Depression is a tough disability to get on top of, it seems to seep from one's very cellular structure. Things are not so bad for me, I get to loll about reading books and watching movies much of the time, or ride my bike thru the brisk rain, a few moments of ebullience at being alive, a spoilt western consumer and bratty nihilist, tho Govt. handouts are a pathetic means of support. I guess I have to apologise that my Blogs overall come across as negative, whingeing bitch raves. It's not only the injustice of a money-worshiping class bound world that shits me, I simply find human society absurd, see satire and farce in all the posturing and pomposity, and excuse myself with the fact that it's negative ions that get us high. (And I'm not the only one, having just read W. Somerset Maughn's "The Narrow Corner", his protagonist also finds human society absurd and is entertained by their antics whilst dwelling with them in the gutter.)
An impossibly long series of accidents led to ME, multiple universes churning in and out of existence till the right universe could produce my consciousness, just the right physics that allowed matter to clump and galaxies to form, and of all galaxy types, the Milky Way being spiral and rotating with the solar system a safe distance from the galactic centre, out on a spiral arm in a pocket of empty space that reduces bombardment from cosmic debris, the earth just the right distance from the sun, neither too hot or cold, and single cell life evolving, evolving, one weird creature morphing into the next, just enough meteors crashing and wiping out lifeforms to make room for the next till ape-men got up and walked, and of all the hominid families homo sapiens finally get to take over.
And thousands of years of my ancestors fucking and surviving wars and plagues miraculously till now there's me, threshing about on my bed, planning on suicide one dark day when I've finished writing this twenty-one thousand page suicide note. And when I'm dead the Universe will wink out of existence, and as far as I'm concerned, you all won't exist any more, after all that eternal travail, Nothingness will take over, so you better hope I hang in there for awhile, because you won't exist when I'm dead.
Who wants to live until they're seventy? A sixty-nine year old! Oh crazed Universe, give me at least one year longer, there's always a new adventure around the corner waiting to happen, more knowledge to be realised, it just takes the right attitude to keep going.