Sunday, February 18, 2007

No Action.

I just made an awful realization about myself. Awful enough to warrant my return to the internets. I'd been clean for a while, you know.

Just twenty minutes ago, I was lying on my couch with the sun in my eyes, too inept with the mechanics of vertical blinds to keep it out. I was mulling my options about what to do with the remainder of a Sunday afternoon. The television was tempting, but again, this time of day was bad -- too sunny, too inept. The glare would prove unbearable. I scrolled through my cell phone's address book. Someone to call? I didn't really want to make plans with anyone, mind you. I wouldn't want anyone to see me like this -- unshaven and disheveled. I just wanted someone to text message with. Preferably a pretty girl. Something to distract me, if only momentarily. Distract me from what, you ask?

The Realization.

That is, the realization that I don't enjoy doing anything. I have no hobbies. Nothing that doesn't involve gambling (or at least uncertainty) interests me. Since I am not supposed to gamble anymore, I'm a complete waste of space. Ever the resilient one, I've found a cheaper and less satisfying alternative -- writing bizarre messages on and, pleas for help, inflammatory poems, anything that might incite someone to write back. Sometimes on, after reading the tenth amazingly vapid 'portrait' in a row, I just start sending emails bitterly mocking them. That this sort of behavior fills the void that I used to fill by playing cards is noteworthy, I think. I am not putting anything at risk -- no money, obviously, but not even my ego. It's entirely anonymous.

So I was never a risk junkie after all. I am a feedback junkie. I crave the moment when I realize that I have something to read from a stranger. Preferably a pretty girl. It's got nothing to do with making a connection with someone. It's got everything to do with snapping me out of the boredom of sheer radio silence. It's a reminder that I am not dead yet. It gives me a way to keep score, to measure success and self-worth. Especially when it's from a pretty girl.

Don't most people crochet, or play golf, or go to museums to have fun? I wish those were fun for me. If I can't get my dose of uncertainty, rejection, acceptance, excitement, self-esteem from gambling, then I'm going to get it from person-shopping on the internet.

Sadly, the ones who write back are usually overweight amd live in the suburbs with their parents. And that just makes me more depressed. God, I pity them so much.