If I'd Have Known I Was Going to Live This Long...

...I would definitely have had more of a plan.

Most of my life I lived with the supposition that once my parents passed away (and quite probably before) I would be dead, whether by my own hand, some kind of catastrophic illness, or just simple neglect of body and soul. For whatever reason, none of those things happened.

So here I am, 47 years old and still feeling like the person I was at 22, or for that matter, 18. The world still seems huge and often overwhelming to me, and my goals so far out of my present reach I wonder if they should even be pursued; at the very least I worry they should be radically modified. Then again, I often wonder if I even know what they are.

I don't feel as well as I used to. I get tired easier, I have strange sensations that no one has been able to diagnose yet. If I don't get better soon, it's back to the doctor for more tests. I keep being told that I'm in good health (discounting my glaucoma, I suppose) but things just don't "feel" right, and haven't for a while.

So it's hard not to concentrate on that, or at least be distracted by it. This house is my home and I'm glad I have it but wow, does it take a lot of care. Even a tiny home like this requires a lot of maintenance and thought process; do I repair or deal with it, how much do I spend, should I sell or stay, etc.

My day job is soul killing and resource draining; I can't afford to just not care at all anymore though it is very tempting, but as the years go by it's more and more stressful with less and less return. And again, it's a distraction from the things I really want to do, but I can't afford logically or financially to abandon it.

My second job is more challenging and fun, but it still isn't my life's calling, I know. And it too is time and resource consuming. Maybe I just need another "me" to live all the lives I want to live.

I have a hard time 'shoving off' from the past, too. What I'd like to do is incorporate my past into the writing I want to do, though I'm loathe to write anything so obviously personal as my childhood associate Jim did. I'm just not up to that, for a lot of reasons.

The creative ideas just aren't there like they used to be. Maybe if I was younger and had less responsibility they'd come back, I don't know. I can't get younger, and I'm not totally sure how to have less responsibility. I'd love to take a year off and just see what happens with my life, but boy, is that risky in so many ways. I think for that year I'd feel great but the plan is to live a bit longer than that and that 'break' might be one I can't go back from. I'd love to just explore the different things I might be able to do, but God in Heaven I am so tired so often anymore I just can't seem to summon the energy to do that. And I get angry at myself because I know that's just an excuse, that just about everyone on the planet is tired and that doesn't stop them all from doing what they want to do. I get so frustrated with myself.

I have to be a practical person while trying to be an imaginative person, and that's not easy. Your environment can really grind down the creative juices (or more aptly, 'dry them out' I suppose). And God knows my environment is not conducive to creativity. I'm not sure what it IS conducive to...maybe self-destruction and chemical dependency, or slow death from self-abuse. Certainly not happiness.

Then again your work environment is only one part of your world, but it's a big part. I've heard that you can make a Heaven out of Hell, but I think even Nietzche would have a tough time turning that particular water into wine. (I've gone from mixing metaphors to mixing quotations, I know...)

Well, it's a start. I'm trying, Mom. Stay tuned.