\ in the moonlight

I think a man must have died unexpectedly yesterday, because last night his entire life flashed before my eyes, and there were episodes of having misplaced his children, stressful weeks of working under deadline, a caribbean tryst, and I wish I could thank him, not for the occasional excitement but because I am so difficult to wake, I will surely sleep through my own funeral, and this seems nearly impossible, given how much I like to hear the sound of other people talking about me.

Not to worry, because it comforts me to know these conversations with the hosts of assumed identities represent circles, that I am merely passing the baton to someone just as uncomfortable as I once was in receiving it, though in my role it is impossible to imagine, or at least enjoy the prospect of, your passing on the handle to someone likewise unmoved.

I understand the rules of small town living, and experience the deja vu of walking the snow covered streets at night, talking out loud, wondering what it is that no one else understands about me, that I am going to leave this place, but know that I never will, go crazy in trying to find god after so many years of denial. It is funny to me now! I keep telling myself to remember that it always was.

Once, I took a job in the middle of the night throwing boxes at a transit center, and in the interview, they made it clear I would never make it, and the rumor on the street was that no one ever does, and it was like a badge of honor that I was hired in the first place.

And one night at 2:45 in the morning, I walked home and said to myself that I would never quit, the adrenaline still high in my stream, white, breaking crests for the most part, and as soon as my face touched the pillow in my tiny apartment, that I had rented for $245 a month, I realized, with not an underwhelming amount of sadness, that my preferred drugs are depressants, and I quit the next day.

I keep thinking that one day I will go back to that time in my life and start over, make better decisions, but each year it gets further and further away, and each year I add just a few more irreplaceable moments, and each year the emotional physics overwhelm my force of will, and I know that I will never get back to that kid who ran away from home, took on a job at a midnight warehouse, got addicted to an entirely misinformed class of narcotics.

Ain't givin up the dream, though.