My Shakespearean Life

It’s the last few days before payday and it’s as if the universe has come together to mock me. All the proverbial wells have dried up; my bank account, my petrol tank and my mobile internet data. All empty.
And with my bank account down to the last miserly $6, the latter 2 cannot be replenished either, leaving me in this vicious hate and shame spiral.
It would almost be poetic if it wasn’t so darn tragic.
My life is an empty, barren landscape of nothingness and I am ready to live out the rest of my days as a hermit.

I am so broken that instead of realising that I’m merely 2 days away from being paid and that maybe I need to work out a budget to prevent future meltdowns, I just decide that it’s all too much and I cannot cope. (“It” being life in general I suppose)

This is what my life is. Some sort of Greek Tragedy with a pathetic lead character that you don’t even really want to root for because you’re too busy laughing at her while simultaneously wanting to punch her in the face.

Any slightly negative thing that happens to me on a daily basis can easily be categorised into one of two groups: A Shakespearean Tragedy or An Existential Crisis.
Though they may seem similar, they are quite distinct in the reaction that they elicit from me.

Here’s how:

The Shakespearean Tragedy is rollercoaster of emotion ranging from irrational rage to soul crushing depression that leaves me dejected and wanting to sit and wallow in my own self-pity. The up side to this one is that I can honestly convince myself that my problems are so deep and meaningful and that they merit me penning sonnets and songs about them. In actual fact I’ve probably just eaten the last of the yoghurt in the fridge and am now inconsolable for reasons beyond comprehension.


Luckily these tragedies can usually pass quite swiftly because I am easily distracted and have the attention span of handicapped fruit fly.

The Existential Crisis is a little trickier. This one leads me to question everything before it inevitably spirals into a drama of such proportions that there is no end in sight and I start to question the moral fibre of life itself.
A typical segue into a full blown existential crisis usually goes like this:
“I need to wash my hair… But really, why does it need to be washed? Does it matter in the grand scheme of things? Why are we even here?”
And just like that I’m questioning whether I should wash my hair or if I even want to live anymore. I think laziness is also a very big factor in me coming to these types of conclusions.


The worst part of all is that there actually is some part of my brain that CAN reason and be logical but it’s straining to get through all this absurdity and theatricality. It’s struggling and trying to be heard but it really never stood a chance. Being the Queen of existential drama any stray Logic that thinks it can get through is immediately shut down with more drama and questioning until it inevitably just says “screw it I’m taking a nap!”
Pretty soon the Logic will just pack its little suitcase filled with Clear Thinking and Level Headedness and make its way to greener more reasonable pastures, leaving me on my own to dramatically overreact every time my sister eats the last of the feta cheese.

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