Sorry for the lack of updates this week. I have plenty of things to write about but I'm having a serious case of the Why Bothers. I came painfully, achingly close to resolving my Central Illinois problem but fell short, and if academia continues along its current trajectory I might get another chance to get out in, oh, three or four years. So I feel an awful lot like I'm standing before a judge who just banged a gavel and sentenced me to three more years of wasting my life. That's the best case scenario, in which I will be 41 when I'mfinally be able to do things a normal human being does like start making friends, have things to do, begin working my way up from the bottom rung of my profession, maybe not spend the rest of my life alone, etc.

So yeah, that's where this week is at. I'll try to post NPF soon. Except whether or not I do, it doesn't matter. None of this amounts to anything anyway, and I'm basically doing it to create the illusion that I have someone to talk to. Not that three days per week chatting about the banalities of university politics and being ignored by totally uninterested students isn't fulfilling before I drive back home to stare at Netflix for a couple days on end. Have you ever noticed that if you aren't into stupid shit like church and don't like hanging out with your coworkers it's basically impossible to make friends as an adult? Or even to have a conversation with another adult once every week or two? Yeah, it turns out that very few people leave their house thinking "I hope an unattractive, unsuccessful 37 year old man who is alone strikes up a conversation with me." So in advance, please spare me your stories about how I *must* be doing something wrong because people are always talking to you when you go out.

I don't even know what this post is about. It's pretty clear that I'm at a dead end in my professional life and my personal life doesn't exist beyond chatting with people on Facebook that I knew 5+ years ago when I had a life. It is greatly reducing my motivation to do…anything, really. But especially this. Even when I think of something interesting to write about it's like, what's the point? It's not as if it will lead to anything or that more than a small handful of people will ever read it anyway.

I'm not a nihilist, I swear. It's just that everything is pointless.