Why Does It Have To Be So Damn Hard?
Everything is hard.
I spent too long wrestling with the bottle of lotion that just wouldn’t open. I tried and tried and tried. But the fucker was snapped shut. The built-up hysteria enveloped my body wrapped in a damp towel, as my hands were fixated on the object containing the prize.
It finally opened, but not before I wondered out loud why it was so fucking hard to do something that shouldn’t involve cursing and sweat after a shower.
Of course streams of thoughts have their own pattern. Suddenly I’m contemplating the difficulties of basic living.
It’s challenging to even interact with humans without considering the worst outcome.
Like the other day when I realized I had dropped my keys at the gym attached to the leasing office. I walked back in a huff, hoping that I would find it on the floor next to the treadmill in the center.
When I walked in and saw the two guys working out, I asked the one using the machine I had just used if he happened to see a pair of keys lying anywhere.
He said no. And then he seemed concerned as I began to check around with obvious irritation and confusion.
I found the keys on the window sill, right in front of the guy I previously asked, and he seemed amused at my discovery. I could sense that he knew they were there all along.
It was weird.
As I walked back to the apartment for the second time, I was struck by how hard it is to communicate with normal people.
Back in the day, it really did take a village to raise us. Adults relied on the good nature and dependability of other adults in their midst when it came to the wellbeing of neighborhood children.
I can’t imagine such a thing in this day and age. Parenting seems like a disposition that’s wrought with the added stresses of not being able to trust anyone in any capacity because of the virus of indifference, inexplicable recklessness and stupidity.
It’s so damn hard to figure out how to get a job that matches skill set and keeps you employed for at least a couple of months.
It’s even harder convincing yourself that making a decent living is still a thing when the dwindling options are anything but appetizing.
Dating was hard before, but now it’s excruciatingly painful.
No guy can compete with my desire to coddle in bed with fresh episodes of an old love that’s back in demand on Hulu.
Nothing beats the reliance on a functioning Wifi connection, and the sweet escape to worlds that blessedly overwhelm the real thing.
It’s hard to watch the news. It’s hard to be social on platforms that haven’t evolved into anything outside of Twitter wars, fancy narcissism on Instagram, and communal poison on Facebook.
How can users still feel supremely original posting those generic selfies, over and over, again?
It’s hard not to be somewhat inspired by the Coronavirus.
I recently got so mad at someone who annoyed me for reasons I can’t remember, and I actually thought about how useful it is to be in the middle of a global pandemic.
You know what I mean.
Yeah, it’s hard to stop conjuring evil images in my head. I thought taking a mini-break from the platforms of our discontent would do the trick, but I am changed forever.
Everything is hard.
Maybe it’s me. I tend to be overly dramatic. I guess I have to go out more, but that seems to be the one thing I shouldn’t do because of the infection in the air.
It’s tough to understand what to do from one minute to the next because every decision requires so much effort.
Do I care if I live or die?
Crazily, my answer isn’t out of reach.
Finally, something simple.