What's wrong with me?

I've been falling behind in my writing. This isn't on purpose, but often, I am struck be this overwhelming sense of inferiority to other writers. I read Bunniblog and realize that even when she's discussing the intricacies of making French cream puffs, she's still 134% more interesting than myself. I even read Steve Don't Eat That and think, "Wow, maybe I need to eat some Spam that's been in the cabinet for 7 years...Or some natto..." I visit my fave writing website and see that the Scriners can capture each other's attention with a quickly penned sentence. I feel like my work doesn't belong there either. I haven't written anything to be proud of since the Spring...maybe well before that.

I started a new series a few weeks ago, but can't muster the energy to start on chapter two. Shit, it's not like it should be difficult. It's my real life!

It's been like this lately for me. I'm becoming indifferent to my own life. I'm not sure that I really want to try anything these days. Work is a bore. Once I loved smiling and entertaining the guests during our brief encounters. Now I grow irritated if I am forced to open my mouth to them. Marcus has always been one that I have wanted to talk to. Someone that I would chase to the end of the Earth. But lately, I couldn't give a shit what he thinks. I still want to hear his voice, but it's as if his words mean nothing. I don't get happy when I speak to him, I get hostile because I wonder why he doesn't say the things he should say...Or worse, I wonder what the things he did say actually meant. I feel that he's the conductor of some mass conspiracy to string me along...To humiliate me. Somedays I think that this is his goal. To reel me in and cast me back out into the dark waters of the world. This neverending cycle is some plot to ensure my eternal loneliness.

I'm not unhappy. I'm okay with the idea that I am not as talented as my peers. I don't dwell on the idea that I will forever be trapped in the web of deceit and confusion that my own muse has spun for me.

I'll finish this late since I am incapable of finishing anything...ever.

FML

What is wrong with me?

If you must know, I will tell you.

I hate my job. I hate being forced to tell people that they can't stay because I know they're only renting a room to do meth or pimp hoes. I hate the fact that my bosses are so freaking nice to me, but at the same time they run a flop house for local drug dealers and prostitutes. I hate giving nice guests refunds because they found a fucking roach in their room. I hate that I can't find a better job because I made huge stupid mistakes when I was 20.

I'm not happy that the only person I want to talk to every single day is busy. I'm not happy that I love him so much that I am unable to give attention to anyone else. I'm not happy that regardless of what he says, I don't believe him. I'm not happy with myself because I am so superficial.

I want a drink. I want Marcus. I want a better job.

It's so fucking ridiculous that no matter what good deeds I do, no matter how many classes I take, and no matter how many degrees I obtain, I will still be judged on something that happened years and years ago. It's not only work. It's life. I can't tell new friends what has happened in my life because 9 times out of ten, they will turn their backs on me.

I am not in the mood for this blog right now...I'm going to vent in other ways.