Within three days, I’ve confirmed that most of what I do is either meaningless or so grossly underappreciated (not to be confused with being taken for granted) that it might as well be meaningless.
So last night to fall asleep, rather than imagining how I would spend lottery winnings or trying to work out the next new mini-feature in some software I’m developing but was too tired to continue for the evening, I imagined that I was on a bicycle.
It was summer - The gentle wind was warm. The sun was out shining through the deep green leaves of the large trees on either side of the paved path. I pedaled my bicycle down the path. It was a street bike, a simple 10-speed, blue. I didn’t need to shift gears or make any turns on the straight, even path, and I was simply looking around at all the leaves and the sunlight. There wasn’t anyone else riding or jogging, just me on my bike.
Of course, I was watching myself do that. I was actually standing over on the side watching me pedal. Looking at my own smug, carefree grin. But that didn’t occur to me then, so I fell asleep. The thought of happy-me getting along fine without me brings me the kind of amusement that isn’t merriment, but is kin to feelings when reading the Darwin Awards or watching Faces of Death. It’s better than the dreams lately.
The same stinking two lines of code that are broken, over and over. People constantly begging to have it fixed, and me replying, “I thought I did that already.” And then I can’t figure it out. The audio backdrop consists mainly of a strange medly of Bear in the Big Blue House and the Backyardigans.
I could be optimistic if “genius” didn’t toil in the obscure and unappreciated. I wonder how many of my genius high school friends have survived by giving into the corporate wage slave lifestyle. None of them have wrapped their brains in Saran-wrap to keep out the crushing reality of the world, I bet. None so naive as me.
It turns out that - according to the radio - I have many of the sympoms of a anxiety disorder. This also amuses me. It’s not a pill-taking level of anxiety. Yet. But it’s there. Maybe I should seek counseling. Nobody else would listen to me, right?
