I wonder if there is a pill that helps you stop giving a damn. I seriously doubt it, but some days I’d gladly take it. I can get distracted for a little while by a new car, job, or a really cool pair of sneakers. These things never quit fill the hole. I’d imagine this is how people get hooked on something like heroin. It probably fills that gap…for a little while. Then you’re right back to square one and a drug addict. I’d imagine ditto for alcoholism or gambling. There’s always something that appears to give a little relief…at first.

I guess it is in quite moments like this when no one is around and I’m not distracted by work or the needs of others that I get reflective. The days of existential crisis are few and far between lately. I thought for a while they may have gone away all together. If only I’d get motivated, I could lose 30 lbs, write the great American novel and get proficient on the guitar. The excuses for bowing out on these feats are numerous, but the most glaring reason. The one reason that fire never gets lit. The tiny little nugget of truth is this…these are only distractions. I’ve gotten pretty far along all those roads and realized being a skinny published author who can play a mean guitar isn’t really going to change a whole lot.

I know I’m not alone on this, or else every therapist would go back to school and learn to fix car engines. Every pharmaceutical company would shut its doors. Every bar would sit abandoned. No songs would be written. Emo kids would join the debate team, fat people would stop eating sugar, George Carlin would cease to be funny, tobacco crops would dry up and irony would be stricken from the dictionary. If it helps you sleep better at night, then just go ahead and pretend this in my problem and not yours.