It’s Monday morning…the first Monday of October, after a weekend in which the only positive thing I did was talk on the phone to my sister.  Unfortunately, that was cut a bit short by the fact that I was starting to have trouble with my voice; I guess I have a minor case of laryngitis.

I don’t really have anything of importance to discuss today, but I’m not writing any fiction currently, and I have no other personal goals or projects of significance.  I don’t really even know what the point of writing this is, to be honest.  It’s just something to do on the way to the office, I guess.

I want to stop trying.  I want to stop pushing that stupid boulder.  I can’t get a single decent night’s sleep, no matter what I do.  I didn’t get any exercise this weekend because my feet and ankles/heels have been giving me a great deal of trouble, and it’s also been raining more or less constantly the whole weekend.  This is not new.  In fact, either last Sunday or the Sunday before, I had a bad slip and near-fall in the rear of the house in which I live because of the wet and muddy pavement, the flailing about from which really wrenched my back; it still gives surprisingly sharp pains if I lean in the wrong direction.

And, of course, now there’s a new hurricane brewing in the Gulf of Mexico that’s supposed to cut across the state later in the week.  That’ll be at least mildly interesting, but the main brunt of it looks to be missing this part of the state.  It’s coming from the west, so by the time its main body reaches north of here, it’ll expend at least part of its impetus.

If you want something done right, I guess you have to do it yourself, or so the saying goes.  If I want to be completely destroyed, I’m going to have to make my own arrangements.  I mean, I had planned to start trying to do that‒or at least to roll the dice on it‒two weeks ago, but my plans were pushed back a bit.

Still, it’s not as though there’s been any reason for me to change my mind.  I’m still a valueless waste of space and matter and time, in pain every day for decades now, with no real friends‒appropriately, since I’m not worthy of friendship‒and a “life” that only merits the term as a form of mockery.

If anyone out there has answers, I’d be delighted to learn them.  I have looked, believe me.  But of course, all I ever get when I ask such things are banal homilies and assurances that there are people who care and admonitions to “hold on…blah, blah, blah”.  It’s reminiscent of the story told by the Chief in The Outlaw Josey Wales, about President Lincoln urging the tribes to “endeavor to persevere”.  If I didn’t already feel nauseated, that would induce the feeling.

Anyway, this is a waste of time and effort.  I think I’m going to cut it short.  With any luck, this coming hurricane will at least wipe Tallahassee off the map, but that’s unlikely to happen.  And, unfortunately, it’s not likely to wipe me off the map, either.  I’m going to have to do that myself.