I can’t be alone in thinking this. I’d like to be though.

Posted: March 6, 2024 | Author: samsywoodsy | Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: depression, funny, Humour, sad, Weird, writing |Leave a comment

There’s always a risk of being honest online.

One must tread (type) carefully with the expectation that one is racist or something equally unpleasant and therefore not deserving of having a blog anymore.

Now, I probably am racist, but I’ll leave that to folk more qualified than myself to diagnose. I can’t think of any specific views or prejudices at this time, but I’m sure they’ll surface on my commute home through traffic.

Less so focused on the likely-racism for today though; I want to talk about feeling sad.

Because I do feel sad.

I’m sad right now.

Oh look, I just got sadder.

And this has happened before with me, and it’ll likely crop up again, but I do keep reverting to this perpetual option I have to wander into a field and die.

Not suicide – I don’t have a violent bone in my body – but definitely not trying any more.

I don’t know if that counts as ‘giving up’, or ‘no longer putting up with the planet’s negative sides any more’ (can a planet, being round, have a side? When I’m in a bad mood – yes it can. A temper-dependent, partially flat Earth).

Either way, I like the idea of having the option to wander into a field, sitting down, and worries ebbing away as one of two things happen.

1. I master meditation and Zen the shit out of myself.
2. I abandon the premise of hunger, ambition, regret, loss, hope, fear, glory, pride, and especially having a numb bum from sitting in a field for too long.

Hunter S Thompson made clear is his view on suicide, ultimately by shooting himself in the head (really showing his conviction) and in what he left behind – his words.

Beautiful words on the matter.

“I would feel real trapped in this life if I didn’t know I could commit suicide at any time.”

And then the note – ‘Football season is over’.

It was his final note. We probably shouldn’t know about it – I doubt it was ever meant for us.

But still, his point remains now as true as then.

It’s a weariness. I cannot be bothered with the blue bells and bird song.

I’ve had enough of the laughter of children and the company of friends.

Women aren’t what they used to be, nor am I.

Bye….along those lines.

The sort of things that are why you want to leave a dinner party that’s gone on too long, but you don’t mention because everyone thinks you’re suicidal, and that reflects awfully on their hosting skills.

I’ll cheer-up, I’m sure. Maybe not tomorrow, but hopefully before the weekend.

And whilst in this mood, I still like to ponder walking into a field, harmlessly, carelessly, and should I die then I shouldn’t care, because of the careless happiness I’d feel about being in a field.

On a sunny day, obviously.

Not too sunny, either – that won’t work for me.

For this I’d have that kind of particular preference that comes from a mix of memory and imagination and won’t ever actually happen – that’s my kind of weather.

It’s good for the soul.

Sam

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