Being single in this world is hard.
Being almost 50, fat, deaf, bald AND single is even harder.
It is not an easy thing to be alone this much. There are some days, like today, where I can barely comprehend how to stay sane.
Sometimes too many things happen at once. It’s overwhelming. Sometimes, it’s the actions of a single person, whether intentional or not, that leaving you wonder what the hell you put up with all this nonsense for.
A kid I grew up with, David, passed away on Tuesday. he was only 45 years old. He was a weird little kid. He liked to lurk outside the local party store, waiting for folks to discard their half smoked cigarettes and then would pick them up and smoke them and look at the rest of us like “didja see that?” Like most of the gang I grew up with, I lost touch with him after 17 or so, when smoking, drinking, partying, and weeding because par for course for everyone but geeky old me.
But I remember once, when we were much younger… let’s just say, David was adopted, and his step father was… rough. Once, David came down to our house (like many of the neighborhood did) and he had a bruise on his face, back and arm. I remember asking what happened and he just said “Ray whipped my ass.” His step dad was… well… not so fond of his step son, and was pretty strict. He was capable of being a good guy, but sometimes, he’d rage at David. I’d seen it enough and I told my mom “David’s going to come live with us.”
Mom said “no” (obviously), and told me that we don’t get involved in other peoples business like this, but David should know if he ever needed it, he could come to our house.
I miss feeling like I can run down the street, and find the neighborhood kids and just spend the day farting around, staying busy… telling bad jokes, giggling because we use words you’re not supposed to… I’m at an age I would have called myself an ancient fart, man.
I’m writing in a blog, because I have NO one to talk to. I’m not whining, I’m stating the fact. It’s who I am. I have no one to talk to. I’m alone 90% of the time, and I’m asking myself if my work ethic is just my desire not to be so damn alone. I wish I was more. More passion. More belief. More action. More desire. Just.. more.