5-05-03

By the time I was twenty three and a half I understood so little I was ready to be depressed. All the time thinking about the future and what it’d be, or actually about the future and how I couldn’t picture myself anywhere, anyplace in it. All the time thinking my next step down the road or the sidewalk or any pavement could be the one that leads me somewhere, instead of just back to a circle of comfort. The crows and their screeching and cawing and insatiable hunger woke me every morning; just sitting there on the telephone wires outside my bedroom windows. But how could I even call them my windows or call the crows anything but lucky. I owned nothing, really. Maybe a pair of jeans, maybe a stereo, maybe a harmonica, but really nothing. Lots of gifts and things that I loved and still do, but all of them eventually will break or have been damaged or thrown out. So, really, I have nothing in the world. And that’s a little depressing and a little melodramatic.
No matter what I try to remember these days nothing seems clear. All my childhood is one big blur and one big journey, I guess to this point. And I never saw any of it coming. Never saw all the broken pieces of my heart, never saw family members that would die or get cancer or get sick, never saw the way I’d change and the people that I would become, but I guess no one ever sees the good things coming, or the bad ones. It does feel like my life has been balanced and generally good, but its always that next step that gets at me, that eats at me, that keeps me awake at night and asleep in the day. I like new experiences, I even like change, but looking at how my life has been and what many people, I think, expected of me, and what I expected and still do of myself, nothing can get any worse.