I got a haircut and, people actually look away. Yeah, I saw people on the street pretending like they didn’t see anything. I have never had a good relationship with barbers. Twice in my life I have been in situations where I don’t speak the same language as them, and we end up arguing. There’s people waiting in line, it’s a mess. But the thing about fighting with barbers is, they always win. You come out of there looking like a different person, like you feel downgraded. A barber has the ability to do that.
Today, a barber put his finger in my mouth. Aside from the Covid thing, I have reason to believe that he had just scratched his ass. But today, I was unfazed. All the antidepressants, and anxiety pills are really working their magic. They are turning me into a zombie. I feel like I am floating all the time. There’s no anxiety, but there’s deep sadness. So bad that it sometimes manifests itself into physical pain.
The first few rays of summer hit me on the face and butt today, after my afternoon shower, in the form of sweat. This is usually depicted as a high point in movies, but here, in little ol Kolkata, it’s the opening up of hell itself. Once it starts, you forget that there even was a winter. Everyday becomes a fight against summer, against life itself.
I am very very confused. My mind is confused, my heart is confused. I always hated it when people equated heart to love. I always pictured it as a piece of meat, which it is. There is a reason for this wonderful, motivating post. I have been stuck at home, sick with fever for the past one week. Just when I started to plan my life out a little, beginning with some peaceful vacation time, time to spend with my mom, few days to spend with my girl, life decided to fuck me. Let me tell you something about this unpredictable ass-rapist called life. ‘Unpredictable’ does not do justice in describing how bipolar this bitch is. There is no control. Any sort of grip on life is an illusion. Nobody knows what is happening. None knows why dogs sniff each other’s butts, no one knows why wake up in the morning.
Disclaimer: Papa is depressed. Life is still beautiful.
A few minutes ago my manager pocket-dialled me, and I heard him fart. I am miserable and depressed, but now I think there is a God.
I used to go around telling people I am depressed, but I stopped doing that once people started asking me, “have you been diagnosed with it?”, because I have not. I have met people suffering from depression, and no offence, but it seems really fucked up. In fact, on the scale of depression, I think I would fall on the lower end called “sad”. Sad, because I don’t have many people I can talk to (or maybe I push away the people with whom I can). Or, as that girl on OkCupid put it so elegantly, “it’s because you’re not getting any action”. Maybe it is. I’ll be honest, having someone, or at least the thought of having someone who genuinely cares about you, is sometimes all it takes to give you a boost in life. My problems are the usual, pitiful shit, but they are problems nonetheless.
- No friends, not very good at socializing
- Too immature to deal with life
- To top it off, I hate my job
Handpicked attributes that lead to the making of a fine mass shooter. I also do nothing to get out of these troubles. I just run away from it, because it’s difficult to deal with. That brings me to Kanan Gill’s comedy special, Yours Sincerely. Throughout the show, he talks about a “friend” who comes to him with his problems. A nagging, incompetent “friend” who’s sad, and just can’t stop yapping about his shitty troubles in life. At the end of the show, he reveals that this “friend” is just someone he made up in the show, to talk about his own depression. I don’t know where I am going with this, so I am going to end it here.
I stayed an extra two hours at work today because I have nothing much to come home to.
Damn! I’m getting really good at writing these shitty dramatic lines. I make myself laugh when I write these 😂. My life still sucks though ☹️.
Back in the day, I would go to watch a movie, and be so immersed in it that when the movie ended, I would get struck by this bolt of depression, because now, I had to go back to my shitty, regular life. But now its different. I still get the depression, but then I go,” It’s not that bad. My life’s not that bad. I can eat a burger and watch You tube”.
It’s amazing how this “depression” thing fades away when you talk to good people. After talking to someone you think to yourself, “Oh my god I’m cured! I did it! It’s gone! It’s finally, completely gone! Wait… wait a minute, there it is. It’s back. Ah shit.”
I’ve been feeling quite depressed lately. So I talked. I talked to an old friend. Holy hell! I never realized that opening my mouth and actually talking to someone would bring me so much relief. Just to hear someone talk, like, have a normal conversation with them was like resetting my brain. I feel so much better. It feels like a lot of anxiety has been lifted off my chest. I feel refreshed, motivated and hungry. Time for dinner.
For no reason, here’s a video of a snake I found.
All are wonders of nature- Depression, snakes, Burger King, etc.
What if the cure for Cancer lies inside the head of a super-talented, brilliant kid who cannot afford an education? What if that kid is being abused by a family member?
What if we finally find out, we are alone in this universe after all?
What if dogs showed affection to their masters only because we artificially bred them to behave that way? Nah, that’s too dark. We live on a planet where burgers and rock music exist. It couldn’t be that bad.
Clip from last weekends jam with a new band
You know when’s the best time to write? When you’re drunk and you don’t care about spelling, well, unless autocorrect is tuned on. Creativity just flows like molten lava. Also, it really helps if your dog died. Then you get that extra boost/pressure to write. I call it depressure. Get it? depression+pressure? Anyway, I think I’ll go back to staring at the wall now. Oh almost forgot! I climbed a hill last weekend. Here’s a picture.
Kolakham, West Bengal
Have a good weekend!
I have a dream, a simple, revolutionary dream. I want to make music. I want to see people become happy when they listen to my music. Unfortunately, I do not have the talent to realize this dream on my own. I need a team(in the words of the great Deadpool, “a super dooper fucking group”). I’ve been trying to put together a team for the past one month. After several auditions, I finally got a bass player and lead guitar player. I explained my dream to them. I narrated it in Morgan Freeman’s voice. I put forth the idea like Steve Jobs explaining a business idea. I did everything I could. Yet those fuckers want to pursue a more “people-friendly” genre rather than taking a chance with me. I respect their musical interests. So now, I travel for an hour every weekend, play drums to fuckin “Foo Fighters” at a recording studio, come back home and eat till the depression fades away(Domino’s wins again).
I met a family who lives inside the studio’s premises. Here they are: