Thursday, September 2, 2010

30

I’ll be turning 30 this month. I guess that’s supposed to be a milestone, but I’m pretty sure nobody’s planning a surprise party for me or anything. I can’t think of anybody in my life who’d want to do that. It’s my own fault for being such a loner. I don’t mind turning 30. When I was younger I had expectations about what my life would be like at 30. I was way off the mark. I thought that I’d be working professionally as a costume designer for theater and movies, living in a trendy loft condo somewhere in Lincoln Park or something, surrounded by smart, sophisticated friends. Well, none of that has materialized yet!

Considering my history of not being able to hold a job for very long, I guess I should feel lucky that I’m employed at all right now, especially with the bad economy and everything. I have my own apartment and I have a car to drive, though I am still “heavily subsidized” by my parents, as my dad says. They don’t mind. I’m sure they’re very relieved that I’ve been emotionally stable.

I guess I should set a goal to actually do something useful for myself this year. Do something besides slowly destroying myself through my perversion for filth. I mean, so far what have I done? I nearly killed myself six years ago having sex with blowfly maggots, wrote about it on my old Geocities page, and the story became mildly infamous as one of the most disgusting stories on the Internet. My gynecologist says she can tell that I’m unable to get pregnant anymore. At least I’m well on my way to destroying myself. It’s an achievement.

Seriously, though, I have to mention that I’ve read comments on my blog and gotten emails from people wishing me well and hoping I will seek help. If you’re one of them, thank you for being concerned. Really, sincerely. You sound like nice compassionate people. But I’m okay. While I was growing up, my parents made me go to counseling, see psychiatrists, take antidepressants, all sorts of stuff. I’m happier without any help. And I’m only a danger to myself a very small percentage of the time. There’s a lot more to my life that I don’t discuss on my blog that if you knew about, you’d see I’m pretty normal.

1 comment:

  1. Now I realize you had your crotch full of dog shit when you wrote this. Damn!

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