when good sites go bad

Like this one.

Most of the time, I want to write about what I’m feeling, what I’m going through, and I know it comes across as probably depressing, or angry, or manic depressive, a bit bipolar.

I’ve never been diagnosed with anything, but that’s because I refuse to go, mostly. I suffer from depression, I know it, but like I said, nothing formal.

I went once to a therapist when I broke down at work and had to take some time off, but all he wanted to do was ask me questions about internet pricing. I wonder if he ever wondered why I didn’t come back, or why I was staring at him with abhorrent disgust on my face.

That’s a guy who should not be practicing psychiatry, not if he thinks an initial session should be to talk about how much bandwidth he might get at his place, rather than what brought me in that day.

So, that’s my experience with therapists. I’m sure there’s better out there, but fuck, who has the time or money?

That’s the thing this new touchy feely existence of ours forgets – it’s offset against the horror of unrelenting capitalism, which leaves us with neither the time nor the funds to be able to engage in any of the things they want to sell us, unless we’re rich.

And ain’t none of us rich, baby.

Target: 900 words
Written: 940 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Phonogram 5-6, Phonogram: The Singles Club 1-2 (if I ever need to point to a work of utter pretentiousness, the exact kind of bullshit clever art we should all avoid, this is it - never read fiction written by someone whose interface with music is critical instead of connecting.)
Music: Unsupervised, Mono Puff

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