don't look both ways
there’s a short chapter in the book i’m reading about a teacher who goes to a staff meeting – they talk about the same shit they always talk about. he goes home, does homely things then realizes it’s still early. he sits on the couch because there’s nothing else to do – he stares into space. eventually, he gets up and goes for a walk. crossing an intersection, he gets hit by a car.
i put the book down for a moment and stared into space myself - it captured the stupor of my own life, and i thought with a bleak smile: lucky son of a bitch.
as i’ve alluded to (what’s the opposite of alluded to?), my life these days is routine. wake up, write, work -- whatever. lately, there’s even been a monotony in the process of writing – or maybe in the routine of writing.
i guess routine isn’t a bad thing – it was being chaotic and making mischief that led me to hurt the ones i loved and myself.
and from my routines, especially the morning one, has come a surprising benefit – i’m writing more - and not just for this blog.
but at the end of the day, writing to the void is still writing to the void. i crave attention, i crave connection, like that’s the one thing that’s being withheld from me now that i’ve become self-aware.
i fear this is a punishment. and what’s worse, i fear i’m right.
as i cross the street in my village, i look out for roadtrains – and i think now how easy it would be to take one step forward and steal that connection denied to me, if only for one, final instant.
and the relief in that thought fills me with warmth.