Article 189901 of talk.bizarre: Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Path: chaph.usc.edu!usc!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!library.ucla.edu!csulb.edu!csus.edu!netcom.com!rone From: rone@netcom.com (5150) Subject: Angst Message-ID: Organization: The Tortured Psyche Date: Sun, 20 Feb 1994 20:24:16 GMT So. Fifty more years of this crap. It better be worth it. "Is it more time than you know what to do with?" It's a little more than that, i guess. I mean, i have to, in a sense, relive my life two and a half times over. Only, for each time i relive it, the rules change. Not that i ever knew what the rules were. Who does, after all? Life is such a stupid game. The only way to play is to cheat. Why does losing stay with you so much longer than winning? Nobody likes losing. I certainly don't. I abhor it. Yet i lose, again and again. I mean, what the fuck, i'm fucking CHEATING here. I would fucking expect to WIN more often. I felt lost last night. I didn't feel anything. Not even suicidal. Nothing. I turned to a god i didn't believe in. Again. Flailing about in the dark for a crutch. I remember feeling mortally embarrassed when i realized it, but then i also realized that, hey, it was ok, i'm human. Then i felt worse. In some snobbish, egotistical way, i haven't considered myself human. Ever. It's hard coming to terms with being human. Some things are beautiful, i guess. I'm listening to Living Colour right now. Things really are a bit peachier now. Perhaps, if i were to listen to some Pink Floyd or Alice In Chains, i would be in a better mood to write this article. "Loouoouoouoouoouoouoouoouoouoohoohoove, and.... Happiness." Why are we all here? The answer is simple: Your parents wanted you to fulfill a niche in their lives. To make them happy. How long does that contract last? Till death do us part? Very probably. But how far do you have to go to make them happy? They gave you life. Are you thankful? Bitter? "Honor thy mother and father." Check on that, Big Red. Even if they act like a couple of retarded fucks, i will honor them. Even if i sometimes feel like beating them over the head with the fender of an `86 Coupe De Ville, i will always love them. They're human too. But who am i living my life for? Them, or me? Me, obviously. Who SHOULD i be living my life for? They say i should live my own life, for myself. Yet it seems that sometimes they just keep dropping hints at something i could do to make them happy. It's perfectly reasonable of them, i think to myself, to ask these things of me. I am their highest creation. How can i be ungrateful and refuse? Life is just one big guilt trip. Land of the free, home of the brave, country of my mom and dad. I love them. I love me. How do i prioritize? How can i? This is my life. So far. 5150 -- "So how is this avant-garde?" "It's secretly ironic."