Would it be simpler just to give it all up, to forget writing altogether and go get a job flipping burgers or painting houses? Would it be simpler if I forgot about this life-long dream, chaulked it up as a foolish childhood ambition, and succumbed to life as the general populace knows it? Do I want children because they are a “form of suicide” as one friend recently put it? Do I want to start a family because that would be a way of killing myself without actually getting up the balls to do it? Would it be simpler to give it all up?
I drove to Gloucester this morning and followed Rtes 127 and 127A around the coast of Cape Ann. I shuddered at the cold of the rain and sea mist whipping at my car. I cursed the small cut on the index finger of my left hand and I pressed it against the wet outside of my door. The ocean brought out a feeling inside that I can’t describe. It always does.
I followed 127 south into Beverly, then made my way into Salem, and then found Rte. 114 in Peabody and took that all the way home.
I was feeling pretty good before I got home.
But, in what seems to be becoming a regular event, my sitting down at this computer sucked all of the life I’d found out by the ocean out of me. The job descriptions sitting in my printer’s tray reminded me of my continuing trials as an unemployable bum. They reminded me of how worthless I am right now, how little I am contributing to the world, to my family, to myself.
I keep waking up late, not getting to my morning writing. Yesterday I stopped my morning walk short because of some chest pains. Sure, they hurt like a bastard at the time but I probably could’ve gone on.
I feel I am slipping into old ways, into laziness, into an abyss of my own making.
Just last week I thought things were turning around, but often that’s when things start to get worse.
I… I… You have to understand that this is and at the same time, is not, a cry for help. I often get to this page at a time of the day when I’m feeling worn out and useless. Either I start writing right before I go off to cook dinner or I don’t get to it till it’s almost time for bed. Whichever it is, I am never feeling as good as I do at other points in the day.
I worry I’ve lost readers and that bothers me. That people read this page… its one of the few accomplishments I can list. I worry that you’re all leaving me, that if I continue to whine like this you won’t want to listen anymore, won’t want to read anymore.
But I can’t put on a happy face and talk about how things are all hunky dory if that’s not true. Things are not hunky dory and I hope you understand.