I want to tell you a story. One of love, hate, frustration and obligation. A story of made up pain, made up drama, excuses for everything under the sun and denial. I have wept, yelled, thrown objects across the room. Hell I’ve even contemplated murder. Nah. I’m kidding, not murder. Everything though, was in the name of passion.
I pick up a pen, and for a brief moment, I feel like I have a way out. I can, express. I can, say what I truly feel, believe and think. I can stop lying to myself. I can finally tell the truth. I can be up front about my insecurities. I can drop the bullshit game I play, the one where I run around all day like a maniac, chugging coffee and cola, trying to create something better. I can step back and just exist, me and my paper; my escape.
It’s pointless. Running all over, assuming something grand shall rise. Well, not pointless of course, but saddening really. Death has been upon me lately. Family member fallen, down hard. I’m aiming for something. Something far off out of sight. But I can feel it’s there. I can sense it’s presence. I know, and that’s all that matters. I will try, because that’s all one man can do. I will witness, study, research and log (in my soul) everything I encounter. Witness, duh, of course. How silly of me. I will take all these things and attempt to try again. Only this time, to show everyone else. Show everyone something bigger than themselves. And at the very least take them away from the disease and decay and pain and bills. Allow them time to be free.
But, Plan B, right! What the hell is Plan B?
You know, I day dream about how and what people think of me. Not presently, but what they will think and say when I’m not around. Perhaps I’ve left town, or the country. Or perhaps I’m dead. I want them to say/think, “Now there was a guy who could accomplish anything. He was driven and by god, enthusiastic. He was good at just about everything he tried. I wonder where he is.”
I’m not sure if that makes me crazy, selfish, egotistical, or what, but I don’t care. It’s how I want people to think of me. That’s no spiritual crime. That’s a living will. I have trouble sleeping at times. I’m not sure why, but I know how to fix it. I will get straight to it. A.S.A.P. That’s right, in case you didn’t know, there are friends thinking of you.