I woke up this morning feeling
particularly empty.
A feeling I’m used to having at
all times of the day, but this morn, it felt different for some reason.
Maybe it was because a line from
a Waylon Jennings sung, but Hoyt Axton penned song finally materialized in my
brain while driving home from work the night before.
It was one of those moments when
a song you’ve been singing along to for years becomes crystal clear in your
head for the first time. Yes, you blurted out nonsense words, or just a phrase
you thought was being said at the top of your lungs for years. But then, all of
the sudden, those words hit your ears at just the right angle and they were
crystal clear for the first time.
And you were disappointed by
them.
Epiphanies are costly, I’ve
found. At least the older I get I start to feel that way.
Maybe it’s because I’m just
tired of it. Tired of always wondering what went wrong. Always struggling to
see the good of today instead of the good of yesterday. The good of yesterday
that is skewed to be good, always and forever. Even though it wasn’t all good,
no matter how much lip gloss you apply.
My dog looked at me like I was
crazy. Then he went back to sleep in the small cat bed. That’s his new obsession,
getting in the cat’s bed. I’m beginning to think my dog has some kind of
personality disorder, which of course means he’s the perfect dog for me.
The emptiness subsided while I
was driving to work. Must’ve been the Motley Crue that fixed that. It certainly
wasn’t the Turbonegro. I’m guessing the album “Ass Cobra” will be set on a
shelf for a good while now. It’s run its course of being interesting and simply
couldn’t hold my attention. I’d like to think that’s just what happened. She
lost interest in me. I became boring.
I doubt that, however. We didn’t
see each other enough for her to get bored with me.
Bored with the silence. Bored
with the distance. Yes and yes.
I still wonder what it would
have been like had I bought a cell phone. One much like the one I have now,
only it would have been sexy then.
Ha.
Funny to think about the amount
of money spent. On calling cards. Phone bills and credit card calls. I laugh at
the thought of a credit card call now. But then, it was something I did often.
And boy to 45-minute phone calls charged to a Master Card or Visa get
expensive.
I wonder if any of the old
girlfriends ever thought of that when they said “Call me.” Always with just a
tinge of guilt.
Being broke became an excuse.
Then a crutch. Now? I think I’m just stuck there. I’m lucky, I guess. My mind
is still mostly intact. Except when I’m interviewing kids after games. I don’t
hold on to moments of the game like I used to, and then be able to recall them
perfectly for a well-thought out question.
Instead, now I stammer a lot.
And most likely appear feeble.
Some would say blame it on the
stroke.
I can’t.
Even though it’s probably true.
Like a tortoise, I’m just a
shell.
See? Even that doesn’t make
sense. I saw it in my head, it came out like that. Fuck it.
The emptiness goes away while I’m
typing. Even with this free version of Word that locks up every so often when a
new ad has to appear on the side of the page. Or heaven forbid, if I want to
save or look up the spelling of a word, like tinge. Which, isn’t the word I
want, I guess, since it’s not in the dictionary of this version of “free Word.”
Let’s write some ol’ honk, now ‘right!
Ha-ha.
Southern joke. Fuck, sleep doesn’t
come easy any more. I take pills for that now.
I guess soon I’ll be taking
pills to wake up. At least the dog wakes me up for the time being. He’s a damn
good dog. It makes me wonder why I never got a dog before. Oh yeah, because I
would never have seen him/her, and that ain’t cool. I already feel bad leaving
the guy alone for five or six hours every day that both of us work.
Anyways, I finally figured out
what was gnawing at me this morning … I realized that I’m no longer chasing the
dream.
I started out in the right
direction, then I moved to North Carolina. It seems that North Cackalack is the
state where dreams, well, at least my dreams went to die.
Well, not die, just fester. Like
my old leg wound did back in 1992. It’s funny that the girl I was chasing then
was untouchable. Even though she kissed me that day that the photo in my
bathroom right now was taken. Staff infected leg and all.
Those are the memories that don’t
fade. Why? Because I have a picture of them. Just like the ones that are
written down. One day, maybe, maybe not; I’ll read this and remember sitting in
the cold living room in Raleigh, NC, looking at an ultrasound photo and a Kit
Kat bar wrapper. Yep, that’s what this memory will be.
I’ll call it a future memory.
But can something be a future memory? If it’s a memory, it’s in the past
already. I’m sure wiser men than me have pondered this and the comments on this
story, if there ever are any, will surely advise me on the answer to each
question pondered.
Maybe, we’ll be lucky (is that
the right word to use?) and he or she will read this and think that his/her dad
was really just as confused as he/she is/was.
Van Damme.
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