The Mourning Traveler

Being a ship adrift isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.  Indeed, I’ve been drifting so long that I don’t know if there is anywhere left where I am able to find rest.  Or, hell, I would take purpose over that.  Purpose doesn’t sound too bad, either.  I am a college grad, who has left college so much worse off than when I went in, terrified of the future, and realizing that there is almost nothing left, for me.  I don’t know if I can think of a worse situation than the A Lonely Christmasone I find myself in now.  After so much work, I now am listening to the Blade Runner soundtrack and am facing the possiblity that I may go through my whole life just scraping by, and then die.  That nothing I do will have any meaning.  It’s a sobering thought, to say the least.  And now that I am looking at the future, it’s not so much staring down a gun barrel as it is looking at an endless desert landscape.  I am walking along a highway, and there is nothing but dusty land in any direction.  No longer am I in a forest or where there is anywhere to get shade.  Just walking down this highway, holding out my thumb to whoever drives past.

There is a great quote from The Green Mile where John Coffey talks about how he is ready for his time to be over.  What he says has had a lot of resonance with me for a long time.  Not because I want things to be over.  Truth be told, that’s what keeps me here.  I don’t believe there’s an afterlife.  I believe that when I die, that’s it.  Flash, gone.  So why accelerate the process to nothingness?  Still, what Coffey says makes a lot of sense.

I have moved back to a city where I believed there to be potential.  I believed that there was a chance to live a better life.  Only now am I truly understanding what a huge mistake I’ve made.  This move has come at a price.  Many prices.  The first is my social life.  Such as it was, I had a few chances to see people.  Now, it’s gone.  Thoroughly and completely.  It is completely gone.  My social life has disintegrated in front of me.  Everyone is too busy.  There are three people who actually reach out to me and walk to talk.  The first is currently living with me.  And, given current events, might be for some time longer.  The second is my ex.  The third is a person who gets what I am going through.  I am her only true friend, as she is one of mine.  We have found kinship, despite our glaring differences.  Those three people are the only people who ever reach out to me and want to do things.  It has led me to a conclusion.  There was a time when I believed that I had a lot of friends.  Now I realize the truth.  There were a lot of people that I regarded as my friend.  And yet, I am not their friend.  After all, to be a person’s friend, don’t they have to want to interact with you in some way?  I can’t get a single person to answer a fucking text message.  So, there’s that.

I feel nothing, lately.  My life is a void.  Emotional dead weight that I lug around.  There is this great picture that someone made, of a guy getting out of bed, this black creature.  He puts on a skin that is all smiles and positive.  That’s how I do.  I am able to play emotion so well that I have convinced pretty much everyone.  So many poor choices.  Told somebody something that I am certain I shouldn’t have.  I should have just kept it to myself.  She says that getting it out in the open was a good thing.  I’m not so certain.  I think that it ended up doing more harm than good.

Lost & FoundPerhaps some of you might know what it’s like, going through life alone, lonely and confused.  When you can only see the path in front of you and feel emptiness.  There’s a painting hanging on my wall.  Something left to me from my grandmother.  It was the only possession she had that was to be given to a particular person.  I see it there, and it feels like a reminder of a life that I can barely remember, yet can never go back.

I hate my life.  I hate my apartment.  I hate how everything is such a giant pain in the ass.  I hate how unattractive and unappealing I am.  I hate how bored I constantly am.  Might be because I’m boring.  We’ll see.  I hate how exhausted I am.  I keep thinking that with the new place I end up, I won’t be so fucking tired!  Why?!  What the fuck did I do to deserve this?!  All my medical bullshit, the job market sucking.  Nobody wants to hire a writer.  Nobody wants to date a guy who isn’t the rugged individualist (a Garfield reference, if anyone knows the cartoon specials).  The thing I hate most of all is myself!  I fucking hate myself!  No friends, no loved ones.  It’s all a fucking joke.

But I guess that’s enough wallowing in self-pity.  It’s just late and I am listening to my new roommate snore.  He might be here for a while, since he went and got himself a DUI.  Joy-bunnies.  Sigh…

Until next time, a quote,

“I want it to be over and done with.  I do.  I’m tired, boss.  Tired of being on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain.  I’m tired of not having me a buddy to be with, to tell me where we’s going to, coming from and why.  But mostly, I’m tired of people being ugly to each other.  I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world, there’s too much!  It’s like pieces of glass in my head.”  -John Coffey, The Green Mile

Peace out,



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