In which I have a lengthy discussion with my cat.

SPOILER ALERT: cat never replies

Pablo, every time I look at facebook I end up feeling shitty about my life. Look at all these other people doing interesting things having fun with fun people. They are all so proud of their lives they they talk about it incessantly.

Who cares what my kid is doing? who cares what I think about this or that? Who cares that that guy who asked you out 'for a cheeseburger' in high school is now a really hot pilot with a mustache. WITH A MUSTACHE.

Maybe I'll always feel lonely. Maybe that's what happens when you are an only child, you never figure out how to be with other people. You are hyper-aware of your inner monologue, it follows you around like a ghost twin. It's your only sibling, the closest thing to a friendship you know on a basic level.

This is pathetic. I'm talking to my cat. Although, maybe it's emblematic of the human condition...us all just asking questions that we won't get answers to. Talking to a void.

But... sometimes there are answers- real answers...true things; but we don't like their truth.

Like:
Anyway!  when will I do something with my life that is interesting...that I'll be proud of? That will make me want to put it all over facebook and twitter and cyberhell.

I guess I've done stuff, but not what I really want. I want a PhD. I want to feel smart. What does that mean? I am smart...clearly there's an implicit comparison here. I want to be smarter than everyone. No, that's shitty. And I think it's mostly not true.

And the truth here is that I'll never do it. I'm too chicken shit. I'll make up excuses forever and ever. Because once I apply--that's it. Either I get into a mediocre program, but I'll never be able to have completed a degree from a elite university. Or I won't get in at all.

I don't know, maybe I would. I know lots of dumb people in graduate programs.

See what I did there? I talked shit on them because I'm jealous of what they are doing...to make myself feel better.

See what I did there? I called it out, and by calling it out I'm less shitty of a person because at least I know I'm shitty.

Maybe nothing matters Pablo. It's so tempting to believe that. But it does, it does. I know that it matters that your fur is exceptionally luxurious and that the top of your head is one of my top-ten favorite smells.