Well, fuck – what a philosophical way to start out a post that’s supposed to be about nothing.   What I say here in this lowly blog really is nothing to most people.   That’s how it should be, I guess.   However, today, for some reason, I feel like the “nothings” I’m compelled to spew have a lot of meaning to me.

Am I relevant?   Does what I say and feel even matter one bit to anyone outside of my own rapidly-aging body?   Would anyone actually care if I started spouting off threats of killing myself, or worse, shaving my head due to a trite identity crisis?   I mean, come on!    We can all agree that killing ones-self is a much more acceptable response to depression than depriving ones-self of a perfectly good and lustrous head of hair!   That’s just plain wrong.

I’m trying very hard to be superficial, non-relevant, and meaningless with this post, I really am.  That’s the nature of this fucking blog, and if I can’t think of NOTHING to say, I shouldn’t say anything.   However, today, anything BUT nothing is on my mind.

Of course, no one is reading this bullshit anyway, so even when I go against my better judgment and try to say SOMETHING, no one will be subjected to it.

So, here goes:   I’m watching myself become every fucking boring stereotype the world has to offer.   Seriously – I’m pathetic.   I’m having a midlife crisis, yet at the same time, I’m not married, have no children, and basically have nothing to rebel against!  What crisis am I having?   At the same time, I don’t find myself WANTING to be married, wanting kids, or even wanting anyone else around.

I’ve accomplished virtually nothing with my life, other than to perfect the art of working my TiVo remote’s “fast-forward” button with one hand while jerking off with the other.   Yeah, that’s art, baby.   I had dreams.   There, I admit that.   Dreams of being a rock-star.   Dreams of being a movie star.   Dreams of being anything OTHER than a blogging-star, which is good, cause I’ll never achieve that either!   Here I am, just another voice amongst the cacophony of mindless screams vying for the attention of the masses.

And the worst thing about all this?   The fact that, I don’t have a bad life!   What the hell do I have to complain about?   I mean, seriously, dude!   I’m financially stable, I have very few responsibilities outside of deciding what I want to eat for which meal, and which porn star I want to ogle as I stroke my Johnson (yes, with a capitol “J,” baby).   Life is pretty simple and care free here.   So, why so discontent?

Dare I admit that I want more out of my life – even though I’ve no idea what that “more” may be?   Why can’t I just be happy with what I have?   And am I truly NOT happy, or am I feeling like I SHOULD be unhappy, based on the perception that society expects me to contribute in some meaningful manner, rather than just laying around watching “The Office” re-runs?    And if that’s the case, when the fuck did I start caring about what society wants from me?

Self-worth is such a bastard of a thing.   We are looking for it everywhere all the time, yet we are the only ones who can bestow it upon ourselves.  Self-worth, by it’s definition, is the sense of one’s own value as a person.   We may look to others to validate this personal value, but only we can actually bestow it upon ourselves.   I’m reminded of a story of the musical mega-star Madonna, who was performing in front of thousands and thousands of screaming, adoring fans, and after the show, the one person she couldn’t get out of her head was the single audience member in the front row who just stood there through the entire concert – arms folded – looking bored.   She was obsessed with figuring out how she could entertain this ONE person!  Even a legend like Madonna suffers from occasionally looking externally for that eternally internal commodity of self-worth.   Maybe I’m a Material Girl too.

I don’t know where I’m going with this post at the moment.   Perhaps that’s the one ray of idiotic intent (albeit unintended) I can work into this entry:  have it go nowhere.   Since there probably is no answer to the question I’m not even sure I’ve properly asked yet, I may just step away from the computer, and off the nearest cliff.

Yeah.  I like that.   Fuck this post.