Tonight, I’m laying in bed listening to Mike Waters’ “Shiver” on faux repeat, reflecting on a mild crisis I had today: wondering what I’m searching for.
I’m currently running a medical office of 52 people while the manager is out (normally, I’m second in command), playing music on the weekend, writing as a ghostwriter, and shooting photography and video for a music project. In exactly one month, I’ll be starting my last year of my M.A. in Humanities. By April, I’ll have finished recording 2 EPS for some guys. I’ve also taken sketching back up as a hobby and resumed going to the gym at 5:30 AM every frickin day.
But when I get home each day, I feel so distracted and usually tired that I dismissed the kids begging me to play. When dinner is finished and they’re in bed, I feel awful for not spending time with them or reading at bedtime.
There’s no use in wondering about some ultimate meaning in life when I can’t simply enjoy the simple things. But that’s always been my problem – I’ve neglected the present to chase the future. Once upon a time, that meant ignoring life on earth trying to understand life afterwards. Now, it’s all temporary and material. Just more evidence that no questions can be satisfied without raising new questions.
Questions – those incestuous, relentless demons – how I’ve love and hate them.
Now, “Shine” by The Morning Of is playing and I’m just wondering how it is that love songs start to just sound stupid. So full of absolute words like “always” and “forever” and the like (not even sure if those are in that song though) that I shake my head. Perhaps I’m just growing old a bit more. I’ll hit 32 in a few more days. All I really long for now are good laughs and nice long conversations, both of which are too few and far between.
Maybe the answer to my little crisis today is that I just need to put more time and effort into being around people. But besides those in my house and my immediate family, there’s no one else I can just talk to anymore. It’s been more than a year since I’ve had that and about two years since I’ve heard from anyone in my past. I’m convinced that ghosts are just the memories of people who don’t exist as you remember them. I think of those ghosts often and often without meaning to.
Goodnight ghosts and strangers.