A Staggering Work of Eccentric Fiction

My eyes follow the fuzzy white dot of light as it circles the room. Disco balls make everything better. Especially when the room is totally dark except for that mirror ball and the one lone spotlight hitting at just the right angle. I follow that dot around and around...waiting for it to twist up, then turn the other way.

The ball never stops, it just keeps twisting one way, then the other, over and over. Concentric circles of fuzzy white rings painting a dark room. Light trails in my vision without acid. Always has.

I stand there staring at the light, thinking about who I was two months ago. Since then, I've neglected cleaning the house and my bedroom, stopped trying to pay my bills on time, stopped attempting a sense of a normal life. Spending money I don't have, drinking beer that never stays cold, ignoring the pressure building against my skull. Somewhere on a wall, I'm immortalized until someone bores of the painting. That pudgy bearded face won't be there forever.

My friends say "don't worry, just focus on yourself, it'll work out." Right, I fucking hate where I'm at.

My job is easy, to say the least. I spend most of my time in the cubicle thinking about anything BUT video duplication and distribution. My clients think I'm some sort of miracle-worker when in fact, they're just idiots and can't (or won't) comprehend how I do what I do for them.

Depression doesn't worry me, I'm too good for that. Its the indifference. That's what scares me. Its the apathy, the distaste for stupidity that scares me. Banality will kill us all, I suppose. It furrows my brow, giving me a constant headache. I can't sleep at night without meditating (that's a 't', not a 'c', please take note). Introspection is killing me softly. No, that's not right, its torturing me, there's nothing soft about it.

I'm so tired of fighting for a lost cause, i.e. love. I suppose that can be taken in a number of ways. My way involves a lack of balance. There's no balance between my idealism and realism. Throw in a good dose of passion, and I'm completely fucked.

About once (sometimes twice) every four or five years, an amazing woman or job opportunity finds me. You know why? Because I've always done what my friends are telling me right now..."focus on yourself, don't look for the ladies, they'll come to you." Doing that involves a loss of control. Not that I completely believe in freewill, but you know what? I'm so tired of waiting for the good job, and the girl.

Changes need to be made.

Sadly, this is not a staggering work of eccentricity or fiction, it is my life.