Horrible unshakeable things

I keep trying to make my peace with this situation. I am home bound for another two weeks, and the time by myself to brood is my worst enemy. Despite technically making more than I ever have, I remain stretched financially. Meanwhile, for the last several nights I have been haunted by dreams of the last woman I loved before I met my now wife. What am I supposed to do with that? Of course she was and is a wonderful and lovely woman. It didn’t work, I moved on, and there’s no point digging up those old bones. Or so I say, clearly I don’t believe, since some part of me keeps bringing up romantic/erotic dreams…. I was 24 at the time I knew her, far less drugged, in better situation physically at the very least.

I was lighter at least three events that constitute major trauma under the formal definition. It’s so far in my past that given the lack of accurate records, I might as well be talking about a mythical event. Ah, regardless I did journal at the time. I walked away from the relationship, because I didn’t know what I wanted. Perhaps that’s the trauma; lack of certainty cost me so much that I went forward trying to be excessively certain, truth is I just became better at lying to myself, and committing to a path in words then backing it with action if not enthusiasm.

I keep trying to stop shaking, or to fix my indigestion. Every time I come to the point of nearly dealing with how I have let myself and others down, I start shaking. This week I am constantly hungry, and only the pain in my stomach slows my progress with eating. Can’t win for trying, that’s me. Not that I deserve compassion or pity, I fully possess the connections for a better, life, one where I seek out material wealth instead of the love of others. Money is damn easy compared to the hard path I chose. Not that I’m overflowing with that either. Probably I merely want another path to be better, to justify the depravity of my current situation. If there was a moral, a teachable moment, it would make this sorrowful narrative worthy of telling.

My story won’t be told. I will continue to give and not be noticed, to influence and be forgotten just as quickly. When I’m gone, there will be no elevated emotions of any kind. That’s the effective exit; “What ever happened to that person?” Response; “Oh yes, that old sod. I have no idea where he went, I didn’t notice him leaving.”

Sometimes in the deepest winter or the hottest summer I will walk, improperly dressed preferably, with the hope that the elements will be kind and end it for me. I’ve yet to even get hypothermia or heat stroke from that. I only get either of those when I’m working on a non self destructive task. Ah, time is a cruel and bereft thing to inflict on a thing with the awareness of it. There was a tribe once that only ever spoke in the present tense. They lacked words for “yesterday”, “tomorrow”, “Past”, “future.” Imagine, what a blessed condition that would be; only now, no regrets, no aspirations, only the moment that a person is in. Maybe it’s miserable, how am I to know? I only read about it, never met anyone of this singular tribe.