32 isn’t much of a milestone birthday, all things considered. You don’t get many of those once you reach adulthood. People only care when you’ve reached another decade; some care when you turn 35 and 55, too. That’s just the way life is; after a certain point, the new memories and new summits begin to spread out, further and further, until you can’t see others from your most recent summit. 

Still, it’s worth taking a moment to pause and think about what the passing of another year means to me. I’m fully an adult now, biologically speaking. Socially speaking… things are more complicated. I still live with my mother. Yes, I am the 30-something loser who plays video games all day that Rep. Scalise was talking about. No basement here, though. Like many people in my generation, I’m stuck in a state of arrested development. The things that society insists somebody needs to be genuinely “adult” – a home, a car, etc., etc. – are simply beyond our means. 

It also doesn’t help that my mental illnesses have only gotten worse the older I’ve gotten. I’m no longer actively suicidal, but that’s really the only improvement I’ve seen recently. If this is rock bottom – and I hope it is – then I’ve been stuck at rock bottom for so long I can’t remember anything else. I’ve wallowed in this quagmire for… How long ago was 2017? Eight years ago? Jesus. 

There are a lot of reasons why I’m stuck here at rock bottom, why I can’t write, can’t keep a job, can’t keep myself sane. Many of them are beyond my control, and I’m not just saying that to exculpate myself. I’m a product of my environment, my society, and my health problems. There’s simply no way around that. However, I must also admit that I’ve been very passive when it comes to living my life. 

I never thought I’d make it to 32. I assumed either I’d die from health complications or from suicide by now. So I never bothered to plan long-term. And now I’m into the main stretch of my life, and I don’t know which way to turn. 

When I was younger, I would tell people I was going to give myself until thirty-five to “make it” as a writer or director, and, if that didn’t work out, I would then return to college and become a high school teacher. But I was just saying this so people didn’t realize how much of an impostor I was. I never gave it serious thought. Well, I suppose I have three years left until I face the music. Somehow, three years feels like too much and too little time. 

Segueing to something closer to home, I’d like to take a moment to discuss this blog. I’ve been running it for about half a year now, and so far, I am pleased but unsatisfied with it. I’m glad that at least some people are interested in it, but I’m unsatisfied with the effort I’m putting into it. I feel like I’m not putting enough “content” (ugh, that word). I feel terrible because right now it’s summer, and that means I’ll be posting even less than before, unless I make a determined effort not to. We’ll see. I’m aiming to write at least a couple of hours every day this summer, but only some of that time will be dedicated to my blog. Some of it will be for my newly relaunched Patreon, and some will be for other unmentioned projects. I have a few posts planned for the rest of this month. I hope I can get through them all.

I feel like I’m running out of time. Maybe I’ve already run out of time. I hope not. I have to keep trying, even if it is too late for me. There’s nothing else left to do. If you aren’t living, you’re dying, and I’ve been dying the better part of these last eight years. 

I’m sorry this post was so rambling. I just wanted to get some thoughts off my chest, clear my mind, and also post something on this blog, since it’s been almost a month since my last entry.