I don’t even cry anymore. This has happened to me a thousand and one times now. I am in the process of typing out my prison memoirs and in the process of ending my last relationship. Like clockwork “The Wedding Singer” comes on TV and the next thing you know I’m listening to the Thompson Twins. I’ve lost my job and my fiancé in a matter of months. It’s been long slow and drawn out and I start feeling like there is no light at the end of the tunnel. But I’ve been here before. I mean not stranded in Oakland, California with no job, no love and no hope. But I was stranded in New York, North Carolina, and Ohio with no love, no money and, no hope.
Yet each time I arose more valiant. I lost a little bit of cockiness but that’s easy enough to fake. I have been broken down and rebuilt so many times that even I don’t recognize me. I spend hours in the mirror picking at my face trying to find the; “me” I knew inside. Yet all I do is make pock marks and ruin my skin a little more. My hair is graying but it’s still so much of it only the people who pay close attention can notice it. These days that’s just me, no one calls, no one comes by and I sit here another day trying to figure out how it all went wrong. The truth of the matter is it doesn’t matter. It will always go wrong at some point. This is the part where I would normally say its bout learning a lesson and regrouping and moving forward, blah, blah, blah, but I don’t care anymore. In the process of searching my past for answers I have found that these mistakes and misjudgments are a part of my life. I have consistently done one thing for the past 31 years and that is fuck up. I have fucked up since the very day I set out making dissensions for myself. I have chosen the path that is m the most uphill nonstop shit storm in the history of human kind. I have consistently made choices that made my life harder and more difficult. I have refused each and every opportunity to live a easy life. If I would have turned left rather than right a hundred turns ago I would be married and a father of two by now. I would be in North Carolina with a mortgage and a job that I hate.
Instead I am without anything as free as the day is long. I may be on the verge of homelessness and despair but at least I’m not comfortable. I regret many things in my life these days but I cannot fault anyone but myself for how things turned out. I could have stayed in Atlanta and been fine, or I could have stayed in North Carolina and been content. There was no reason for me to travel this far to see that I should have never left home. I am now in this melancholy state of denial, but soon the I will rise and become better than what I am now and when that happens I will surely fuck it up and write another blog crying about how I don’t have any more tears to shed. Fuck I’m pathetic.