like a bad indie movie

The past year of my life goes like this:
I drink more than I eat.
I smoke more than I drink.
I ingest more caffeine than a European soccer team*, and still sleep all day.
I have not written anything of substance since before I remember. I have slipped into the other side of melancholy, where there is no more creative--well, anything.
I feel guilty about this. It is too early to tell but so much life feels already wasted, opportunity bygone.

I fucked up at school. Nobody to blame but myself. So I guess I'm dealing with the self disappointment, and it is a lot worse than being disappointed by others. My life, in a sense, is at a full stop.
I have created a mess. I fucked up so beautifully that moving forward is difficult. Fixing things is difficult.
Owning up to wasted potential is arresting. Admitting it is leading to even more self loathing.
And yet.
And. Yet.
I realize, rationally, that from an outside perspective, I am whining. Self indulgently.

Mostly I am kept up by the fear of Monday. Of going in to see the registrar and possibly losing my temper. As I have every single time before (and thus have left as to avoid a scene).
The paperwork alone makes me want to run away. I am good at facilitating that.
I have done that four times in the last year now.
Time to be a "grown ass" adult?
Shit man, that is terrifying.

So life is like a bad indie movie. If it were French I would die. But since I'm technically Canadian it will probably just end up boring and somewhat saccharine.



*I don't know why I said a soccer team, nothing else came to mind