Yes, it’s this shit again. Bite me.
I’m in a mood. I can’t decide if I don’t feel like doing anything because I’m lazy or because I don’t give a fuck. For the uninitiated, there is definitely a huge difference between the two.
If I don’t feel like doing something (say, writing incredibly snarky, witty things on this next-to-impossible-to-find corner of the internet), the reason is either laziness or apathy. Laziness is a strange thing, though. Just because I’m too lazy to sit down and write down some vaguely coherent thoughts doesn’t mean I’m too lazy to play Arkham City for 12 straight hours and I’m bleeding from the eyes and my kids are begging for food. It also doesn’t mean I’m not so lazy that I wouldn’t go get some Chinese takeout and eat it in front of said children, telling them this is MY food. Mine. There’s cereal and cold coffee in the kitchen. Knock yourselves out.
Apathy, on the other hand, is a different animal. Also known as soul-crushing despair, apathy pretty much prevents me from wanting to get out of my recliner at any given moment and since society frowns on my driving in the snow after a healthy mixture of Vicodin and Irish whiskey (fuck you, killjoys), there is little to no chance I will have the motivation to do anything.
Chronic, clinical depression is a sad thing and something I’ve fought since middle school. Unfortunately for me, there was no such thing as Prozac then. In the mid-80s, if you were sad, lonely, outcast, and depressed, the only cure was for the kid in the grade above you with the glandular problem who could grow a full beard at age 12 was to beat some sense into you and make you think, “Gee. Things aren’t so bad after all. Thanks, cowardly bully who will go on to die at age 23 after a soda machine you tried to steal falls on you!” OK, thinking about that DOES give me a reason to smile because I won. Take that, squished guy who left a family behind because you’re stupid; the fat middle-aged guy whining on a blog no one will read has beat you. The fact it’s true is sadder than dead puppies at an orphanage on Christmas.
The fact is, once I actually sit down to write, I begin to pick up some steam and feel good about it. Not this particular piece of writing. No, this is mostly just something to keep my hands busy while a bottle of NyQil and a baggie full of Ambien that I bought from that high school kid for $50 sits in the corner invitingly. But as you can see, I’ve gone from being completely non-responsive in a worn-out recliner to actually writing something down and stringing together some (sorta) coherent thoughts.
I had planned on writing something about Batman and instead put down a rambling diatribe on depression, alcoholism, and suicidal depression. If you’re thinking, “Well, that might be the saddest, most pathetic thing I’ve heard of all week,” you’re not too far from wrong. I am, however, in a slightly better mood, so I guess this wasn’t a complete waste of time. Well, for me, anyway. You’re pretty much fucked if you’ve read all the way to this point, because it’s not only not going to get any better, but it’s almost over. So you may as well stick it out.
I guess the point is, if you’re lazy, shit’s not going to change. You’re not going to suddenly become a pillar of society overnight. Enjoy your pretzels and PlayStation 3. If you’re apathetic, or depressed, just force yourself to get up and do something. Nothing big, mind you; don’t decide to build a deck or reach out to loved ones who have given up on you after years of having their sympathetic attempts to find you help fall on deaf ears. Fuck that. That’s WORK. Do something small. Like get out of the chair and walk around the house. Take a shower or at least for God’s sake, put on some clean clothes. Kevin Smith appreciates the View Askew shirt you bought from his Web site, it doesn’t mean you have to wear it for 15-straight days without bathing.
Or just put some words on a page. Can’t hurt.