I called this one of the worst Friday's I've had in a loooong time. Granted, nothing too terrible happened, but a part of me wishes that it would have because then I'd have something to complain about rather than complain about a sense of nothingness.
It's Friday's like this that make me wish Chicago was only 2 hours away from Carbondale, instead of St. Louis. There's a major difference between Chicago Lu and Carbondale Lu. Everyone knows that, and I acknowledge it. I try to change it, but it's like how things are whenever you want to change them. Something to the extent of 'the more things change, the more they stay the same.'
For the record, I hate this.
Chicago Lu would be having fun by any means necessary. C'mon, where else can you have fun just hanging out at McDonald's? Not Carbondale. Where can I go here to just hang out and have fun without paying a cover charge of some sorts. There's no Lake Shore Drive, where am I gonna go? Why is it that everything around me revolves around parties and drinking. Heck, Chicago Lu has a different drinking approach than Carbondale Lu. I like when Chicago Lu drinks. He's calm, reserved, sophisticated...all while intoxicated. And it's not like I go home and get hammered, I have a few drinks, shoot the shit and that's it. I can't do that in Carbondale. I'll go out and drink and then expect to get on some hoes or something stupid like that. No pressure at home, I like no pressure situations. There's always something down here, something stupid that pisses me off.
I just want to be happy, but I guess that's too much to ask for. I'm not talking about superficially happy, because like a rocking chair, being superficially happy is fun but in the end it gets you nowhere. (Paraphrased from the movie Van Wilder.) Because everyone else can be happy, but not Lu, nope, not me. I can't be happy. I'm not supposed to be happy. I'm supposed to be tortured and pissed off at every turn. Depressed every night. Every day is like a beating. Emotionally and mentally, every day is just one big beatdown. And even on days that I don't feel it, I know it'll come later.
But everyone else can be happy. Can't do anything right, I just can't.
For the record, I'm sick of writing these blogs. And I'm sure the people reading these (if anyone still does) are sick of reading them. I'm tired of being depressed all the time. I'm tired of always being angry. I'm sick of everything. Long story short: I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired! That's the bottom line here.
The only things that would help are the following:
- Winning the lottery. Because money, though not the root of my problems, can fix something, can't it? Because people with money are happy, superficially happy, but happy nonetheless. It's like hiring Johnny Cochran to be your lawyer. People say that you look guilty. We'll I'd rather look guilty in the mall than look innocent in jail. (That of course paraphrased from Chris Rock)
- A fresh start somewhere not in Carbondale. I'll be honest, Carbondale was at one point the fresh start I was looking for. But when my past, along with black cats and billy goats, resurfaced it was the beginning of the end.
- The Cubs winning a World Series. Because once again, the last time I was genuinely happy was in 2003 before Cubdom even knew that Steve Bartman exsisted. A Cubs World Series Championship could provide something to me that I've been lacking my entire life. A chance to associate myself with a winner (though for arguments sake, SIU Men's Basketball has filled a small void when it comes to that department.) But a Cubs championship would give me hope that ANYTHING is possible.
Alas, I've come to the conclusion that like true love (which is a different post for a diffrenet night), genuine happiness is a pipe dream. Good night from Carbondale, maybe sleep can turn this around. Probably not because in the end, my problems will still be there.