Sometimes I just feel like life is a perpetual slog, as though I may as well be pushing a boulder uphill for all eternity.
Only... what did I do to deserve this? Was I as deceitful and avaricious as Sisyphus? I never cheated on my wife or killed people traveling through my lands, so why do I feel like my life mirrors the punishment dealt out by gods on an errant king?
I guess that's just it: it is not, but it FEELS like it is. It feels like every time I get close to completing something it just rolls back down a hill and I have to start all over again. It's discouraging, especially when you're going at life pretty much on your own. I don't come home to anyone, so there's never any good surprises there (unless it's mail from a few wonderful folks south of the border), and that can be nice. No surprises means no bad surprises, but it also means no good ones. The bathroom is never miraculously clean and the dishes are never miraculously done and dinner is never waiting for me.
I hate to admit it, and I may only be saying this out of weakness after the end of a particularly unproductive week, but life's lonely when you're going at it alone. I am usually okay with being alone. Usually, I love it. But some weeks just wear a person down. Some weeks, all anyone wants is a miracle. Right now, I'd kill for someone to come wisk me away on a Learjet and treat me to a few hockey games and steak dinners... Only, even as I long for that I know I wouldn't be able to enjoy it because it would feel too much like running away. I wouldn't feel like I'd earned it. And I don't really enjoy things I feel I haven't earned.
Only what do I feel I have earned? I am frustrated by my self, by whatever part of me gets stuck in these godforsaken ruts and leaves me feeling like a modern day Sisyphus, doomed to repeat (and fail to complete) a single action for the rest of eternity. Depression's a bitch, kids. I should probably get some of the magic pills again and fix it, but my stubborn streak is still fixedly against that plan. I keep thinking that I just need the right spark of inspiration to be able to plough through the banality of my life as it stands in this moment. Usually I would turn to one of a few books, but I left all those in BC in storage last summer never thinking that they would be there for this long.
I need to pull myself out of this rut, but how? Isn't that the eternal question? Perhaps that is the moral of the Sisyphus myth, the real moral: that you are doomed to stay in that rut, working on task that is impossible to achieve, unless you can negotiate your way out. Sisyphus wasn't able to - he was guarded and forced to stay to repent for his sins - but maybe I can. There is no guard keeping me here, so why is it so hard to walk away? Why is it that I can't walk away? Am I really so determined to find a solution to the impossible puzzle? Do I really think I can find away to keep the proverbial boulder on the top of the mountain? Is that even the point?
At the end of the day, I'm still not sure, but I know that going at it alone is wearing me out. I need to dig myself out of this. Can someone hand me a shovel? Or, at least, a pint of Keith's?