The days go by in dirge and dearth. The days go by where you can barely catch your breath. The mystery seems history and the world keeps taking its shots. A trip here, a clout there, a few words that reveal some heavy suspect truth. The pace is leisurely but the gloves are off. All the weepy blue declarations and the grim forecasts aside, the worse is getting worse, and nothing much is coming to the rescue. Such sorrow, such trauma, such doom dished out on the poor and the problematic. Even the small blessing I was granted was a Houdini level punch to the gut. I’m glad for the words and the gracious mouth that spilled them, but they did a number on me. I am an illness in my skin, I am the bad end of the empty set. Unfit and intolerable, I am the hurt by the squirt.
It is no big deal. Jackbooted thugs and the walking inferno and hurricanes are the sorts of evil that matter these days. And though I am a piece of shit, I am a piece of shit that mostly keeps to myself. Other than my mother and my sister, no one really has much to do with me. I can run these cycles in circles until I finally jump off the ride. Hardly anyone needs to be affected by my rage or depression. No one deserves it, and I suppose when it comes down to it, it’s about all I am anymore. It’s clear that I intellectually have understood that my behavior has negatively impacted my relationships, but I don’t think moment to moment I really got it. I’m just crazy and mean, and though I feel like I spend most of my time trying not to act out or hurt anyone, the key word there is trying. Not nearly hard enough, it seems.
I spent the evening watching a show about grumpy, gossipy astronauts and their space problems. All the characters had human problems, which really adds to the drama, especially the human kind. Dead spouses, troubled relationships with their children, having crazy diseases— the whole gamut of regular people stuff. Astronauts talking to their loved ones. Loved ones talking to astronauts. You get the picture. And it kills me, all this regular people shit I cannot for the life of me get close to right. The odometer on my envy has been to Mars and back several times now. And all I can think of is that I need a better cage. Maybe somewhere on Mars or the moon. If you care about me, I will hurt your feelings. If you care about me I will hurt your heart.