to come back from several trials that had to be independently validated by a non-partial third party. We expect this to become a law within the year.
I mention this to you now on the eve of one of my least favorite holidays, the Festival of Surgeons. Tomorrow I'm scheduled to go down to my doctor and have a gamut of tests done that are not exactly comfortable only to tell me what I already know. I know my body. I know what's wrong and I know it's gonna need to be fixed by opening the hood and rooting around. My body a late 80s Honda that's been held onto too long. To start it you need to hit the dash three times with a hammer, recline the seat, and then touch wires together at the bottom of the steering column...all while humming Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant."
I'm just about used to it by now. So far I've averaged 1.08 surgeries a year for my entire life. I'm just starting to realize that I will probably never get to spend my tax refund check on anything fun or anything new but rather paying off hospital bills, wetting the beaks of doctors, and old man bro-ing out at pharmacies. This is also coupled with the fact that I lost my job around the same time last year because of the exact same surgery I'm going to need again. Two years running. I should get a trophy or something. I've had no real income for the past year (I finally got unemployment in September but I'm barely making loan and expense payments) and being out recovering from surgery means that I am "unable to work" and will subsequently lose my unemployment. I could apply for disability but that only nets me $200 a month which is about a quarter of what I need. Whee. Like I said, Spolverino Luck.
To put it lightly, I'm tired. Physically, yeah, I guess. Mentally I'm exhausted. I can compare my anxiety these days to someone playing a musical saw. Unnatural, high frequency, and oscillating in the oddest of ways. Sometimes I feel alright and I'm able to do things. Other days I pop my anxiety medicine like it's a Pez dispenser and just sit in my room staring blankly at walls...or the inside of my eyelids.
I know, I know. I don't write. I know I SHOULD be writing but I'll be damned if I have the motivation. I generally only have it in me to wake up, make a few cups of coffee, smoke a few cigarettes, and then escape for the rest of the day. I use video games primarily to escape and, while it keeps me sane, it leaves little room for anything else. And if I do get the bug to do a review (which, as I'm sure you know, is rare), I usually end up writing half of it and then let it languish in the stagnant pond that is "drafts" on Blogger. I've got about 20-25 reviews that I just don't have the heart to back-fill with the inane chatter I love putting into my posts but I also don't have the heart to just post them as is because that's just boring. For awhile I thought that I was tiring of booze and writing about it and talking about it and thinking about it...but that's not true. Attending ADI filled me with just a maelstrom of passion and energy about what I do. Granted, it was quickly consumed in the ever-raging fires of anxiety...but it's not like my interest has waned in any way. It is, as the quote by Eric Hoffer states, the weariness of not doing what I want to do for the past year coupled with the weariness of having to do what I don't want to do now.
Don't worry, however. I still have ALL the samples that I've been sent, in various states of cognizance of location. I don't throw booze away...that's sacrilegious. They are all safe, sound, and whole awaiting final judgement by my maw. But until I can get motivated, they will stay unmolested and dormant in my cellars until I call upon them.
I'm not going away, I'm just being quiet as I have been. Just wanted to drop you an update so you don't worry about me. If you'd like to help me (can't fathom why you would), send me emails/tweets/etc. of what you want me to review, to talk about, to analyze. I love reader feedback and I don't get terribly much. So help me get out of this rut and send me some sweet emails. Let's work on this together.
"Life is one long process of getting tired." - Samuel Butler