|A Gray Sweater|
But today is Tuesday and I still have three days until my three days off. I did work yesterday, which was the fourth of July. Somebody had to be there to sell the lonely intellectuals books on the holiday. I went in at 10 am and left at 3 pm, so I tried to keep the work angst to a minimum. Today is another day in retail, walking down the same streets, under the same Seattle sky. I wouldn't mind closing the curtains for the day, and drawing the blinds.
Sometimes I am overcome with melancholy. I desire space and quiet, without having to deal with any emotional crisis, or adult responsibilities. I'm fifty-five years old now, but I still frequently feel like that lonely fifteen-year-old, whose only respite was found in the woods behind his childhood home. Now I am far from home, with no natural surroundings to immerse myself in on a daily basis. I settle for sitting on my deck in the evening, and gazing into eternity, illumined by those multitude of dead stars.
I desire more out of my life, and that desire is often a stumbling block on the road towards contentment. My son provides me with plenty of reasons to stay sane, and to try and not rock the ferry so much. We're all on the same boat, but we all have different destinations in mind. I just want to stop the ferry at the next island, and rest my weary consciousness for a bit. This life is evidently not the all-inclusive model with the open bar that I saw advertised. It's a pay as you go existence, and I must now go and earn my keep.