I keep telling myself this isn’t the end, but it is. It feels like the end. Did I have a good run? No. One near miss and full-blown disaster after another. Fleeting moments of absolute bliss and joy so brief and fragile you dared not remember them for fear they would dissipate on your breath. Long drawn out years of mistakes and regret. Did I choose wisely? Didn’t I make the right choices? Here, in these empty hands is the proof. Worn with weariness and toil. Rough and battered, but still strong. Not strong enough to hold on to the dream.
The American dream?
I always saw the dream, the goal, just over the horizon. The light of success shining in a flash of a sunset that only hinted at a mere chance of a new dawn. Always within reach, but always just out of grasp, I’ve chased the phantom dream near and far. The race is finished. I have run as far as my worn and sickly self can go. Now I wait. For what or whom I wait I do not know.
However I am here, waiting. Is there not a spark left? Can there be a flame left yet still to fuel this soul within? I do not know. I mark the days off the calendar as if I’m counting down. As if I am keeping track of time that’s left instead of time that has been. Day and night and night and day. The passing of mental moments marked only by monotony and boredom.
The light from my screen shines pale and is reflected by cold cups of coffee. Ink stains and cup rings on papers wrinkled and forgotten scattered about. Do I write to remember? Do I remember so I can write? What needs to be said that hasn’t been said? I left no mark. My life forms images in my mind and my eyes project them onto the walls. They flicker in the smoky light. Deep breaths in and out. Incense and candlelight, memories and lies.
I've always been a jack of all trades. I've been a poet, author, social commentator, comedian, online gamer, pod cast host, and Youtuber. I've had a class A license to drive semi truck over the road. I've worked as a chef, manager and all kitchen positions in hundreds of restaurants over the years. I've traveled in Mexico, Canada and through 37 of the 50 states. I've been a volunteer firefighter in Florida, where I grew up. I've fished the waters of the Gulf of Mexico and saw the far distant coast line of Cuba before its recent opening to the west. I've married, had 4 kids, divorced, got CKD stage 6 (end stage renal failure) Survived a stroke, mild heart attack, MRSA, blood clots and now chronic heart failure. Fully disabled and home bound, the internet is my social outlet, and window on the world. I go to dialysis three times a week, I watch movies, play video games and chat with people on social media. Writing is my catharsis for a life that is now spent measuring the time I have left, less the tomorrows that may never be.