Guess what? Today was no more awake than yesterday, so you get another heaping helping of the same old blogtastic bullpuckey.

Can I get a what what? No? That’s OK.

So what have I got to offer from my burgeoning brainbox today? Sweet fuck all, or at least, that is how it feels. These sleepy days really wear a fella down.

They do not frustrate and depress me like they used to do, which is a good thing. I have learned to be at least somewhat philosophical about the whole thing. Seems like it is just destined to happen some of the time, and all I can really do is try to have my shit together enough to get what little done that I need done in a day and let the rest fall to pieces and melt back into the big shiny lump of quicksilver and reactor water I call “me”.

It’s not an accurate label, really, but it’s the best I have got.

It still saddens me though, somewhat, to see my life flash past with me asleep. It makes me feel like I am not even really alive, like I am just a dreamer caught in his own dream and if I were ever to truly awaken, I would just plain disappear.

It’s bad enough to be thirty eight years old with nothing to show for my life at all. To add missing out on most things because I sleep so much seems hopelessly and callously cruel.

But always, I have to remind myself : I am sick. I have a serious illness. In fact, I have at least three of them : depression, diabetes, and sleep apnea. I cannot judge myself by the standards of healthy people. I have been seriously ill for most of my adult life. These illnesses have stolen my life, but I am not to blame. It is not me. It’s my diseases.

All of this is completely true. I can’t find any logical hole or informational deficit in any of it. All its axioms are solid and they hang together as defined. By all rights, there is absolutely no reason why I don’t believe it.

But I don’t believe it. Not deep down below the rational/emotional level. Down there, in the deep down damning dark, where the guts of the soul truly live, I don’t believe a word of it.

Deep down, I just plain hate myself, and think I am the most pathetic, worthless, useless, sick sad joke of a loser of a waste of space, and I should die of shame for simply daring to taint the universe with my contemptible existence.

Let alone how ashamed I should be that perfectly good organic carbon compounds are being tied up forming my worthless self when they could be part of something more worthy, like pond scum or a batch of the AIDS virus.

At least diseases get something done.

But at least the other side grows stronger, bit by bit, every day. For a while the role of Loyal Opposition to the depressive dogma was simply vacant. I “dealt” with my depression by simply never thinking about it and keeping my mind busy all the time with the Internet and video games and the like.

But after a while, that stops working, and you start thinking about your life and what you have done with it, and you start, if you are me, truly fucking hating yourself.

And then you need an opposition if you ever want to get any better.

so I try to reinforce positive thoughts in my head whenever I can. I know that there’s a lot of people who like me, online and in the real world, and who even think I am pretty amazing at least some of the time.

I know that I have a big, warm, witty, wonderful personality just waiting to blossom from the light I currently hide under my bushel. I know that I have an amazing mind, unique and powerful and deep and strange as hell, and have the capacity to do great things with it.

I know that I am a nice guy, and a good person, and a talented individual, and that I should not beat myself up for my lack of ability in more practical things, because some of us are just meant to be hothouse flowers with rare talents and strange powers, but not so wonderful at the regular part of life.

And if I keep reminding myself of these facts, some day my heart will believe them too.