I appear to be suffering from a reckless indifference to my own thoughts and advice. I have now gone ahead and named my own affliction. I don’t have attention deficit disorder.
I have direction deficit disorder. Really. And those who know me best are silently nodding right now, agreeing quietly with me, having always had this little bit of knowledge about me that I am only now discovering.
I’ve spent the better part of the day applying for jobs that I don’t want. Now, I know from experience that when I really want a job, I don’t stand a snowballs chance in hell of actually getting one. This leads me to the frightening belief that I may actually get a job right now, because I really, really don’t want to get called for an interview.
But my lack of clear direction is becoming defeating. It saps my energy and my mental strength to face the daily battle of not knowing what to do next. Continuing my attempts to bootstrap my way into self-employment is rapidly leading me down a road that I am unwilling to go. The road, of course, leads to the homeless shelter. And I kind of hate it there.
Perhaps ‘they’ were right. Perhaps one shouldn’t quit their job and try to make it on their own when they have no savings put away. It’s certainly becoming tough to promote a business when you can’t afford $6 to have some flyers made on cheap-ass copier paper using only black ink, because the colored ink version is WAY too expensive.
Perhaps there is a medication for my direction deficit disorder. There’s a medication for everything else, isn’t there? Is my condition some sort of social disorder? Perhaps a couple good pulls off the Paxil bottle will calm things down for me, allow me to just be content. Or focused. I have, for the last 20 years or so, been seeing to my own medicinal needs with copious amounts of liquor, but the curative properties of such therapy seem to be in dispute. Or, to be more concise… Whiskey ain’t workin’.
And for as much as I am a proponent of taking personal responsibility for my actions these days, I am loathe to admit that there’s anything wrong with me. I look around and see an entire generation of people who can’t make it through the day without pills. Pills for their mind. And it makes me wonder… Is it us that’s fucked up? Or is society broken?
I tend to gravitate toward the ‘broken society’ school of thought. Because I find it so hard to believe that so many of us are broken. Flawed. Deficient. And it, for the briefest of moments gives me a bit of peace to know that I am not alone in this.
But it certainly doesn’t help pay the rent.
It’s been an emotionally tough afternoon. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll have a brighter, shinier, happier post to share with you, but not today.