Complaining

What a sad outlook I’ve had since the I heard we haven’t been to the moon in 20 years. I look at that ball of rock every night, now and then, usually by accident, but isn’t that how love happens? I miss the feelings I had as a kid. Once I asked my mother while riding in the back of the family van at night while looking up at the heavens, “Do we know how big the universe is? Do we know the end to it?” She assured me that we didn’t. I liked this answer very much. It rested my soul and made me feel small and large at the same time. You could’ve fit the whole universe into my young soul. Now, I just feel like a pile of rocks waiting to get knocked over by the next hurricane or sneeze. I have a few ideas in mind lately of how I can fix my existential problem, but all of them add up to me dying. Whether intentionally or otherwise. I’ve got a light on, on the back porch to keep the ghosts away, but they bring the mosquitos in. I found that I really like the moths in comparison, they have no annoying high pitch. I’ve been practicing a falsetto to impress someone someday. I’m starting to wonder if I’d like the type of girl who would even appreciate it. Oh well. I’m not trying to be too much of a bummer here. I’ve done my share of acid. I’m not sure I’ll ever recover, or if there’s anything to recover from. At the end of the day, after the anxiety of living subsides, I always come to the same conclusion, that it’s silly to have one. I find comfort in not knowing. I watch movies and pick out story arcs, and feel worse about myself afterward. I unfriend people on social media when they tell me the end of movies when we watch them together. I continue to keep watching movies with them, however. If they ever bring it up, I just play dumb and tell them I have no idea how that could have happened. It must be a glitch. We need to be around people, no matter how much they ruin our day. They give us a good reason to be upset.

              Robert Frost wrote, “Two roads diverged in the wood- and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” And I say, well no s**t Robert. It’s funny how poetry either says so much by saying so little, and vice versa, and how people usually can’t tell the difference. There’s always a way we can’t know, so far, I haven’t taken either path. Now don’t let anyone fool you, that’s a choice in and of itself.

              I hear the birds chirping outside my window and turn up my fan. I’m a white male with no real problems and that’s worse than you’d think, especially when you’re aware of it. I contemplate suicide not out of a place of despair but rather boredom. I’m never going to do it intentionally, but if I were to do it by accident I hope someone would notice. I plagiarize my favorite writers now and then to see if anyone would notice. They usually don’t. I’m hanging out with the wrong crowd. Life is a set of footnotes, and recently I saw them tracked with mud up the stairs. My mother blamed me for it. I took credit for it happily. I’m trying to learn to steal like an artist, but I’m not sure that it’s working. Last night while trying to say my prayers I got frightened that God might exist. I quoted a lion played by a man, “I do believe in spooks.” My sister was in Florida when the last big hurricane hit and she posted on social media that she was ok and that the storm completely missed her. She then complained that her power went off for the next week. It’s a tough life no matter which way you look at it. I hope these birds shut up soon so I can go back to sleep.