This is what I sound like when it is late and I've been watching too many Fraiser reruns
Wait, tomorrow is Monday? Today, or technically speaking yesterday was Sunday? Huh? It’s late, or is it early? What year is this again? Donald Trump is President. Okay that means we’re living in the darkest timeline. It’s February. But not a leap year, so only 28 days. The University of Connecticut Huskies Women’s basketball team started a winning streak on November 23, 2014 that has now reached 99 consecutive wins (going for 100 on Monday evening).
At the time the streak started Trump was still over six months away from officially announcing he was running for President. I got married, got divorced, had three different jobs, and lived at three different addresses all during the span of this streak. I guess you could say I’m something of a losing streak that could rival the Huskies’ dominance. But then you probably wouldn’t say that because it’s pretty mean. Not that it’s out of the realm of possibility that someone on the internet would say something mean to someone else. This is the Trump era in American after all.
What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, time. It’s already Monday. A few hours from now most of the working citizenry will be rising and starting their week. I’m already several hours behind. Too bad I don’t seem to get anything done in the twilight hours I find myself so often trapped in. I used to write. And clean or organize. But I’m far too melancholic for such activity right now. I wish I could sleep more. Isn’t that what the depressed are supposed to be doing? Sleeping away their lives. While I just sleepwalk through my days and nights with only sporadic and never fully rested slumber.
I wonder if we truly have as many missed opportunities from our misspent youth as we tell ourselves when looking back. The way we sugar coat even the best of memories, perhaps it is with the same rose-colored glasses that we remember things that never were but might have been. Those “what ifs” plague us whether or not we are content in the present or lost at sea in the deep waters of aging and loss. How many of those scenarios that seem so golden in our thoughts now were actually just a minefield waiting for us to stride down its path?
Everything I’ve done in my life is exactly that. The failures, the successes. The failures that were nearly successes. The small successes that have been forgotten. The successes that I haven’t yet realized are in the works now. The failures I can’t imagine getting over yet.
The future is a mystery being battled over by our hopes and fears. The past is a puzzle we try to solve with incomplete pieces. And nothing will ever happen except for in the present. The only battleground we should never lose sight of.
At the time the streak started Trump was still over six months away from officially announcing he was running for President. I got married, got divorced, had three different jobs, and lived at three different addresses all during the span of this streak. I guess you could say I’m something of a losing streak that could rival the Huskies’ dominance. But then you probably wouldn’t say that because it’s pretty mean. Not that it’s out of the realm of possibility that someone on the internet would say something mean to someone else. This is the Trump era in American after all.
What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, time. It’s already Monday. A few hours from now most of the working citizenry will be rising and starting their week. I’m already several hours behind. Too bad I don’t seem to get anything done in the twilight hours I find myself so often trapped in. I used to write. And clean or organize. But I’m far too melancholic for such activity right now. I wish I could sleep more. Isn’t that what the depressed are supposed to be doing? Sleeping away their lives. While I just sleepwalk through my days and nights with only sporadic and never fully rested slumber.
I wonder if we truly have as many missed opportunities from our misspent youth as we tell ourselves when looking back. The way we sugar coat even the best of memories, perhaps it is with the same rose-colored glasses that we remember things that never were but might have been. Those “what ifs” plague us whether or not we are content in the present or lost at sea in the deep waters of aging and loss. How many of those scenarios that seem so golden in our thoughts now were actually just a minefield waiting for us to stride down its path?
Everything I’ve done in my life is exactly that. The failures, the successes. The failures that were nearly successes. The small successes that have been forgotten. The successes that I haven’t yet realized are in the works now. The failures I can’t imagine getting over yet.
The future is a mystery being battled over by our hopes and fears. The past is a puzzle we try to solve with incomplete pieces. And nothing will ever happen except for in the present. The only battleground we should never lose sight of.
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