I knew going into 2024 that it would be the worst, and it hasn’t disappointed me in the least. That is why I nicknamed my near-daily hikes The 2024 Lumber Through Hell Tour.
For the most part, I find life in 2024 America a joyless chore and people (including myself) are the fucking worst. After leaving the house, I almost always return home feeling just a little bit worse about the world and my place in it. So, I avoid it, and everyone in it except Wifey and B.
I do stuff: I take care of our home, cook, grocery shop, hike and run alone, take photos, drink beer, listen to music, and watch footy on TV. But for the most part, I do very little that most people enjoy or find fun.
These are my “fun” numbers since January 1, 2024:
- Books read: 0
- Movies watched: 0
- Meals eaten in a restaurant: 3 (once in January with a couple of friends and lunch with Brennan; once in Feb. and once in Sept.)
- Nights out with friends: 1 (see above)
- Nights out for live music: 0 (none since 2016)
- Nights out with Wifey: 1 (same as the night with friends)
- Vacations taken: 0 (none since 2019)
- Weekends away: 0 (none since 2022)
- Trips taken longer than a trip to East Lansing to see B: 0
- Times out of the state of Michigan: 0 (none since April 2022, and I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.)
- Athletic Events Attended: 0 (1 if you count shooting a women’s rugby tournament in the spring.)
With that shit show of a non-social life on display, I have decided to put THIS shit show of a blog on hold for a bit. I find it too hard to write these days without coming off like the reclusive asshole that I’ve become due to a country full of Trump-worshiping morons who hide their racism, bigotry, and misogyny behind their alleged Christianity.
I get a lot of joy from photography and writing, and the blog gives that pent-up creativity a place to reside; that’s why I’ve been doing it since 2005, but I know it’s bad when I look back at a post and think, “Damn, I’m a miserable prick.” I also find it impossible to joke or be a goof these days, and that’s sort of “my thing.” Without it, I am just the uneducated, worthless, dimwitted shell of a man that most people assume I am.
Maybe after the election, if America proves me wrong, my mind will clear enough, and I’ll be back to wanting to write. But right now, I find everything joyless and disgusting, and any additional thinking only seems to throw fuel on the dumpster fire in my head.
Later.