Thursday, August 05, 2004

Insomnia # 7.62

I know it wasn't meant that way, but I got asked a question that hit me like a sniper's bullet. I'll paraphrase: Why don't I move?

There's stuff like my lease (I bet I can sublet), my job ( can probably use diplomacy to give reasonable notice and still get all my kudos letters) and my friends. I can't replace them. But they'll remain.

Maybe a change would do me good.

Between work, death, a bad affair,temporarily not feeling so good, a really troubling something, and more work, I'm realizing that I'm four years behind all my friends- most of whom are older than me to start with. Four goddamn years of being immersed in tiny, insular worlds. I'm washing up on beaches I'll never see again. Pointless.

The world doesn't wait four years.

Four damn years.

Too old to rock-and-roll and too young to die.
What a bunch of shit. I'm quite capable of doing either one. I'm once again willing to do the former, and newly reluctant to do the latter.

If I can still rock, and I can face down death, I oughta be able to move again.


Lyzard said...

Of course it was meant that way - quick, unexpected, and relatively painless. It's the bullet that hurts, it's the flesh the bullet gets imbedded in.

Lyzard said...

That last line was supposed to start "It's not the bullet that hurts"

Allan said...

I'm in a mercy killing mood today.

Allan said...

I am your butt,and I abide your shot

Lyzard said...

No one has ever claimed to be my butt before.... shouldn't I have met you before now?