August 15, 2010

Yes. What an exciting couple of months of crushing loneliness, anguish and self doubt!

No, this wasn’t the fun kind of personal crisis that ends is in a glory of self-revelation and new knowledge and shit. It was just your run-of-the-mill “I’m turning 30 and I’m still a selfish, self-pitying asshole” sort of stuff.

Yeah. 30.

And I suddenly had this crushing realization that I’m trapped in a nightmare world where our survival as a culture depends entirely on killing stuff to extract oil. I was so angry about it I went out and personally drove over a raccoon with my car. The impact sent the tiny carcass rolling across the asphalt. Take that, Nature!

Anger. Self-loathing. All the good stuff.

But like all good midlife crisis, this one too was easily solved. I just had to buy more shit. Preferably the sort of shit that keeps petrochemical companies in business.

So I bought a new car. The adventure venture was exchanged for shiny, new metal.

The new piece of metal is painted ‘midlife-crisis red.’ It runs on gasoline. It has two doors. It’s a twodoor Tudor car. Ha-ha. My definition of self is entirely wrapped up in the objects I own.

Crisis averted. Being 30 in a week is going to rock!