Some days I just don't care. And by don't care I mean nothing really matters. And by nothing really matters I mean that things have mattered so much and I've felt so effected by them that all of the nerve endings in my body have dulled; the pleasure/pain receptors in my heart have become so overused to the point of being deadened; and the synapses in my brain registering the impulses of everyday life and guiding whether or not a decision matters in the least bit are now all switched off.
Now, instead of making everything an existential crisis I prefer to think of it as just a temporary state of being. While I'm ignoring the fact that having a positive attitude at all is in direct conflict with not caring, I'm also ignoring the fact that there's a certain amount of hostility underlying. I think what I have vacillates between a adversarial indifference and a hopeful apathy. The incongruity of those phrases are not lost on me, in fact they're specifically tailored, much like everything else I say. No, actually, it is not ironic that I never seem to not care about that.
The overall effect is turning an openly authentic, outwardly genuine, amiable, and generally likable, internally content, relatively confident and emotionally secure into a frosty bordering on rude, walled-off by a mask of blue steel, uncharacteristically quiet, and generally absent human being. To say that there's some sort of inner turmoil or disorientation is to not fully understand the lack of caring present. I don't care if I get up in the morning, I don't care if I brush my teeth, I don't care if I smoke 12 cigarettes or 30, I don't care if my work gets done, I don't care if people like me or if they wonder if I like them, I don't care if I fall asleep at 7pm or 4am. I just don't care. The outcome either way is absolutely immaterial because any outcome is both equally and unequally the same and either way it doesn't matter. Only the mechanics of habit are moving me through every day.
If it wasn't for the process of living every single day in an almost mundane fashion, and by association the minutia of those items therein, nothing that needed to get done would get done. I figure every now and again one needs to stumble through the day like a zombie, unaffected by the ins and outs of the day and all of the interpersonal relationships therein and to simply watch life happen without needing to be an active participant in it. The risk lies in losing oneself in the detachment of watching the show of life.
Maybe tomorrow won't be indifferent.