Comes a Time
At a certain point in your life, one day just like any other, you might be stirring a coffee, breaking off a piece of cookie, watching people walking past along Orchard Rd...
You realize you no long think about what you are going to do with the rest of your life.
You are thinking about what you haven't done with the life you've already led. Your life is no longer a tight ball of potential energy, no longer that fireball burst of kinetic brilliance amazing everyone, it is entropic - the dissipating energy of something falling apart. You know this because when family and old friends talk about you behind your back, they use that word: "dissipation."
The spoon stands still in your cup. But it shakes slightly in your aged hand.
You are old. It has crept upon you. You are well past half-way. Past your peak - and gathering speed towards an ending you can foresee all too clearly, coming all too soon.
You are no longer anticipating building your life into something amazing, special, something to be proud of. You are trying rather to fill in the gaps of an incomplete and haphazard existence. To patch the cracks, make it look a coherent whole. You are thinking about what you didn't do when you had the chance and you realize the opportunities to redress are fading.
You don't have a future, you have regrets.
You don't have ambition, you have have a collection of fading laurels, heavily squashed.
It is the weekend. You don't know what to do, you don't know what you WANT to do. You don't even care WHY you'd want to anything anyway.
One morning recently you saw a sunrise. The number of sunrises you will watch in the rest of your life now seems finite, limited. A handful at most, unless you decide to become a bird watcher or something requiring an early rise. Unlikely. The only sunrise possible for you is when you take your hooker out to her taxi after a mildly embarrassing short-time and she wants to leave at 6am. Your snoring was keeping her awake. Your chance of redressing your drunken inadequacies with a wake-up piss hard-on has faded, of getting your money's worth.
You don't make plans for new projects, you are too frantic looking for excuses for what went wrong in those enterprises you abandoned incomplete.
The game has played out.
That gorgeous girl, the one you fancied, everyone fancied, once you might done something about that fancy, might once might have made an effort to woo and maybe won, but no, not now; she thinks of you as "avuncular" and presumably asexual. Now you merely lech, go home to masturbate morosely.
Your hangover lasts all day. Tomorrow you will still feel like shit. It takes 2 days to get over an all-nighter.
There is nothing you can do about that.
Except sleep and dream that you do not wake.
Life is shit, you sob pathetically.
Oh, God, please... Oh God. I know
I'm bad. I know I did a bad thing.
Help me, Miles. Just this one thing,
this one last thing. I can't lose
Christine. I can't. I'm nothing
without her. Please, Miles, please...
uuuuu... uuuuuu.... uuuuuuu......
Ah fuck. It's just a fucking depressing hangover. You decide to cook up something nice. You have the makings of a nice meal in the fridge. You get to it.
You go to take the Danish Dill Chicken casserolle out of the oven/grill where the cheese is bubbling furiously.
The tray dips unexpectedly the casserolle dish starts to slide you only have one oven-mitt and as the tray tilts further quickly you put your exposed hand there onto the hot china you've dropped the plate 1hr's preparation work egg-dipped chicken pieces in a dill-seasoned flour crisply browned stewed in chicken stock capsicum sliced nicely into rings fresh tomato slices softened with cream thickening in the chicken stock grilled cheese on top a million million calories it's going onto the open oven door onto the floor you burn your fingertips your guitar plucking fingertips.
You scream fuck.
You ice your fingertips and look at the mess you open a bottle of Bannockburn Chardonnay 2001 an object lesson in perfection in white wine making an oenological apotheosis still nursing your fingers in ice eating what could salvage of the meal with a garlic potato/kumara mash and a crispy noodle coleslaw but you drop the glass and spill the wine because of your now numb burned fingertips...
You scream fuck.
You listen to Soudgarden REALLY FUCKING LOUD.
Whomsoever I've cured
I've sickened now
Whomsoever I've cradled
I've put you down
I'm a search light soul
They say but I can't
See it in the night
I'm only faking
When I get it right
Cause I fell on
How would I know
That this could be my fate ?
Withnail: Where's the whisky?
I: What for?
Withnail: I've got a bastard behind the eyes. I can't take aspirins without a drink. Where's the aspirin?
I: Probably in the bathroom.
Withnail: You mean we've come out here in the middle of fucking nowhere without aspirins?
Withnail and I. Bruce Robinson
I may not here omit those two main plagues, and common dotages of human kind, wine and women, which have infatuated and besotted myriads of people. They go commonly together. - Robert Burton
I added the song.
Fucking fucked fuck. It hurts to fucking type.
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
Life can seem pretty damn pathetic and even meaningless sometimes, eh?
Oh wait here...what is this vision I see?
A woman, whom you have never before met, will cross your path soon. She will learn to care deeply for you but only if you are brave enough to ask her home.
hope you feel better tomorrow.today.
i guess a cholesterol-laden supper didn't help.
So basically you burnt the hand you Masterbate with...I don't know whether to laugh or cry. So instead I will opt out by saying I feel the pain of an all-nighter recovery.
I am only starting to feel human again now...
Funny, I was just having that thought about sunrises the other day..........
And then I got drunk...........
glad i'm not the only one who's awake.
Get some sleep you people!
I feel much better today, nothing like a good rest, although blisters have formed nicely on my middle and ring fingers.
VPS - yes rub, that feels better, down lower, over to the right ... yeeeeeessssszzzzzzzzz. I fall asleep when I'm too relaxed. p.s. why don't you rename your blog "Red Lingerie Days"?
Angeline - in that vision, do you see a phone number?
Val - the butter sotong would have been nothing on this chicken-dish cholesterol wise - only I spilled most of the cream sauce onto the floor! What was left was DELICIOUS! I have a HK friend in town, if we get some time I'll take for the buttered sotong!
Skip - what were thinking about sunrises for? An early flight? The long shadows across the first tee, the silence as you pull back and the resounding cry of fuck as you slice it into the trees? Your ball tracking through the dew, spitting off a mohican haircut of spray on the green as your first putt dies about 8 feet short?
Indy - why did you capitalize the "m" word? Is it a sacred word for you, like some pagan god, your muse? - you dirty old man!
I have woken up clean and serene to a scene from my own life. I'd shoot myself but I mean what's the point? That was how I used to feel too, about two years ago. Then I stopped going to the towers. I stopped thinking I was important and began, as Herman Hesse puts it in 'Wandering', "to live life completely as a function". I shut life out completely. strange things happen when you do this.
It's time you wrote a script, the Sideways of Asia. Your post made me laugh like hell, so bleak I know it's true. You're right it hurts to type.
Jeeeserz Cheeeeryst Mate. I forgot to take my capsule this morning and this post almost tipped me over the edge!! I reckon it happens to all of us eventually when we realise "there's less days infront of the horse than behind the back of his cart" . Who'd have thought Johnnny Mellencamp would come up with some thing meaningful??
Then I realised I had a gig to go to and felt better. Music, my good man, is the answer. Well it's mine until that woman Angeline seems to see appears!! One certainty is it IS NOT WORK in any form
Get those fingers better and pound the Maton instead of the pud. BTW how was the band on Saturday night?? If you eventually come back I can find a spot for a left handed guitarist!!
Pete - sorry to upset your serotonin regulation regime. It's interesting how easy it is to write depressing stuff when you're actually in quite a good mood and merely hung-over. If I was REALLY depressed I would even get out of bed. And if my friend from OT the night before was still there I wouldn't have! After an excellent night of play with a really hard bodied lbft how could I be really down? What? Now your even MORE depressed???
And the band are just a bunch of acoustic strummers who don't push the guitar technique, just pump out great sing-a-long aussie anthem after anthem.
Though it was a tad too loud, as we were there to discuss the meaning of life and get pissed. Neither of which were all that well mastered.
Milos - would you film it for me?
p.s. Pete if you want me in your band, you'd have to move somewhere warm like Coffs or Noosa cause that's the plan.
And yes everybody, it's the big five oh next birthday.
Just check me of your list under Mid-Life Crisis and move on... nothing to see here... move along...
I was actually driving to the golf course.........
E@L cheer up. everyone has a bad day. even worse, everyone goes through a mid life crisis once in a blue moon.
just remember age ain't nothing but a number. and i just turned 21 today!
Happiest 21 birthday for yesterday!!
YOU are on the right side of the age gap!
Hey I hope you do the most wonderful things with your life - actually just do your natural thing and you know what? When you look back, it WILL be wonderful. I've tagged you with a happiness meme!
PS. I think you forgot an essential thing - I'm all woman. Woman LIE about their age. I've been doing it since I turned 28. I can't remember what my real age is. really.