I'm a basement brimming with nothing great

It’s been a long time. And blathering to an ancient, empty newsgroup is pretty fucking ridiculous. But here we are. This was always a place I could say things I was, for whatever reason, unwilling to articulate in real life.

I’m a much more reasonable person than I used to be. No drugs, ingest very little alcohol, am faithful as the day is long, practice yoga and meditation to quell my natural rage, found a way to run that doesn’t trash my knees, take all my vitamins, somehow managed to trick myself into regular piano practice, and am still managing to weather the corporate world. That sounds like the opposite of angst. But somehow it’s not.

How have I not outgrown this ... itch? This urge toward destruction? This generalized compulsion to be bad? And for that matter, why are my rhetorical questions still always in triplicate? Oh wait, that’s four.

Here’s the thing: I have zero intention of doing any of the following, but as of late I am obsessed with … Drugs. Drugs I’ve not done in decades that I frankly never much enjoyed in the first place and certainly have no tolerance for or access to now. I'm having intensely fixated crushes on people I basically see once and never again, coupled with fantasies of widowhood (for nonspecific reasons) that would make said crushes actionable. I'm fantisizing about quitting my job and screwing my retirement. There’s a seriously detailed mental map of the sleeve of ink I've alwasy wanted but which is now patheticaly age inappropriate. Getting my tits done at 51 is sounding totally reasonable. And spending every night in divey clubs where the amps make my sternum vibrate and induce tinnitus sounds divine.

So what’s the deal? Is this just your garden variety mid life crisis? Is it about being pandemically trapped in the house for too long? Is it a natural product of having spent nearly 28 years with the same human? Is it just the price my warped brain extracts for a a life lived responsibly? Fuck all that. Am I seriously going to die without ever being content?

M