could this be a mid life crisis?

i'm feeling kind of depressed. i don't know whether its a long term thing or whether its one of those passing phases. i hope the latter, but unfortunately i suspect the former.
Analysis at this stage is probably a bad thing, but then catharsis is probably good. so i'll start with the problems:
the perfect number is irrational. this wouldn't be such a problem if it didn't just typify everything thats screwed about the way we perceive the world. our system of mathematics, in all its elegance and never ending curiosity for the secrets of the universe, can't accurately represent something that a simple snail does unconsciously.
Which brings me to the next problem. Unconscious. I can't seem to get it right anymore. i gave up drink, drugs and cigarettes and now i'm pestered by an addiction to caffeine. problem is i don't sleep properly and end up awake, thinking about things like how to construct a dodecahedron in linear perspective. no link, because i'm too depressed to try.
This in turn brings me to a deeper problem, and i think this may be the nub of it: i'm dissatisfied. that's right, for all the exercise and yoga, i just can't seem to shake a nagging feeling of inadequacy. it could be that my job is no longer challenging, if it ever was, or that so many things i would like to do are beyond my reach, or maybe just because i don't actively participate in anything like a community anymore. Who knows eh?
I can't seem to communicate with people i call friends. i don't get any social contact beyond family and i can't seem to get out of the intellectual desert i've been languishing in for the past fuck knows how long.
oh, and my retarded boss beat me at chess. thats the proverbial straw. i mean it was more like beating myself really, but there it is.
Actually its probably safest to blame the city. as soon as you think you've shaken winter, and your spirits start to lift, the northern winds come to howl through your filthy streets, bringing cold sky piss to turn the dirt to muck.
or maybe its the skin condition i am nurturing. what the fuck is with that? we can split the atom, make angels dance on pinheads, and estimate the age of an infinite thing to trillionths of a second, but can we figure out what causes eczema? can we fuck.
why not? i mean one day, no problem. next day, an itchy foot. one year down the line and its colonised both feet and is moving on to my arms.
or maybe its debt. what unholy thing is a city that i have to pay enough to feed several third world families just to inhabit conditions only marginally better? council tax is truly a sin. i already pay iraq war tax through my right nostril, and heroin addict tax through my left, now i have to pay streetsweepdodging tax through my anus!!
someone has to pay the street sweeper i hear you whine. well, I WAS A STREET SWEEPER, hence i speak from personal experience when i say that pay and street sweeper shouldn't be housed in the same sentence. that i was marginally happier in that job speaks volumes about my current one.
over 80% of the water i bath in, and drink, has been recycled through other people. yup, fish would be afraid to fuck in it.
maybe thats why my skin is enflamed, and developing sores on its sores. or maybe its God, reminding me to smell the roses, which i would if they weren't currently contracting aphids out to my coriander, which is supposed to drive the fuckers away.

oh yes folks, it sucks in my world. the principle reason for this is reason itself. if you have it, your lot is to be dissatisfied. this is an unreasonable shithole world.

i'm sure this catharsis has done me good. i am now going to take my shivering carcass to bed again, to lie in the dark until its less dark.