Do you ever feel like you’re just there? Like you’re frozen in a time that everyone forgot about, moved on from, and they then started twelve new social media platforms in the time that elapsed? Like if staring at your ceiling fan was an Olympic sport you’d be the Michael Phelps of fan-staring? Or more like you fell down a well, but a pug puppy fell down the well on the farm next door so everyone dashed over to rescue the puppy and just sorta forgot that they didn’t finish pulling you out?

Pug puppies ARE cuter than me I suppose.

I guess it’s kind of a dumb question, cause I’m assuming we’re ALL feeling like that to some degree in 2020. I also had better metaphors in mind, but my head is a fucking trainwreck right now and I must have lost them in that well I was yammering about a minute ago. Here’s the score: I ended up sick on Tuesday, it started with a sore throat and congestion and has morphed into one of the most awful coughs I’ve ever had the displeasure of feeling. I did a tele-doc thing yesterday and they prescribed some cough tablets, but they also recommended I get tested for COVID-19.

The cough was bad enough that I fully agreed with them, so I went to a nearby drive-thru testing facility and got myself tested. I won’t have the results til sometime next week, so we’ll see. I probably don’t have it, but I’d rather know than NOT know. How am I today? Fucking awful. I’m coughing a little less frequently at the moment (about 12:30 EST for those who crave specifics), but I feel weak and my head feels like it’s floating about six feet above my body. My chest hurts from all the coughing, and I’m STILL groggy from the NyQuil/melatonin cocktail it takes to keep me from coughing through the night.

I also can’t smoke weed right now, thank you for your condolences.

It’s also not been a real smooth ride lately, mentally speaking. Every single night- and that’s not for embellishments sake, I mean it- I’m having these super-apocalyptic and/or life-ruining dreams, which are also lucid as shit so I wake up in a panic cause I think some irreparable harm has been done to my actual life. They feel so real that there’s almost no distinction from dream to reality either, because in the fucking dreams I can hear my internal dialogue (always a treat) saying things like “oh fuck, what am I gonna do?” and while I give my subconscious points for accuracy it’s jarring as fuck and I’d sell a kidney at this point to just have a dream about buying a sandwich or fucking nothing at all.

I’ve also been wrestling with these inescapable feelings of failure and uncertainty, and the weight of them has become a little heavier than even I’M used to. My day job has essentially been going nowhere for a good while now. I’d pretty much checked out last year with the goal of leaving it soon to do this full time. Here’s the thing though, I’m lucky I have it, and I know that. I should be grateful for it but the truth? I’m not. I guess I’m grateful for the paycheck but I’m not even entirely sure how much longer THAT will last.

See, I don’t want to “go back to normal”. I like being at home, so “normal” means shuffling the kids to day care, driving to the office, hating the next 8 hours, trying to squeeze in my exercise, rushing home to get dinner ready and keep the kids happy, repeat. So, while I’m aware that I should appreciate even being fucking employed at all, the reality is that I’m in this fucked up limbo where normal just means more shit I’m not happy with. The daily routine we’ve established for working adults isn’t conducive to cultivating happiness, just in case you were wondering.

Is it ironic that my favorite CareBear was the sad one with the rain cloud on its tummy?

That goal of doing THIS full time? There was this whole plan a few months ago that seems like decades at this point. Build the reader base, branch out and start doing merch items (dope ass hoodies and such), my wife was potentially going to start making jewelry again to sell on the site too, and eventually it would become a self-sustaining little enterprise. I had thoughts of a clothing line, some non-profit work, and maybe even a podcast and it would all gel together into this one vision- to bring our perspective on the world to everyone who felt like we do. Everyone who felt a little lost in the world, every parent who’s family fucked off and left them without “the village”, everyone who every survived bullying and came out on top, everyone who ever felt marginalized, left behind, or abused.

Come one, come all- society makes us feel like ghosts, hence the name. The Ghost Generation started with some exciting possibilities and over the course of a few short months it’s dwindled into flatlined nothingness. I don’t have the first clue what to do to fix it either, that’s the 100% truth. I guess everyone is watching people play video games on Twitch, or checking out videos on Instagram, or tweeting about pineapple on pizza- maybe all of the above. Maybe people don’t give a shit about relating with the written word, or maybe nobody relates to mine. Either way, before any of that OTHER shit was gonna kick off it was all about building the reader base and it’s just not happening.

Dear Google Analytics,

I get that you’re all about mathematically precise numbers, but I wouldn’t mind the occasional self-esteem boosting fudge of said numbers every once in a while.


Yours truly, drowning

Just sayin’, if fucking SOMEBODY doesn’t call a band “Yours Truly, Drowning” then I give up on everything. Here’s lookin’ at you, everyone who’s nostalgic for early-200’s emocore- I have your fucking SLAM DUNK. Anywho, I’m not saying any of this to get fucking pity, christ that’s the LAST thing I need. I guess I’m writing this because I feel so lost lately, I feel so much like a failure lately, and I can only say this shit to my wife so many times before she smothers me in my sleep so I’m here.

I’m eternally grateful for my wife and my children, and that is “enough”. I guess I just feel like as far as the things I want to do, or want to be, nothing is measuring up. I feel like everything I’m doing is just letting them down. I’m not excelling at fucking anything, so every step I take is a failure before my feet hit the ground. This coronavirus shit is just amplifying everything, it’s like I’ve plugged all of my worst fears and anxieties into a Marshall stack and hit a big-ass open-D chord, turning nagging thoughts in the back of my head into “Thunderstruck” for everyone to hear.

At least the neighbors won’t call the cops, they already think I’m nuts.

I keep seeing all these posts and articles about how we can all “better ourselves” during the pandemic and I CAN say that I’ve done a little bit of that. I’m running more, I quit playing video games, and I’m trying to keep my shit together so that’s something. I just wish I had that “million-dollar idea” that would solve my failure problem and make all this darkness following me around go away. I wish I was one of those people who gets the great business idea and finds success during all this, but it’s all blank upstairs.

People seem to want honesty, but they don’t seem to want to read about it much. I’m wondering if I need to come to grips with the fact that maybe I’m just not good at this either, but right now that’s just too much for me to take. I didn’t “make it” at music, my radio career was a brief flash of glory that flamed out faster than the Chevy Chase Show, and being a normal guy in a sales job isn’t turning out to be much more fruitful either. Can’t I at LEAST be good at fucking THIS? I’m not in the best shape, I’m neurotic to varying degrees depending on my mood, and maybe that nagging feeling I had growing up wasn’t just a symptom of my father’s abandonment- maybe I’m just fucking damaged goods.

I don’t know, I really don’t. I don’t know shit right now, and I thought there were a whole slew of other people who felt that way too, but they either don’t or they’d rather relate to someone else. I’ve ALWAYS kinda felt like I was just there, and maybe this is the universe telling me that I was right. It’s not like I want an exorbitant amount of shit- I want a chance to NOT work for some asshole, I want to NOT hate myself when I look in the mirror, and I want to make something out of all this darkness. How can I feel these things so intensely and have so much nothing in the solutions department? FUCK!

There’s a Tyler Durden in here somewhere.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I shouldn’t even be complaining, I have a house, a wife who loves me, two beautiful little kiddos, and right now we have food on the table. I should shut the fuck up and leave it at that. The thing is though, I want to feel like I’M doing something good, otherwise my list of accomplishments will all be external. Great, but still external. I want to build something that can contribute to the awesomeness of our little world, instead of feeling like the sack of shit weighing it down. I used to be able to see the vision, but now I’m only writing this today because it’s been three days since I posted and I’m worried people will forget about this ENTIRELY if I don’t at least stay consistent. Also, I’ve been feeling like supercharged shit about all this and I needed to say it out loud. It’s my party and I’ll shit all over it if I want to.

I have zero answers, and right now I feel like a twice-baked rat sandwich alternating between excruciating coughing and floaty-fuck nausea. I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m just screaming into the ether so my head can shut the fuck up for a few minutes. You probably don’t even really need to be here, you have your own shit to deal with. The way I see it right now though, is that I may as well share these feelings with the few of you who might listen. Maybe you ARE feeling the same things, and maybe my dumb shit will help you a little. I don’t have a clue, sounds good to me though I guess.

That’s all I got, I’m all out and I gotta pee so that feels like the perfect place to stop. I had to pee before I started writing this in fact, but once I get started I can’t stop. I’m like a depressed can of Pringles, instead of being full of delicious chips it’s just anxiety and shitty puns. It’s OK, I want to smack me right now too.


A blog/website where these happily married, 30-something parents of 2 little minions rant, rave, and speak in tongues. Raw, honest, and riddled with profanity. Get on board and let’s make The Ghost Generation awesome together!

The Ghost Generation


    Actually, don’t. It’s good to know that someone gets it.
    When this all first started, I was doing okay. I was accepted into a new volunteer position and felt like I was helping people. I felt I was doing good.
    Now I’m just existing. I’m existing in a place of nothing and I have no fucking clue what to do about it. I have always been one to follow my heart, but my heart was like “fuck this shit,” started singing, “waaake me up whenn Coronaaa eeends,” then disappeared into a dark hole to hibernate.
    And my health? My body got bored or some shit and decided to hit me hard with the Narcolepsy, Fibromyalgia, and Restrictive Lung Disease. Gotta keep life interesting somehow, I guess.
    Sorry! I’m venting. But fuck, we need to sometimes. This shit sucks, and yeah, I know people don’t want to hear it. They would rather keep their eyes glued to the news for their depressing bullshit, so they can forget there are actual fucking PEOPLE living through the pain, and so, not feel bad for their asinine, selfish actions.
    Fuck them.
    All that being said, I NEED a Ghostie mug!!

    1. You NEVER have to apologize for venting, that’s what we’re here for! If we keep talking maybe we won’t go insane, we’ll see. I’ll keep mugs in mind for down the line, I have tons of ideas but shit’s gotta get better before we can do that stuff. As always, HUGE thanks for your support and hang in there.:)

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