How er ya doin?
Yer a mess, no?
Yes I am.
It seems, as time pitches its shadow, things change. These complicated strands that we weave as each day, each day, each year, become blankets and rugs that cover and smother and obfuscate. Each word, each motion, every telephone call, another strand, another realization that it’s not like that at all. That there is a wizard behind the curtain (gasp!). That there is a curtain (heavens!). That we hung the curtain ourselves, strand by strand (oh god!).
What the fuck do I mean by this obtuse, red table wine induced rant? Sitting here, watching “Good Will Hunting” at midnight, dreading another day of work and responsibility, another day of trying to get up by 7 am and being lucky to make 8:30. Typing my feelings instead of talking them. Typing instead of writing. Using cryptic, meaningless phrasing and banal alliterations, instead of climbing on the bar top, or desk top, or swinging from a rope in the barn and yelling random exultation’s .
Tomorrow, I will arise at 7:30, or 8:00 or 9:00. I’ve laid out my clothes before bed, so as not to waste any time getting ready - 10 minutes to shower and dress, 5 minutes to put in contacts and grab a quick bite, out the door, and to work in 10. Since I’ve been doing the same job for 20 years, but, there’s likely to be no surprises. Bad or good, it’s the unexpected that some of us live for.
Do I care that you might read this - no. do I care that you won’t - no. So I sit here, now in bed, still drinking red wine, casting aspersions upon myself, throwing metaphors at glass houses. Living by the sword (mightier than the laptop) and dying by degrees and the relentless humidity of Iowa Summer.
Stalled at life’s intricate crossroads. A tangled skein of missed opportunities and 2nd guessed decisions. The shocking realization that 1) at 44, you’re too old for a lot of things (professional sports, astronaut, rock star), but still young enough to make some changes that will impact the way you look back on your life when you get old enough for the reflective, peaceful, rocking chair years.
So what’s it going to be? you’re a mess in your head, but nobody else knows. You’re an empty vessel making loud noises, a tabula rasa that is only blank because you’ve forgotten more than you know and you realize that most of it is meaningless anyway.
What’s it going to be. That is the question.
trained to pick up trash, find lost people and do all kinds of other human bidding. Great, treat animals like crap, make a mess of the planet, then ask the animals to pick up after us. Still, it’s a great concept once you get past that part. The funniest part is the dumb squirrels. They look at the vending machine a few times, and if there are no peanuts, they go play in traffic. 