Madman Matt is on Hiatus

The short explanation is I have no idea what I'm doing both with this Substack and with my life. Nothing makes sense anymore. Please help.

You may have noticed that I haven’t produced anything lately. Of course, I’m sure you have much better things to worry about than my writer’s block or possible disappearance from the face of the earth—unless you happen to be my mother. Times are hard all around unless you’re in the financial elite (and if you’re reading this, I’m certain that you are not). Things are so cartoonishly bad in America that I laugh at the (real) headlines the late-night comedians read aloud more than I laugh at the punchlines. Sometimes I reminisce about the good ol’ Bush years. (Oh, how I hate that murderous moron—but not nearly as much as I hate Trump.)

But everyone knows things are bad and that I’m as mad as hell: That’s why I started this damned Substack thing in the first place. My purpose right now is to explain why the madness has reached a level that prevents me from doing the one thing that takes the load off my brain better than illicit chemicals. Let me give it to you straight: I’m depressed. I feel like a letdown and a failure. Most days I can’t even look at my wife without remembering all the things I failed to accomplish for our sake. The worst part is that just about all of those things are out of my direct control.

I took some power back last month by preemptively rejecting those corporate bastards before they could reject me for the umpteenth time from some bullshit job I didn’t want in the first place. I announced my early “retirement” on LinkedIn. I got thousands of “impressions” and hundreds of comments. I’ve chatted with dozens of those commenters since then who assure me that I’m not alone—and that even once-stable careerists are struggling to stay afloat. Many have even called me courageous for taking a stand against the corporatocracy and walking away from a potentially lucrative career in favor of nothingness.

I’m glad I fooled them. I’m no hero. I’m just a spoiled only child who still hasn’t gotten used to hearing the word “no.” I’m afraid of EVERYTHING, even my own emotions. I didn’t even learn how to ride a bike until I was 19 because I was too much of a sissy to risk falling on the pavement. I used to shit three times (literally) before making one goddam phone call to a girl I liked—only to fail to ask the one question I planned to ask. This was in high school, though. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself.

But I digress. Before my big retirement announcement in March, I got rejected from a job I felt destined to land because I had a previous relationship with the hiring manager, who told me I was her top choice. My reaction to yet another unexpected letdown was so insane that I decided to call off the job search just to spare myself, my wife, and any other potential bystanders the drama of it. Plus, I couldn’t be sure another rejection wouldn’t lead to a heart attack or a suicide attempt. (No joke: Every man has his breaking point.) I don’t know that I fit the profile of someone with courage—but I’ll take the compliment.

I also consider it a compliment that anyone is still reading this. I haven’t been doing my “job” as a content creator. (I put the word in quotes because nothing about content creation feels like a real job.) I apologize with all sincerity—and regret that I have to disappoint you for at least another two weeks because I’m traveling abroad and don’t plan to bring my computer. The best I can offer is a promise to come back with a vengeance in late April.

You won’t know what hit you.

Until then, please take care of yourself. Life is brutal. Get all the rest you can. Read happier stuff than the shit I put out there. Hug your kids, partners, pets, and stuffed animals. And have a strong drink on my behalf because I’m not supposed to have any alcohol for health reasons. (If you’re wondering whether this has to do with my low output lately, I think you’re onto something.)

Cheers, friends.

MMM