I’m laying in bed
with a puppy curled up, sleeping next to me.
My legs are cold
and there is a lump in my throat
solid, like a turtle on a rock
I got a stack of books at the library
And I hope I read them
I think of all the books and magazines I haven’t read yet
Each one a failure.
And I think about all the books I have read
Proof of a younger, better me
I am never enough
Though I know that’s impossible.
At night I dream of wild cities
far way, on a different plane of existence from here
I am trying so hard
to find my way
to escape
to meet someone
to accomplish some task
I never make it
I wake up
Confused
Trying to make sense of it
Trying to remember what it looked like
What happened
The sequence of events
The characters introduced
What does it all mean?
We make meaning.
We manufacture it every day.
What do you wish your meaning could be?
I feel I need to prove my worth
To justify all the sacrifices that were made for me
To pay back the cosmic debt of my existence
But what if I can’t?
No one is going to take me back to the store
And hope for a refund
My arms are cold
The days are getting darker
Last year I was a different person than I am now.
About to embark on a painful journey
That leads to this blissful life I sometimes fail to enjoy
Because I lose my sense of worthiness
But it’s all here. The love. There is so much love. The time. The space to create. The low overhead and the coffee.
Girl. This is what you wanted! To be able to do anything you want. To learn what you want. To write whatever you want and live a life of freedom. Money and fame were never the goal.
But I do miss sometimes, that look of pride in her eye.
Mom was so certain that everything was going to work out great.
I miss fancy cheese and regular flights across the Atlantic.
The romance of existing in a different country.
Good pastries.
Instead I have love. And time. And improved cooking skills.
A thousand television shows and a nice big cock to ride.
Things could be much worse.
