Untitled it is

We all know the saying, in different variations, about if you think you are sane and everyone else is insane then it’s probably you that’s insane.

I have a truth. I know what it is and I believe it to be true and real. At this point it may be the only thing that I believe to be true and real. But this truth of mine, it gets tested every day. External forces just make things so noisy sometimes. I have faith, and I have doubts, and the whole point of doubt in the first place is supposed to strengthen the resolve of faith. I realize all these things.

But that’s not what this is. This is just doubt. My brain has been overrun with everyone saying the same things, every question leading to the same answer, every step drawing me closer to a similar conclusion. Once again I have turned into what Jack’s Mannequin said was “My life has become a boring pop song and everyone’s singing along.”

And I’m singing with them. It is my song, after all. I guess it’s just so frustratingly hilarious how I manage to put myself into situations directly after I had been convinced that I would never go there again. It’s like being 18 and in love with a girl who didn’t love me back for my entire high school career and then right after a failed prom experience with her I ended up meeting my actual first love like two weeks later.

It’s a contract we enter with the universe. When we hold out our hands and say I’m Ready nothing ever comes. It’s when we turn our back, pick up our ball and go home, that the universe reminds us that the game we are playing does not belong to us. It belongs to it. And the truth is we are never ready. We like to think we are when our palms are cupped outwards like shovels, but there is always just one more lesson to be learned. One more experience to humble us. And the road goes on forever.

That is why it feels so much like a test, because it is a test. The drama of living isn’t as complicated as it sometimes seems. It’s just a question that is perpetually being asked, whether you are receptive to it or not. That question is this: How much have you actually learned?

It’s the only thing that matters. I was not emotionally prepared for this moment 15 years ago, or 10, or even 5. I used to dangle a carrot out there and say, you know, I’m not ready right now, but I will be if I just get a little time. Let me grow up a bit. That isn’t how I operate anymore because I do know better, I do know the answers to the questions that plague me. I’m just a slave to the uncertainty of everything that is out of my control.

And somewhere within that uncertainty is where my truth ultimately rests. I feel like I know it, and that I have always known it to be real, but in the background are those praying on my downfall and the cold reality that maybe, perhaps, the wool is being pulled over my eyes. Maybe, possibly, I’m just wrong. Maybe I am insane.

I don’t think I am. I think I know exactly where I am, and I refuse to take myself out of this game and let everyone else win. Let’s be honest, I have a pretty cool ass life. I am young and decent looking, I make pretty good money, I’m pretty funny and pretty smart. Other than being 5’7″ instead of 6’4″ or some shit, the world is and forever has been and forever will be my oyster. I have been happy before. I will have many years of happiness ahead of me.

Here is the only thing, as it pertains to right this second. The universe is pouring down on me and I have only one issue. The one issue is that I am using a toothpick as my umbrella. Forget about the litany of positives I have going for me that, on their own, would be able to withstand this onslaught. Forget that the pros outweigh the cons by a factor of like a hundred-to-one. Forget about all that. I am and have been treating the one issue in my life as the only issue that matters.

I have not been eating much lately, but I know I will eat again. I have not been sleeping well lately, but I know I will sleep again. You need to understand, dear reader, that all my pain is temporary. I am either going to be happy as fuck all the time or I am going to be depressed. I usually write better when I am feeling a little depressed. It’s also an incredible burden on me when I am happy all the time. I mean, 15 years of that deserves a month of being sad. Maybe it’ll last a little while longer. Who knows. And who gives a fuck?