I am an angry man

There. I said it. I admitted it.

Happy now? And like I give a shit?

Well, I probably do, which is part of why I'm so angry ... all the time. I say I don't care, but I do care. Usually, I care too much. Or I care in a way that's not reciprocated and never will be.

But most people I know don't know that. They don't know any of it. Why should they? Even on the very rare occasions they ask me how I'm doing, how I've been, how I'm feeling ... they don't really CARE. They're asking to be polite, because it's something they're conditioned to do in polite society.

Think about it. The last time you asked someone, "How are you?", all you wanted to hear back is, "Fine. How are you?" You don't want to hear about their problems, their feelings, their trials and tribulations. You just wanted to be nice and ask. And most people just want to do the same with their responses. They don't want to tell you how they really are, how they've really been, how they really feel.

Just once I'd like someone to ask "How are you?" and reply, "I'm angry. I'm angry almost all the time. For a lot of reasons, some of them which I can't really explain because I don't understand myself."

I'm sure the answer would be, "Umm ... OK. Well ... gotta go! Nice seeing you!" ... or something along those lines.

I used to have a lot of friends, or at least people I considered friends. Some of them I even considered close friends. Good friends. Best friends. We'd hang out, we'd do things together, we'd talk often. We celebrated little life moments together, we enjoyed each others' company, we had fun and made many memories. We celebrated each others' accomplishments and good happenings, and we were there for each other in times of trouble, sadness and need.

And now?

I dunno. I have friends, but really, they're more like acquaintances, work friends, people I know. I don't hang out with anyone anymore, not really. I don't do things with other friends. There are still the occasional celebrated events — birthdays and holidays and the like — but that's about it.

People change. They get married or get boyfriends or girlfriends. They move to different locations. They get different jobs. They have children. They build new lives and, in so doing, some of the old life has to go away, or fade away, or otherwise diminish. Your relationship with them changes. Their relationship with you changes. Things change.

I don't think I've changed much. Maybe that's the problem. Staying static while everything else changes is a type of change, a negative change, if you will. Everyone is moving on and moving forward, and I'm stuck in place. Everyone is going somewhere, and I'm going nowhere.

Except that I have changed. I've become more anti-social. I turn down invitations to parties. I don't go along when people want to go out dancing and drinking. I make polite excuses — other plans, I'll see if I can get free, I have a lot of work to do. But it's mostly because I don't like people as much as I used to.

I don't like myself as much as I used to.

Maybe that's what it's all about, what it all comes down to, what it all means.

I don't like the life I have, or don't have. But I don't change it. I don't change me, not really.

And that makes me mad, makes me angry. But what doesn't make me angry? Because it seems like so much does. Like almost everything does.

I'm angry and I'm bitter and I'm disillusioned. I recognize that.

I've been recognizing a lot of things lately. Things have been coming clear to me, or at least more clear. I'm realizing truths and realities that I've denied for too long.

But, for reasons I don't understand, or don't want to understand, I can't accept many of these realizations. Even though I know better, intellectually and logically ... even emotionally. I know why I need and must accept them, but at the same time I can't.

Wow. That was a great way to spend a lunch break.

We now end this sad-sack, self-pitying, wallowing, cringing, bitching, sulking bit of rambling, incoherent blather and self-loathing, attention-seeking crap and return you to our normal blogging programming.

Donations to the whiner can be made by calling 1.800.CRY.BABY.

I am DZER and I paid for this message.