The Missing Link

I haven’t been making enough time for the little things. The intricacies that build upon each other to form my joyous existence have been neglected. In a search to find what may be missing I have realized an important factor; I don’t take the time to be depressed anymore.

Things used to be so much different.

Gone are the good ol’ days of imagining how long it would take someone to discover my cold, lifeless body hanging from the exposed piping of my apartment. I miss those thoughts. They kept me balanced. I replaced them with material goods, such as a sixty inch plasma TV that distracts me from lying in bed and pondering such things.

I have fond memories of drinking Tecate and eating Cup of Noodles while filling out imaginary jobs I “applied” for on my unemployment forms. Now, my time is spent counting the dividends on my mutual funds and depositing a paycheck every two weeks. Dollars and cents will never fill the void of being drunk before lunch.

My love life isn’t what it used to be. I frequently find myself having sex with beautiful women who are way out of my league. It fails in comparison to the inability to reach completion while masturbating because “Careless Whisper” by Wham! plays on repeat in my head. Lately, when I pleasure myself, all I get is “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” and I find myself finishing with a smile.

I can’t take this anymore.

I need to bask in the world of depression that has been eluding me for so long. I want to contemplate my existence while washing the tears from my pillows. I need a rope, a bullet, or a razor blade. I yearn to wash down a bottle of something with a bottle of something. I need a girl who will leave me without giving me a reason. It has been far too long since my brain was numb and my heart felt empty. I never want to dance again.

Wait.

ESPN Classic is airing a re-run of American Gladiators. This depression thing is going to have to be put on hold.