It’s funny how the past seems to repeat itself. Somewhat sad, too. A year back I wrote a poem of sorts. I was in a position similar to the one I am currently in.

days when i had nothing to do

were the hardest.

it was one thing to be unloved

and alone

and an entirely new hell

to be unemployed

and broke.

every sorry cunt deserved to slave

from 9 to 5.

yet here i was,

holed up inside.

while the others followed routine,

tackled morning commutes,

had their lunch breaks

and coffee breaks

and slaved away,

i just watched.

from behind my half-drawn blinds.

I do not consider myself a depressed man. Not at all. I don’t believe that I can be depressed. I’ve felt that way for a long time. Perhaps it’s because I have a tendency to ultimately see the big picture. To see that even if I was depressed, it would make no difference. Because the world goes on just fine without the glum ones. It does it very well. So there’s no point.

If you’re in a situation similar to mine. If you’re absolutely sure that you’re not depressed and you just need a solid routine. A 9 to 5. Something to make you feel important. Then let this be the sign you needed to find your something. As of this article, I’ve found mine. Medium is a beautiful place to start pouring out pointless musings. It was the minimalist look that dragged me in. I’ll be writing here. Even if no one reads.

Especially if no one reads.