Between Nowhere And Good-Bye

There's something unsettling about everything you do having to add up to something greater. Never did much like that idea. Always thought that things should stand alone and in the end somebody else would add it all up for you. Reckon by the time they got around to it whatever they came up with wouldn't matter much to you anyway. Not in the end.

I got a headache. My ears ain't right, and my eyes are a little wobbly too. There's this pain in my back right down where my tailbone meets...well, right where my tailbone meets whatever it is my tailbone meets. Can't shake any of it.

I never did sleep right, and now's no exception. But I'm sleeping for the first time in a little while and that doesn't seem to be helping matters. I went back to my bed after nine months on my couch, and now at some point between three and seven I manage to fight my way asleep. Hour or two later I'm up again, pace around a bit, have a drink, turn on the television and manage to drift off again on the couch. Sometimes I'm up in five minutes, sometimes five hours. I never feel very much rested. I feel old.

But I feel right.

I've always had great vision and the fact that I'm getting sort of blurry bothers me a little. It was quick, too quick to do anything about. One minute I could see fine, I blinked my eyes and it was gone. It had happened before. Once or twice that is. But it always worked itself out in a few seconds. Been like this over a day now.

I had great hearing, hell I still do. Used to be able to hear a bee buzzing a block away. Problem is now some of the stuff I mean to hear is getting jumbled with stuff going on outside my attention. I can't get rid of the ringing.

That pain in my back. It could be nothing, or it could be the beginning of the end. Fat people get back problems. I guess I've just been lucky so far.

Lucky. Shit.

I'd almost grown a beard, haven't shaven since I left my job, I was in that awkward place where I couldn't really see my face but I couldn't quite call the hair a beard yet. Thick Scruff. That's what it is. Or was. I shaved it all of today. Kind of funny how much your face can change in a couple days. How you can almost not recognize yourself. How you know it wasn't really the hair that made you look different.

I don't know. Never did, never will. Some things just may never sit right with me. Maybe some people are supposed to be haunted.

And maybe not.

No one reads this anymore, not that anyone really read it in the first place. But I can tell that no one reads it at all now. Doesn't matter though, what I write here will stay here. For a long time maybe, so there's no sense in not writing it.

God knows if I didn't write it all here, I'd probably have to say it somewhere else.

And I know how that goes.

Somebody asked me what I wanted once. And I guess I told them, but I could have said it different. Could have said it simpler. Could have said it better.

I want what everyone else wants. I want to live forever, and barring that I'll settle for dying old and happy.

That's the ticket.

Old and happy.

Happy.

Who Figures An Immigrant Is Going To Have A Pony?

Has it been thirteen days?

Well, let's see.

I was tired.

So I slept for two whole days.

I've utterly destroyed my couch I've spent so much time on it in the last week. I've become unstoppable in Tiger Woods Golf. I've seen Empire Records six times, Wimbledon four times, Seabiscuit three times, and A Man Apart twice. No one should have to see A Man Apart twice.

I've watched infomercials for dehydraters, rehydraters, and ultra-slim super-hydraters. I've seen every repeat of West Wing ever and am therefore convinced that with a little elbow grease and a really talented Chief-of-Staff I could run the country. I've watched the same episode of Celebrity Poker so many times that I know all of Shannon Elizabeth's tells. And know that they don't matter since if she'd ask the other players would just give her their chips. Can't really blame them.

I've watched certain scenes in The Phantom of The Opera many, many times. Read the same article in Newsweek over and over again. And listened to the same Audioslave song so often I know all the words.

I've had a few drinks, hung out with friends, and even got my first lap dance. It was nice, but awkward, we mostly just talked. Ain't that just me?

I want to go to Canada. Just for a bit. Just for kicks.

I've realized some things too.

I used to walk more, drive more, just plain get out more. I used to wander more. I wanted that back. So the other day I just drove, drove till my damn tires went flat. And when I put air back in them I started driving again. Don't know where I went, or why I went there, but for awhile I was gone. And that felt good.

I've started taking nightly walks. Short walks, quiet walks. Nothing too spectacular. I walked to CVS for milk last night and when I found that they were out I wasn't all that disappointed. I bought an iced tea and just kept walking for a bit.

I didn't realize how much I've put off in the past year. How much of me I've let sit by the side. I knew I wasn't all there, but...

As I walked through the rain last night I thought of people. All the people I've known. The ones I see, how they've changed. The ones I've lost, how I imagine they've become. The ones I miss, and the hopes I would have for them. I thought of running into people, and saying goodbye to people. Of finding people I thought I would never see again. I don't know...I just don't.

Things have been quiet, I don't leave my apartment most days. I just sit here now, trying to get myself to a new place. I'll get bored soon. I can't just go on like this indefinitely. If I don't get results soon I change things. I'll call up the guys and go grab a drink, or head north for a spot of vacation, I'll get a job in a bookstore, or start writing again. I could just disappear. Or not.

I don't know. I'll figure it out as I go. No sweat.

I'm twenty-four years old, I've quit my job, put myself in a lonely place and laid my options out in a neat little line. I'm not starting over again, not rewriting the whole damn book. I could live with things going back to the way they were. Not perfect, but not too shabby either. The middle doesn't matter, the middle's for shits and giggles. There's something else I'm worried about. I've said it before and will say it again.

I think I need a new ending.

It's going to be one hell of a fight. Looks like fun.