28 May

It feels like merging into a six-lane freeway stacked with insanity,
only now i’m able to exit after a limited time within the madness.
I float around a dozen different worlds and no one seems happy about anything.
The worst reality is the parenthood tangent.
(And the second-worst is the wanna-be).
I’m in the game now on a limited basis, but I’m more aware of words and actions and their consequences.
Mothers with long faces, fathers working on their laptops and phones in parks–grotesque, obtuse caricatures–while the kids pull and tug at them to come play.
No one can be bothered. Everyone yawning and looking at their watches. Snack at this time. Lunch at this time. Nap at this time. Groceries. Cleaning.
Tension, vitriol, looks thrown at one another like sharp javelins.
Everything seems like a chore; a self-imposed chore. For what?
Following scripts. Following set ideas. Following tradition. Following. Never thinking. Getting by.
When all things lose meaning, we make them routine, and give them new, tailor-made import, only there is no gravity left. It becomes bad fiction. A bad romance novel.
We walk dogs. We exercise. We piss. It’s all clumped in together.
They look at me strangely when I climb structures with my child, go through impossibly-narrow tunnels (despite my claustrophobia), jump off complicated monkey bars, swing with her upside down, and play insane word games while spinning on a merry-go-round.
They think I’m mad. Maybe.
I don’t check voicemail. Email. Blackberry or strawberry mail.
I don’t check anything.
It was like that before. I never took anything for granted.
And now?
I get a breather and watch the scene: “an olde cheezy boozy meaty straight man popping viagra n antacids.”
Everyone seems disgusted with life, in this strangely-magical place filled with children laughing. And I think: the young ones will never be able to resist and outlast if we beat them down and grind them into bits before they’ve even gone out to try.
How I feel is: I’m the bystander letting the industrial accident happen before my eyes. I’m the man on the other bank of the river trying to cross, but unable to, because of the strong current. I’ve run out of large-scale ideas. I cannot formulate anything outside the small, perfect universe I am allowed to have two weekends per month.


One Response to “Happy”

  1. Anonymous 28/05/2007 at 12:12 PM #

    My dear friend I’m sorry for the hurt you’re going through. As I was reading this I started to cry. Hugs to you boobeeg, this was so beautifully written.. I’m ALWAYS here for you my friend. Much love, hugs and kisses, 202

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