When I think about how I’ve totally wasted my life it makes me sad. I know that this is a bit of a dumb statement but it also happens to be true. It does make me sad and that’s that. It’s both a very true and very heartfelt statement so I reckon I’m allowed to say it, no matter how unsophisticated (or downright pathetic) it may sound. Life’s so great, so amazing, so full of possibilities and yet what have I ever done that would indicate that I have ever been in any way appreciative of or interested in any of life’s possibilities? Did I ever show any signs of appreciating that life was actually something amazing? The answer to the first question is nothing, and the answer to the second question is no. The unfortunate truth is that I was always too much of a gobshyte. Too much of a gobshyte, too much of a gobshyte, too much of a gobshyte. Eight warning signs that you might be wasting your life and don’t even know it. I don’t know what was in my head back in those days, I really don’t. I look back and marvel at myself, but not in a good way. I marvel that I could have been so dedicated (in my younger days) to the task of ignoring everything that might have mattered, everything that could have actually enriched or broadened my life, such as it was.
Such as it was. That’s the key statement, just there. What was that, I wonder? What was my life all about, back then? What was I at? What was I doing? What was going on in my head? How could I have been so dumb? This is getting boring, I know – my own bitter recriminations against myself might just conceivably be of interest to me, but I can hardly expect them to be in any way fascinating to anyone else. “So you were a dumb ass-hole,” you might say, “but what of it? Get over it. There are plenty of dumb ass-holes out there – why shouldn’t you have been one too?” It stands to reason that I would have been a dumb ass-hole too same as lots of other people, the logic of the argument goes, so why am I now being so ridiculously precious about myself? What makes me think that I should have been any different to anyone else? Why should I have made better use of my life? Isn’t that just my ego doing its elitist thing? Like the little elitist bastard it is.
So if you were to say that to me then I think I’d find myself wishing very much that I could go along with it. There’s a great blessing there, a great benediction. I would very much like be taken off the hook like that, naturally. I can really appreciate what a wonderful blessing that would be. If only I could go along with it I’d feel so good, but I just can’t. Somehow I just don’t feel that it’s legitimate for me to feel good in that way; I don’t think that it’s right for me to be relieved of the pain of knowing that I have wasted my life being taken up in stuff that I can’t even remember about now. It feels to me like just another rationalization and I’ve been dining on rationalizations my whole life. Chew, chew, chew. Pass the pepper old boy, these rationalizations are a bit ropey, a bit rubbery, a bit tasteless. I’ve had better, as the man says. It’s a bit like eating a whole bunch of elastic bands. A whole mouthful of elastic bands. Chew, chew, chew. Have good chew now! Keep chewing, keep chewing. Keep at it, keep at it. Automatic motion has set in and now I can’t stop. My jaws are tired from chewing on these old rationalizations – they’re working overtime and still I’m not getting anywhere!
