Eventually you get to the point where you age-out of joy. I mean, sure, you try to throw yourself into your work, try to squeeze some semblance of satisfaction out of that dried raisin of a career. But it’s never the same as it used to be. It’s hollow, just like you, and you hate all of it. But what else are you gonna do? So you do your time and go home and stare at the wall; you have no desire to watch tv because it’s all the same bullshit you’ve seen for years. When you do watch tv, usually with your spouse who is little more than a grumpy roommate now. The tv screen is transparent, and you see nothing but the studs in the wall. The family mills about, completely clueless to the misery you are living. Sure you laugh, but it’s without the twinkle in your eye that you once had. You tend to spend a lot more time in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror, telling yourself you want to blow your brains out, but never do. Sometimes you cry in isolation. Most of the time you are numb and you sit there in silence. Otherwise, you pretend to do stuff until nightfall. Finally. You down some sleeping pills, go to bed early, doom-scroll for a few hours until the meds kick in. Lights out. You wake a few hours later, before the rest of the fucking world it seems, muttering the word “fuck”. Not with the frolicking fun connotation of youth, but in utter despair that you awoke at all. Again. So you drag yourself to that mirror, brushing your teeth, put on that hollow smile and start the day over. repeat. And again. And again.
I’m sorry, what was the question?
Two items provide joy.
https://i.imgur.com/vyRR4.gif — a flaming kick to the neck
https://youtu.be/VdZNyqa5Lhw?si=qRjZVVvYbIraliN7 — blonde jihad