Shambling through the day..

1. "shambles," (used with a singular or plural verb)
a. a slaughterhouse.
b. any place of carnage.
c. any scene of destruction: to turn cities into shambles.

2. shamble (v)
- To walk in an awkward, lazy, or unsteady manner, shuffling the feet.

What a strangely appropriate word. I feel as though I'm stumbling awkwardly, unsteadily through my life right now. My days somehow hazy, vague, directionless.

A place of carnage. Destruction. Have I turned my life into a shambles by shambling? Has my lazy, listsless, unfocused approach to things resulted in this growing sense that I am living in a condemned tenement, with boards breaking loose, windows cracked, pipes leaking?

I'm at a strange crossroads. From here there are only two paths. Shake it off, get a freaking clue, and start living a life filled with some sort of purpose, infused with some sense of energy, purpose, direction. Wring from it an essential fervor that will drive me forward. WAKE UP!

Or...

Or...

Plan B. Sink into a mire of self-loathing, let the numbness take over completely, like corrosion coating the contacts of a switch, dimming the lights, flickering intermittently. A dull, orange glow barely illuminating. Slack jawed and drooling, eyes unfocused. Atrophied, skin a grayish pale.

Foundering in self-pity. It's tempting, just give over to the depression. Shut out the world, withdraw into a self-imposed isolation, spin myself an impenetrable cocoon

Except that, my mom did that. I bear mute testimony to what it does to the kids. I have kids. I cannot allow myself that ill luxury of just giving up.

Which sucks. At times. A lot.

I hate being a grownup sometimes. Because, well, you have to grow up, with all it's related unpleasantness an inability to escape those imposed requirements of responsibility, of sanity, of remaining "present" to those in the outside world. I swear sometimes just sweating it through the day takes every erg or joule or angstrom of energy I can produce.

I don't really want to die, so why is it so hard to make myself want to live sometimes?

Maybe I won't give up completely. I jusst stop caring. Just stop giving one, ripe steaming shit about anything at all. Or, is that what got me into this situation in the first place?

Screw it. Mark your calendars. Thursday, 15 May, at approximately 12:40 PM, I stopped giving a shit. Of any kind. Whatsoever.

How truly liberating.