Begin at the beginning

When you hit your fifties you have a tendency to look back, sometimes with nostalgia, sometimes in pure horror. To tell the truth, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. It’s been a hard slog getting this far in life without any true purpose, the benefits of hindsight, or a fully functioning Endocrinol system.

I used to rely on smoking weed to block out the misery, to while away the darkest nights until the urge to finish myself off had passed. Eventually, even cannabis couldn’t hit the mark, much like alcohol, sex, exercise, and a whole gamut of distractions that eventually faded with time.

The one thing about weed were the dreams. Intoxicated sleep afforded me a freedom unlike nothing in the waking day. Every night I’d live out others’ lives in other places, some of wonder and some of terror. Either way, they nevertheless helped me to break away from the mundanity of the daily grind.

Things feel particularly prescient at the moment, as if the world and I have finally come to terms with each other. The human race, at least for a while, feels the misery of self-containment. The limitations set upon us, the reduction of choice and distraction, the banality of persistence in a broken system.

I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here, but most likely it’s for selfish reasons. A desperate grab at some sense of worth, by passing the time genuflecting upon my own inadequacies. Yet here I am, bold as brass, pouring my heart out to nobody in particular.

I suppose I should take some comfort in getting so far, five decades of emotional subsistence is no mean feat. Not that I’m suffering, not physically anyway. I am loved and love, I eat and drink and sleep. I stay warm at night with a roof over my head. But I live in a cage, a cage surrounded by a billion others.

I hide amongst the crowds, the strangers who believe in this place and all it entails. Those that strive for perfection, desperately aggregating wealth and resources, as they busy themselves with the intricacies of their inconsequential actions.

I suppose I too need purpose, then I might not fixate so much upon the world around me. Something, anything, an occupation to keep myself distracted until my time up. If I only had been greedy, I might’ve made more concrete decisions, considered my options, and found my way.

From where I stand, society is a hive of busy bees, all desperately competing with each other for who knows what. I wonder, how will they fare if there is a life beyond this mortal realm? The source of dreams and nightmares that awaits each and every one of us on the other side.

We’ll see.

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