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The Machinations of the Alarm Clock and Dopamine: An Examination (1 Viewer)



Have you ever woken up in the morning, and wished the clock which is laughing in your face would shut the fuck up and leave you be? I begin every day with such a ritual, to complement the morning smoke and walking the dog. Most likely, it has something to do with depression, but that does not reflect at all on the root causes of what is causing this mental malady in my psyche. I have a pretty good idea of what is afflicting me though. It is a lack of variety.

During my high school years, I once wrote on a piece of paper (which I posted on my wall in my room for all of my friends and family, and myself, to see) that, “Life is not knowing what will happen tomorrow.” In those days, my logic said that predictability was not a hallmark of a life truly lived, but rather represented a life not lived at all. In all of the media I have had injected into my brain, not one piece has ever suffered from a lack of progression. Now, I know it is a mistake to expect life in the real world to be constantly exciting, like that in a book. But for most of my years, I have lived knowing what will happen tomorrow, the day after that, and so forth.

I am a loner for the most part, which is, to some extent, the way I like it. There is something to be said for floating through life on your own cloud, bereft of the waves and ripples which accompany the presence of another human being. I don’t have to worry about raising children, dealing with another’s emotional baggage, don’t have to work around the bullshit many people spew regularly in the course of their daily existence. If life is a game, I have forfeited and walked off the field (a metaphor which is apt in more ways than one, upon further reflection). On the other hand, my lack of social life often feeds my inborn depression, thus furthering the cycles between misanthropy and joy at living the way I want to live. It goes beyond the machinations of the dopamine in my brain. It is based on the world at large, a world which I have neglected to be a part of for so long that I cannot decide whether or not I don’t want to be a part of it, or whether it wants no part of me. But I digress.

With a lack of social contact outside of that which I am forced to engage in, my life is patterned. The pattern is not sophisticated, nor is it pretty. It just is. And so it goes…I wake up, curse the clock for its insubordination, and am free to engage in the activities which I enjoy the most. Interestingly enough, these activities are largely self-destructive; I enjoy eating food which is bad for your health, I enjoy smoking, I enjoy surfing the internet for perhaps to many hours a day, I enjoy playing computer games which revolve around the decimation of squads of other human beings (amusingly both detached and attached to reality: truly one of the paradoxes of our time), and I enjoy writing. Guess which one of those is the healthiest?

Understandably, some may become angry at the idea that I am griping about a life which is admittedly easy. I don’t live in a war zone. If I am hungry, I just go to the grocery store or a restaurant and pick what I want. I live in what was once the most prosperous country in the world. And yet, this is my lot in life. It is neither good nor bad. I have become so used to it, to living in my narrow niche of the world, that I can comprehend few ways of crawling or running my way out. Than again, why would I want to?


Your first paragraph hooked me.

Your second grabbed me... but then, in the end, it all fizzles out. What a boring piece about your lonely life. Read my lips: no one gives a **** :)


God bless you. Next time you sneeze, be sure to use a tissue. You spewed snot everywhere.


Tell me...how does it feel to be a member of a writing site and not contribute anything meaningful? A quick scan through your posts here shows you to be little more than a piece of shit who likes to smear herself over other peoples hard work. You are nothing more than a troll. Now go sit under a bridge and impress yourself on some other person.