The Things I Don't Know Far Outnumber the Things I Do

I spent a lot of time tonight trying to figure out how to say things to my wife. I never really know how to put certain feelings or thoughts into words that make sense. What I see in my head are emotions - fear, worry, love, concern, anger, joy - and they sort of flow past my mind's eye without any sense of language attached to them.

And so when I screw up I never really know what to say or how to apologize. In the end, what comes out of my mouth is so garbled and nonsensical - or worse, makes sense in the wrong way - that it ends up making things go from code orange to code red.

I consider myself, in a lot of ways, a failure. That's a sense of jealousy coming through that I wish I didn't have. I wish, a lot of times, for more sense, for more money, for better stuff. That's not to say I'm not happy with the life I do lead - but I am very often unhappy at moments. And that ends up translating itself into relationships, my inability to stay connected to people, to work performance, everywhere. And those moments end up seeming like they last all day, or week, or month, or year.

So I end up feeling like a failure all the time. And I know I'm not - I know I have people who care about me, who want me to succeed, who want me to push myself. But when I do push myself, I don't feel rewarded. I worked hard for five years in my first job, and despite the hard work that I did, it took a sheet of paper that I frankly didn't - and still don't - care that much about to make people consider me for a promotion. And there are times in my current job when I put out feelers and I still get nowhere. So yeah, that's frustrating, and that leads to feeling like a failure all over again, despite all of the great things I've done, worked on, coordinated, overseen, et cetera. If I could step back with a neutral eye I'd be really proud of the work that I've done and that I've had done. But I can't, and I get frustrated with what I feel sometimes is a dead-end job that doesn't reflect the one I was hired for and that killed my career at the age of 31.

And that carries over into my home life. I have a wonderful wife, and a wonderful daughter. We live in a nice place, and we've come to grips with the facts that we will almost certainly be lifelong renters, among other reasons because we want to be. Owning a home is hard work, and it's work that we weren't ready for. I know this. I know that our finances at the moment simply don't allow consideration of buying anything anytime soon, and I'm really quite cool with that - I don't have the energy or the time anymore to try to fix major problems, and I'm really glad that what we pay for in rent covers some weird dude in overalls to wander around our place fixing shit that's busted.

But still - I want more. And I'm frustrated that I'm not able to provide more. I don't mean "I want more" in the sense that I'm not happy; I mean it in the sense that I wish I could say we chose this life a little bit more convincingly. Maybe we did, but whatever. Yeah, I want a yard sometimes. Yeah, I want more than two bedrooms sometimes. Yeah, I want more stuff sometimes. A flat screen TV. A PS3. The space for a dog. The space for stuff that I have cached in places all over St. Louis that I just wish I could put on the fucking wall.

I'm not a very conservative guy, but I'm the man of the house, and I should be able to provide more for my family. That's what I believe. That's part of the frustration there, too. I don't mean I want more, I just mean I wish I could be allowed to want more if I wanted to.

I hate, so much, that I feel that way. Back into the feedback loop that goes.

Tack onto that the fact that I'm so distractable - it seems that every time something slows down, onto the internet I go. I don't really care about facebook, or email, or the news, or the stock tickers, or any of the other 10,000 things I feel like I check every day, but I do check them - and that means my productivity goes down a little further, and on and on and on.

I wish I could spend more time being appreciative of what I do have - because what I do have is wonderful. I love my wife. I love my daughter. And I tell them that and I think sometimes they know I mean it. But I don't know if I know how to be happy anymore. I don't know what that means. Does it mean anything? Did it ever? I am happy. I know it sounds like I'm here on the internet trying to convince myself that I am, which is weak. But I really am happy, especially with my family. I have a good job that I am good at. I have a wonderful wife who I love. I have a great daughter who my wife is raising right. This apartment, small though it may sometimes seem, is the right size for us and the right THING for us. and when I wake up I'm glad to know that I wake up next to this perfect woman, and when I go to sleep I'm glad to know that it's next to her, too.

I just...I don't know. What's wrong with me? I mean, really, what's really wrong with me?





Note: This is not a pity post. I don't want comments that say, "Oh, I'm so sorry for you." I spend enough time feeling sorry for myself, as the above few paragraphs show.

This is a vent post, and there's a difference.