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Right now, I care way more about myself than I do America. I don’t think that’s unpatriotic. It would be unpatriotic if I cared more about a different country, but I don’t. However, I suppose it’s selfish to care about myself more than I do about some flawed man-made construct that is decaying from the inside.

This is really hard to write about, mostly because I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. If I was not born and raised in America, I am 100% certain that I would be dead right now. I need all of my middle class luxuries. How do people in third world countries wake up without digital alarm clocks? Oh right, probably extreme hunger.

Four years ago, I didn’t care about myself at all. I also was not in a relationship, and had to focus my care elsewhere. I focused it on America. I think it was a mix of that and the fact that I was influenced by the fact that I was still in a college atmosphere, and college kids tend to care about things like politics and are idealistic and haven’t failed miserably in life yet, which is usually why they were able to go to college. After college, according to Romney, 50% of graduates can’t find a job. I would assume that this harsh realization forces people to narrow their world scope to themselves so they don’t starve or freeze to death. Once they earn enough money to be comfortable, they look outward again. Depending on the amount of money they earn and the part of the country in which they live, they vote accordingly.

Right now, I just don’t care about politics. No matter who we vote for, as I’ve said before, it doesn’t matter. We’re all doomed, and terrible things are coming. I’ve decided to focus inward toward myself and people I care about rather than external forces I have little to no control over. Think of it this way, if you knew that an asteroid was going to hit the earth tomorrow, which very much may happen, would you grab a gun and frantically shoot into the sky, or would you spend time with those you love? Exactly. Me too. Let’s stockpile our weapons and save the world.

Plans are stupid. If you’re making plans that extend beyond three years from right now, what are you doing? That’s not going to happen.

New Year’s resolutions typically fold by 7pm on January 1st. Human beings were not built to think too far into the future. Couple that with laziness, inactivity, apathy, lethargy, traffic, lack of money, and time spent showering, and there’s really no reason to not just wing everything. Unless you’ve just been elected president, you have no idea what you will be doing three years from now. Three years ago, I was fat. That’s about it. I was fat. Now I’m not. I did not see that coming.

Plans ruin everything. I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing to work towards a goal. It’s great to be motivated and to use that motivation to achieve great things. However, if you have a set objective, you may achieve it in some form, but it will never be exactly how you envisioned. For example, if you decide to lose 50 pounds within the next three years, you may get there, but it might be because you will have eventually gone broke because you lost your job and are now only able to afford ice water and taco shells.

Since I’m writing this while thinking it out without a real plan, I have now decided that plans are good, but concrete plans are not. I know I plan on going to bed tonight at around 11pm, but whether I will do this by climbing into my bed or by somersaulting, wearing only my bath towel and one sock is yet to be determined. Having no plans will lead to self-destruction while having absolute plans will lead to disappointment.

In politics, so I hear, bipartisanism is a good thing because it promotes cooperation and junk. People always say that politics needs to be more bipartisan. However, the only times our two political parties come together are during horrific national tragedies.

You never see Republicans, during peace time while our children are failing out of schools, decide to reroute some military spending to public schools. You never see Democrats, during good economic times, decide to lower taxes. However, when a monstrous hurricane threatens to decimate the most populous area in the nation, both groups decide that they should get along so that most of America doesn’t die.

While I’m glad that during, for example, 9/11, President Bush didn’t decide to aggressively push his controversial ‘Deport All Poor People’ platform, I wish that government would get along even during times that they don’t really have to.

In a long-term relationship, people tend to be closest during trying times (i.e. death in the family, a lay off, natural disaster, serious illness, delay of the McRib, etc.). However, I suppose day-to-day life, while generally more pleasant, can also be more fraught with frustration. The little things that you tend to ignore during emergencies tend to surface. Okay, so he left the toilet seat up and she lets her brother sleep in the bed with you. At least you’re both healthy and have a home and enough money to support yourselves.

Don’t wait for urgency to necessitate cooperation. Either of you could die at any second. Tragedy could hit anywhere at any time. What I’m saying is, just let your girlfriend’s brother sleep with you guys.

The election is in two weeks, and I know that I will have to go to a polling station and place my vote for president. I am really nervous because every time I vote for president, the country gets worse. I first voted for president in 2004, and the country was doing pretty poorly. I thought that by placing my vote, I would stop America from being horrible. Then, the country got a whole lot worse, and in 2008, I voted again, hoping that we would not descend into a hell on earth. However, this is exactly the place we descended. Regardless of who I vote for, and who wins the election, in four years, America will be engulfed in fire and we will all be burned alive.

Voting is important and blah blah blah, but what would happen if not one person voted? I’m sure there’s something in the Constitution detailing that situation, but I’m curious, and I don’t want to do a Google search for this. Maybe if nobody voted, God will descend from the heavens and give everyone a million dollars and a Toyota Corolla and everything will be perfect. Of course, this will cause inflation to skyrocket, as well as increase emissions and car accidents. Didn’t think of that, did you God?

Let’s look at how the presidents that have served since I’ve been of voting age compared to my life’s trajectory during that time period, regardless, or maybe because of, political parties. When Bush was president, my life was spiraling out of control. I was overweight and suffering from a complex variety of anxiety and OCD-related issues. Days blended together in a haze of hamburgers, television, and sleep. Obama campaigned on a promise of ‘Change.’ While I have no idea if he accomplished that politically, my life took a 180 degree turn for the better over the past four years. Now, I don’t want to vote for Romney because I have friends, and I don’t want to vote for Obama because I have parents. I wish I wasn’t so easily influenced by people.

Also, I don’t want to have to live with my decision. No matter which candidate I vote for, we’re all going to die. I don’t want that blood on my hands. On the same token, I can’t live with the knowledge of knowing that I did not vote. Therefore, I think that my only solution is clearer than it has ever been. I should get blistering drunk, have a friend drive me to the voting booth, and force me to vote. I will have no memory of who I voted for, yet my friend will assure me that I did.

I hope that something drastic happens within the next two weeks. I want Obama to give us all the meaning of life, or God to descend and give us all Toyota Corollas.

Online dating works so well, at least the online portion, because you’re talking to the best possible image of someone. You’re looking at the four or five best pictures of them ever. No matter what you look like, you know that you have a handful of really flattering photos, and you know exactly where they are on your computer. They are perfect for dating websites, Facebook profile pictures, proof of innocence during a pending trial, etc.

Two people chatting online via a dating website will almost always get along. Always. Almost.

What you don’t realize is that you’re not actually talking to a person. You’re talking to a horrifically glorified idea of a person. The relationship immediately starts its drastic decline the moment you meet the other person. You hear their voice, and it’s nothing like you expected. It’s raspy and weird and reminds you of your first cousin. They don’t pay attention to anything you say, and they have this weird thing where they spit at you.

Sight ruins everything. I don’t really mean this, because I don’t want to trivialize actual blindness. I am very fortunate to not be blind, and I do not wish that I was blind. I enjoy a lot of the things that I am fortunate enough to see: the Olympics, puppies, etc. However, physical aesthetics can easily be confused for meaningful qualities, and nobody is immune to this mistake. We are wired to place looks at such a high premium. ‘Luckily, my girlfriend is both beautiful and great’, said every boyfriend ever, including myself.

Mine actually is, but these two adjectives do not always coincide. I’ve met several incredibly great people in my life who will probably die alone. It’s not fair. On the same token, I never went out of my way to ask them on a date. On the same token again, I wasn’t good looking either, so maybe they’re the ones who didn’t ask me out on a date. Maybe we both thought that the other one was hideous and that we were gorgeous. Maybe she is the most beautiful girl in the world, and I have a horribly skewed perception of physical beauty. Maybe she was placed on earth to test humanity, and we are all going to hell. Maybe some great people are just created ugly because life is not fair and is awful and assholes are often the greatest-looking people on the planet.

The weekend is supposed to be a nice break from the week, but I’ve had a tenuous relationship with the weekend. As a kid, I didn’t really care either way, because school was a joke, and I did whatever I wanted all the time. I actually remember waking up on Saturday mornings before I was supposed to. What the hell was I thinking? I really had not yet grasped the true meaning of weekend.

Through junior high, the weekend grew more important. Junior high school was terrible, and I needed the weekend to recover from the teasing, the beatings, anything involving math, and that time this girl said I was cute and then said some smart ass comment that I will relive in horror for the rest of my life. This is when I started sleeping a lot. There was really no reason to wake up. I had no friends, no girlfriends, and a huge bed.

Then, during the first half of high school, I remained friend/girlfriendless. The weekend started weighing on me, though, as I would spend the entire time in my room watching television. In 1992, I was depressed on Sunday nights before school started for the week. By 1999, I was depressed on Friday afternoons knowing I would have to spend the next two-and-a-half days alone, unintentionally being humiliated by my parents trying to force me to make friends. I can remember reading the TV Guide, and literally writing down an entire television-watching schedule for the weekend. I took Must See TV for its most literal connotation. I know Must See TV referred to Thursday night, but this is just an example. It got so bad, I can actually remember writing Caroline in the City into my schedule. If you have ever seen Caroline in the City, and somehow still haven’t killed yourself, you now understand, that after I have written over 200 self-loathing posts, sometimes chronicling unfathomable lows, how bad my life has been.

By the end of high school, I had friends. The weekend was fun again. I still didn’t have a girlfriend, but I did have some female friends, and sometimes I got to sit next to them in cars. I did have a few short-lived girlfriends, though, but they were terrible. Our relationships were short-lived, not their lives. They’re probably okay now, living out their horrible lives regretting ever sitting next to me in a car.

By early college, my obsessive-compulsive disorder and general anxiety started spiraling out of control. By this point, I would often lose track of what day it was, and could not discern between the week and the weekend. It all blended together in a pool of worry, sweat, tears, and pacing around the hall of my dorm. This lasted a few years until I transferred schools, and things started getting a lot better. However, switching schools brought me back home, and most of my friends were back in college. Life was okay again, but lonely. I would often spend the weekend with my family, which was still great.

After graduation, I finally somewhat completed getting my life together by losing weight and getting a great job. For a while, I disliked the weekend again. I liked/like my job a lot, and most of my friends still did not live in this city. During the weekends, I was so tired, I would just end up sleeping and pretty much spending the entire time alone again. I would try to get the Houston friends I have to meet me Fridays after work for happy hour, but this would prove difficult, as most of them have lives/relationships. Sometimes, I would go to a bar after work by myself for a while, go to dinner by myself, and go home for the evening.

I finally found a great girl, and things seem to be falling into place. The weekend is fun again, and the week is pretty swell as well. I still struggle with a lot of things, but I’m achieving some sort of balance or something. I say that while simultaneously making sure that I’m perfectly centered on my bed while constantly worrying that the last email I wrote didn’t have a period after the last sentence. I must now go lock and unlock my front door eight times.

I hope that my recent run-in with motivation will continue to last now that I’m dating someone. The entire reason that I motivated myself in the first place was to find a girl. Now that I’ve found her, I’m finding it really hard to not constantly eat ribs and then immediately fall asleep, and then wake up once the acid from the ribs and sauce start burning my heart.

I think I’m deep enough into a productive routine to not fall back into that endless cycle of ribs/sleep/acid reflux. However, I now fully understand how people in relationships can really let themselves go. When my diet was at its height, I once had to pass out cupcakes, and got a bit of frosting on my fingertip, and instead of licking it off, I walked down the hall, into the bathroom, and wiped it off with a towel. Today, I wouldn’t pass out cupcakes in the first place because I would have eaten all of them and then gone to get some ribs.

Though my diet has eased up a bit, I’m really not letting myself go yet. I hope my girlfriend doesn’t end up liking me too much. I need to have a constant fear of rejection, or I will implode. For every compliment I receive, that’s the caloric equivalent of one extra cupcake per week. But please do not stop complimenting me. I’m emotionally weak, but I’d rather be physically weak.

Being unhealthy and not alone is perfectly acceptable to me. However, being unhealthy and alone is not. What good is some good ribs heartburn if you have nobody’s face to burp into? I think that is the definition of love.

I don’t think I will ever be comfortable. I have moments of comfort. Lying in bed after a long day of work. Lying in bed after a long day of lying in bed. Lying in bed between different times that I’m lying in bed.

It’s not in my nature to be comfortable. I know too much. I know what it’s like to be miserable, and I know that no matter how happy I may feel, misery is close by. I think I’ve found a medium between the two. I say that now, but in an hour I may be curled up in the corner of my room. I probably won’t, though, because I wrote the previous sentence an hour ago, and I’m still sitting at my desk, and I don’t actually have nervous breakdowns in corners. I think that’s the medium I’ve found. Fearing the worst, and accepting the ordinary.

But would you rather break down from anxiety or be anxious about breaking down? I’ve chosen the former over the past few years, and it’s been for the better. Anxious people are a lot more successful than people that act on that anxiety. I think, for example, that Woody Allen’s career path has had much more of an upward trajectory than that of Howard Hughes. I don’t think that either men have ever felt comfortable, but for whatever combination of reasons, one was fortunate enough to just worry about his worrying rather than acting on it.

My blog posts have veered way too far from topics related to dating. On the same token, they really haven’t at all. It took me a very long time to condition myself to act properly while out with a woman. Now, of course, this did not exist within the vacuum of a series of horrible dates. It was a culmination of my weight loss, heightened self-cognition, life-changing events, and other factors that gradually helped me change the way I conduct myself around others. My personality is the same, and I still generally say the same things, which are mostly awful things. However, the way that I say them, as well as my calmer demeanor and attentiveness to my surroundings, which allow me to act appropriately in different situations, have really helped me find someone great. Two years ago, if a woman asked what I did that day, I would reply quickly and loudly with some self-deprecating diatribe that probably sounded like a monologue from Gilmore Girls if Lorelai hated herself and had severe weight issues that she was not aware of. Today, I would simply say, ‘I woke up, went to work, and then came here.’ It’s a lot more boring, but it doesn’t radiate self-hatred and leaves no room for immediate rejection.

I can’t watch the presidential debate tonight because Comcast has an ‘outage’. If you have never heard of Comcast, please remain in your cave of ignorant bliss. If you have never heard of an ‘outage’, then you have probably also never heard of Comcast, and should still stay in your cave.

I was debating about whether or not to write a post about a debate that I can’t watch, while Comcast was simultaneously debating with itself how angry it can make its customers before the customers debate whether or not to either sign up for AT&T instead or have a classic first world panic attack because they can’t watch their television for one evening in their air-conditioned homes, while on full stomachs. I wanted to write about the debate while watching it even though I don’t really care much about politics anymore. I understand caring about issues, but ‘politics’ and ‘issues’ are two completely separate things, and are not affected by each other. Policy change is such a slow, tedious process, that no matter who gets elected, the same changes will eventually happen over a long period of time due to the changing nature of society itself, not one person in power for four years. No matter who gets elected, people will still hate minorities, I will still have to get up every morning at 6 am, and we will all still eventually die.

I stopped caring about politics when I stopped caring about people who care about politics. They’re mostly self-serving. That’s not to say I’m not. I love serving myself. I do so many things for myself. However, while around others, I pretend to be selfless. Oprah once said that there’s a thin line between being nice and a pushover. That was the moment I realized that I wasn’t actually nice. That was also the moment I realized that I spend every afternoon sitting by myself watching Oprah.

So now I can’t write about the debate, which is okay, because I don’t care at all. Romney said something, and then Obama argued with that thing, and then the moderator said he was over his time limit, but then Obama kept talking, anyway. Then Romney started talking, and the moderator said it wasn’t his turn, but then Romney argued that it’s only fair because Obama went over his time limit. Then news people analyzed how angry Romney was the whole time because his brow was furrowed for like five seconds. Also, they noticed that Obama seemed way too arrogant because he referred to Romney as ‘My Opponent’ instead of ‘Mitt Romney’. Then it all became irrelevant when the world ended in three months.

Birthdays were just the best up to the year 2003. Then Facebook got invented. Birthdays then became something else. Something dark. Each year gets progressively worse. On my first Facebook birthday, I got maybe ten posts, or whatever ‘posts’ were back in like 2004, wishing me a ‘Happy Birthday’. People that I didn’t even realize existed, much less liked me, were suddenly very much invested in the campaign for me to have a great day.

Each year, as Facebook grew, and Facebook birthday notification systems became increasingly more self-aware, I would get more posts. However, all good things must end, and eventually I plateaued at about fifty. I initially thought that this was a lot, until I started noticing other people’s posts during their birthdays. I would have been perfectly okay with other people receiving more posts. However, people receiving more posts than me were terrible. Childhood bullies, people who unironically wear visors, ex-girlfriends, etc. Maybe people post on these assholes’ walls because they’re scared they’ll get murdered if they don’t. Either way, this made my birthday somewhat of a bummer. Also, I never post on other people’s walls on their birthdays, which not only makes me undeserving of any birthday praise, but also a hypocritical ass like my other friends who get so much more birthday love.

Now, I realize that birthday notifications don’t mean anything. Sure, a few good friends will post on your wall, and that’s great. However, the majority of your birthday posts are from people you haven’t seen in twenty years who write the same thing on every one of their friends’ walls during every one of their birthdays. I realize that writing this post is going to cost me like 30 Facebook birthday notifications next year. I also realize that it won’t at all because nobody reads this, and if people do, it’s damn sure not people I haven’t seen for the vast majority of my life. To all of my Facebook friends who have a birthday on October 2, Happy Birthday!