Ho-hum. I feel empty again, like a pornstar's bollocks. I'm not massively depressed despite how this may read. Put simply, I'm just Down. I feel like I'm stuck in a black hole.
Like a pornstar's penis.
Perhaps it's the gloomy weather, or my lack of motivation, but like Labi Siffre, I've got the blues. And it's a bitch.
Tonight, I went to a focus group. Large Northern Flatmate and I are currently roadtesting the BBC's soon-to-be introduced Catch Up TV service, and he sent me to eat the free food and give my two cents.
Except I didn't eat much of the sandwich hillock available even though I wanted to (I've been to lots of groups like this and always end up too embarrassed to cram myself full of free food), plus I quickly realised I don't know much about the TV service to be of any use. I spend too much time on the Internet when I get home.
It didn't help that I was sitting next to perhaps the two most boring men in the Western Hemisphere. If they weren't demanding the digibox comes equipped with a terrabyte of memory (What the fuck's a terrabyte, and when did I stop knowing about technology and turn into my Dad?), then the men were bemoaning the faults of the system. Granted, the group organisers needed constructive criticism, but at one point, I wanted to yell 'Aren't you ever satisfied, you whinging arsesacks?'
And yes, I'm aware of the hypocrisy in that comment.
From my point of view, I was just grateful to be getting a free digibox, even if the picture does stutter and break up occasionally. And even if I don't actually watch much of it.
I think the problem is my subconscious. It's being bombarded by less than subtle reminders that there are things that need addressing. The cute waitress at the Beerhall reminded me that I couldn't chat up women if I did that for a well-paid living and was on commission. The girl who escorted us to tonight's group was also cute, although I soon realised that I couldn't smile or flirt with her as my face was starting to glow red just by thinking about it.
There was an equally cute girl on the tube on the way home, and although there were infrequent glances going both ways, again, I was paralysed. What do I do now?
So I did the only thing I could think of when I got home; head to the newsagents for cigarettes. I'd finished a pack earlier, ironically my Last Pack Ever, only to feel lost enough to want to smoke (until four puffs in.)
At the moment, it's not so much the Thrill of the Chase. The only thrill is spotting a Chase-ee, then crumbling as I open the garage to get in my phallic Lambourghini to discover that it's been vandalised, it's out of petrol, and it now looks more like Trabant.
And then there's my job. I like my job, but I don't love it anymore. I enjoyed learning the ropes, but now it's all about helping my Boss and I get through the day as cleanly and efficiently as possible. I know I should look for a job in a more challenging field, or even in some writing, umm, thing, but I can't face the pain.
And why am I'm always tired? Constantly? When I was at the BBC tonight, there were still a few employees busying themselves at 7pm, and I thought How? If it wasn't the sheer thrill of their jobs keeping them going, then it was perhaps the threat of doing their best in a high-pressure industry and it scared me to want to go back into that world.
I wish I knew what the hell I wanted to do - you know - with everything. When I was 13, I thought I'd be married with kids by 21. In hindsight, I now know that's dangerously young to be settling down without really living first, but I'm 33 this year and I'm not sure if I've ever really lived.
I don't have a career. I look at nice women from afar. I will never be able to afford to buy a small broom cupboard apartment in the city of my birth. And I'd love to have kids but I'll soon be too old to pick the fuckers up.
I know where I'm going wrong in life, and I know the steps I have to take to correct it. But without being sure where I'm going, it makes the journey so much harder. And without the kick-start that I'm waiting for, I don't feel motivated to even try.
But at least I can blog about it and make everyone miserable.
Bloody hell, bring on the summer. I need sunshine.