(i told Joe yesterday that I was tired of excitement. i ruminated on it for a minute and wrote this.)
I have been digging. My hands are filthy from residue. My fingernails are brown from excitement, my knuckles broken from opportunity. Careful what you wish for, cuz when you get it, you might not like the taste.
About a year ago (September 15, 2008), I stood on my balcony in Grand Blanc, Michigan and confided in a friend. We had been nursing drinks, him mixing a concoction of 101 proof vodka and Faygo, me staining my lips by drinking Pinot Noir directly out of the bottle. He had been fired three days prior, and I was opening my home and attention to him, offering my support to a friend whose situation I could not identify with. I had never been fired, or been unemployed yet I was only 6 hours removed from having both. I had been working one job for 12 years and I lived rather comfortably for most of that time. I said to him: "Sometimes I think it would be great to just abandon everything. To travel the country and have new adventures, it would be exciting." just over the horizon, people who knew my fate went to sleep in comfortable beds, knowing what lay ahead for me, and that they were safe.
Before that day, I had a problem with anxiety. Since that day, it's been the only thing I can count on. That twist in your stomach that only occurs when the worst case scenario has materialized? I have had it for a year. I am 30 years old and starting to go gray at the temples. I have learned to adopt a thick coat of paint, and it's not for my benefit. It's for yours. Internally, a cauldron of shame and despair remains at a rolling boil, churning and licking the edges because it's full to the top. I lie in fear, cuz my anxieties might kill me, the baggage that I carry could become too heavy for any person to shoulder. I pray I am not too broken to weather this storm. Please don't misunderstand me, it's not that I am depressed or giving up, but this dog has been kicked too many times not to flinch at the boot.
Yes I have regret. Should I have taken some of those 12 years to establish a life, start a family and get a mortgage? I would still be in this situation, but there is a chance it would have been something. I am unwaveringly aware that my situation is not unique, but that doesn't make it any less unsettling. I am 30 years old, and I have nothing to show for it.
So I dig, searching for that treasure. I stay on my knees and dig, ignoring that my hands have been broken by the crushing anxiety. I dig even though my confidence has been shattered by the full fisted beating I have taken over the past year. I pull every single rock from out of the dirt and dust it off, hoping that this inspection will discover what I crave. My diligence unthwarted, guided by a hope that somehow still shines in the distance. I dig for a sense of normalcy. I dig to uncover some security, by the light of hope that is thin,
I pray for my world to be boring again.