It’s been a long day. I’m burned out to the point of hazy vision and tired eyes, and most everyone around me seems to want more than I have to give. Of course, it ain’t never enough. Bunch of bullshit excuses don’t add up to a goddamned thing when measured against the more useful aspects of friends and acquaintances. I want to sleep so badly I could cry, and at this hour of the night/morning, there ain’t a soul awake to hear me scream. Usually that would be a good reason to lay down and stare at the ceiling until my legs stopped burning, but tonight the pain won’t stop. I am a prisoner of this useless body.
There is a latent realization concerning my dependence upon the good people that spend their time and energy keeping my spirits from sinking any lower. The faces change as time expands towards the infinite future, but each and every one of the kind folks go a long way towards making life a little more bearable and a little more sane. Still, I cannot escape the feeling that I’m going to drown, even as hands are extended in a desperate effort to keep me from falling. It’s a fools errand. I promised myself that whatever the outcome of this tete-a-tete, things will soon change for the better. That’s my faith; no supporting evidence, just the hope that somewhere between Joe Henry singing about the time of lions and the silent phone telling me I’ve been set aside for more interesting people is a sort of painless plateau. Deep down, I know I’m stuck with stab wounds in my legs and lower back. The pain keeps my mind going far after I would have chosen sleep. Sometimes, there is no choice to be made.
For just over four days I’ve tried to duck and dodge the shrapnel headed my way. The doors are locked, and the screens are pulled tight against the windows. The alternating cold and warm air comes and goes without asking permission or even the simplest questions with straight-forward answers. Too much of some things, not enough of others. I thought I missed the ‘burg, but I realized that I no longer know of a single soul wandering the the campus and shops looking for grass and finding trees. So much didactic servitude is expected from the discordant. Can it be fixed? I don’t know. Personally, I worry that things are permanently fucked. A man can live with excruciating pain; a man can live without good meals in his belly, or fine wine in his cup. Nobody can live without some kind of hope that all the suffering will be worth it in the ens. Fucking theists. Maybe next time we can burn them at the stake instead of the other way around.
Well, tomorrow will be slightly better than today. I’ve struck a few names from my list of approved personages, and am waiting with bated breath for word from the front lines of the battle between suburbia and real life. Yeah, that means you. So what if you don’t like it? You’re too busy to prove without a reasonable doubt that 2+2=4.
The head banker cheats on his taxes. The head coach beats on his wife. FOr all I know, Bobby is still doing a tapdance on Whitney’s face and chest. He’ll feel terrible about it later, but that won’t heal the scars and purple bruises. As I stand up to stretch, pain shoots from my lower back into my legs, and I know it’s time to go smoke another cigarette.
All 20 cigarettes in the pack are kind, honest, and thoughtful. Give up smoking? You might as well ask me to stop breathing. I’m no Victor Lazlo, just another cripple with a penchant for hopelessness and a few ideas on what needs to be said and written in the short time left. Until then, it seems that staring at the ceiling and hoping for a brief respite from this wounded spine and shooting pain. I suppose I could just lop the leg off, but that seems so messy, and the carpet cleaners are due here at the end of the month. We don’t have anything that will get blood out of the carpet. The leg stays attached, pain be damned.
I need a few cigarettes in the cold before I lay down to admire the plastered ceiling hanging down above me. My lighter and my jacket keep me warm, but the cold air of the November night sees fitting, as if for once I could join in with the last gasp of Summer heat. I want to enjoy the rapacious movement of the hands of the clock, watching the days tick by while lawyers argue about who the fuck knows what and doctors make sure to forget about treatment in favor of an endless waiting game. Muscle spasms tell me to go outside before my casual disregard turns into real anger.
There must be some ending to this story, but as of now, it’s just another week in another month in another year. Aoolied theory never had it so good.
Did you really need to keep ditching out on me? I’m in no mood the chat about it. You want to go your way, and leave me to mine, that is your prerogitive. It’s just so chickenshit not to say so. Good luck to you; and good luck to me. I’m crawling to bed, but not before a cigarette takes another five minutes off my life expectancy. Bunch of standard bullshit. Apologies all around. I just want to sleep peacefully. Instead, I’ll be up in 5 hours at the latest. That can’t go on forver, right?
