This Feels Serious

I am here alone today. With Patsy and Emmy Lou.

Carol is taking care of precious Jackson. I chose to stay here to try to right the ship of my existence. 

A dangerous choice. If I died today I would never see my grandson again. When you're 70 you think that way, although I guess the case could be made that it makes sense to think that way about every moment of your life. Every decision. 

It is an absolutely beautiful day here in my new home. The sun is bright, carefree, and dispensing hope and happiness recklessly. It is 73 degrees, the sliders are open, the two windows either side of the recliner are open, the front door is open, the windows in the master bedroom are open. The cats are ecstatic, and everywhere I look I see beauty and promise.

The downside to happiness is that it becomes a reference point. Because it is not a tangible thing. It is ethereal. A feeling. If you get a huge and unexpected dose of it, it can kill your spirit, in a twisted way, kind of the way a syringe of pure heroin kills the body. When the intensity of a megadose of happiness subsides to predictable levels, the shock is severe.

Been here almost seven months. And what a long, strange trip it's been. For me.

I've only worked two months out of the seven. Two jobs. A study in opposites. Bank teller at TD Bank. Bad choice. That was a real job. I don't need a real job. I just need money. That lasted a month.

Currently working at Walmart. This was the kneejerk reaction to the bank job. Do something simple. Bad choice. I am very close to quitting or getting fired. I really don't care which it is.

There is enough money in the bank for me to keep quitting jobs. That's dangerous because I am not a rational man. And eventually I will earn a reputation as the Lakes Region's most unemployable fool. Forced to seek day labor despite hands devoid of callouses.

There is no identifiable course for me to follow because my worklife was patched together randomly. So my experience is all over the map, and much of it has aged considerably. Much like myself.

I don't want to fuck up again. I am bone-tired of fucking up. Indefensible decisions made out of smoke and mirrors, ending badly.

Here I sit. On this beautiful day. Committed to creating an approach. One that I can live with. Literally trying to chart a course through uncharted waters. For my own fragile, yet highly desirable, peace of mind. 

Of which I have had precious little in my life.

I'm talking next step sort of stuff. Not ultimate solution sort of stuff. I am fighting my natural urge to think apocalyptically.

There is some hope of cogent thought. I have not done anything self-destructive yet, and I have been up since 6:30. 

This feels serious.