Yet Another Reforgotten Moment of Silence

[Personal diatribe - not meant for public consumption]

Where does one go when one has no place to go? We find friends, we find hobbies/interests, we find many activities/thoughts. And when/if/where/how/who no longer exists, then what?

Personal reflection time. No material to write about. No thoughts to put down. Depression sets in - the other side of life, the shaded windows around one's thoughts, the shutting in, the shutting down. One person out of seven billion, more or less.

Where is the pick-me-up? Where is the "it'll be better tomorrow...no, wait, it'll be better in the next moment...just hang on"?

Feel all the neurochemelectric states of energy flowing through this temporary state of existence called a body in the form of a male member of one species. Feel them and weep. Feel them and laugh. Feel them and feel numb.

I am one person, dependent on my wife, making me codependent and crazy without her. I miss my wife when she travels - I lose my mind because I am only half a person, half as attentive, unable to complete common phrases in many languages I normally know how to speak with Chestney and her friend, Hillary. I am like the walking dead without my wife. I find no words to share with Maggie or Abby or Aspen or Nicholas or Keri or Rachel, Bruce or Anne or Kevin. I exist only because I know my wife is somewhere out there in the world and will be with me soon. Thus, my year of dedication to women is a year of dedication to one woman. She is my all, the only reason I exist. All else is billboards and Hollywood stage sets, bright lights, false store fronts and empty movie sets when she's gone.

There is no script in life, even when we have fun, like my nephew as assistant director in the local production of the Threepenny Opera, Brechtian in all its Brecht-like social commentaries poking fun at the very idea (if such exists) of the idea of the three-act play/musical/opera/name your favorite three-part performance. Poverty is perennial. We are all beggars of one sort or another. Even when a governor has a "VISION FOR VIRGNIA" [sic] per the spelling geniuses at the Richmond Times-Dispatch (don't get me started about journalism as a professional career; remember, I worked in the industry - incompetence is infectious, don't passssss it onn).

Today, I feel clouded over, but if I could see the sky at night, the moon would reflect my thoughts like a wornout old penny. I wish I could stay in character but I have no character to stay today other than who I am, a wornout middle-aged man, lost in La Mancha, no windmills to knock over, no Tiger Brown or Macheath with whom I can chew the bull.

I have seen the past. I have seen the future. I know all there is to know. I have become who I wanted to become but never thought about what or who I'd be once I reached this position.

Now what? Now who? There are no mounted messengers to wing their way through the raucous crowd. There is only me, a meek mouse wandering through the field of wheat, eagles, hawks and owls on the prowl.

Childless. Futureless. Gone before I arrived. When the end has appeared, the applause died down, the fans and followers dispersed and on their paths to life, then what's left?

Silence.

The absence of light.

Nothing.

Supposed to be the perfect time to meditate, right? Meditate on what? Meditate on waiting until the next moment to write about, I suppose. The rest is forgotten details. Thankfully so. Let silence reign for a while. I have nothing new to write about. I am nothing but random states of energy. Let youth rule. Let them figure out if there's anything truly original. I never had kids to begin with. What do I know? I'm a deadend branch on the tree of life. Flowers are on other twigs, not me. Fruits are found on the living. Seek the blooms. I'm ready to be fertilizer, feeding the worms and roots. Blended into the background. You can't see me. I've disappeared.