EVEN MASTERCARD DOESN'T MAKE ME SMILE AS MUCH AS PREVIOUSLY ASSUMED.

Regardless of my status as a "check card" carrying member of society, I feel far from economically productive.
Actually, "failure as a human being" might more adequately describe my state of mind.
I feel as a gum-spattered shoe must feel. Ignorant. Divergent. Unclean. And most importantly, alone. Hideous, and alone.
Tell me: what provokes these despondent moods in my multi-faceted hemispheres? Is it pain? Fear? A genuine desire to rip apart whatever maladjusted humanity lurks within me?
If only I knew. For then, I could make fun of the problem so as to divert attention from myself onto other human beings in the midst of suffering. Ha. What blissful joy I bring to the world.
But, instead, I allow it to sit there, laughing, lurking, and of course, tormenting, as all vile (and therefore productive) distractions do. It's their job. And who am I to keep them from their work?
That's right. You guessed it- nobody.
Full of mocking and far from the object of idolatry, the life of one so insistent upon strength and self-provoked isolation will remain forever circular in content- impacting, halted, singular, detrimental, and finally, positively meaningless- until it is taken from them, whether willfully or by brutal force.
And that, Cynthia Pitman, is the tragic vision of my existence.