Canada - yeah right.

http://www.cnn.com/2012/11/07/politics/us-election-bluster/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

Everyday and every night

Everyday I live in fear that something else is going to happen. Every night I have nightmares about not being able to survive anymore; about not being able to afford our house anymore; about moving into a small apartment, which we still can't afford; about my wife being totally numb to me and her surroundings. Everyday and every night I live with these fears. They never leave me. When I turn a corner, they turn with me. When I take a drink, they take one, too. When I read a book, they are there sitting right beside me. How can I escape these fears? Where can I go? There was a time in my life when I would've gone on vacation; would've spent a few weeks in Jamaica, but now I can't afford to do that anymore. At times, it's impossible for me to put into words how much those trips helped me. There are those close to me who never understood why I needed them, and I at times thought them extravagant, but they helped, nonetheless. Especially Jamaica. God how I miss Jamaica. I'd give thousands of dollars, if I had them, to go there for a couple of months. It seems so selfish to ask for such a thing; to sit on a beach drinking rum and smoking good ganja. It is a luxury, no doubt. But I made a lot more money when I lived that way. I paid more taxes. I was a much more productive citizen. So, shove that up your "Just say no," campaigns.

Whenever I went to Jamaica, it was like meeting the other half of my spirit who lives on the island; while I was there, I was whole. Even though I had to leave half of myself when I left, that half was rejuvenated. But just as a battery has two sides, positive and negative, so do I. One cell lives in Jamaica and the other in Kentucky. Without one, the other weakens.

And I am dying.

Out of touch

All I want is to be totally out of touch. Isn't there anyway to be totally out of touch with the world? I was having a good night and then I saw something someone wrote on facebook that I knew was going to hurt someone's feelings and it just made me furiously upset. But it's all so stupid. Nothing is worth getting upset about. We're all just passing through this world. It's going to be over and done with before we can blink an eye.

Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. I just feel stupid for even getting upset. I want desperately to be totally out of touch because I just want peace.

Damn the world and the people in it. Damn facebook. I don't want anyone to bother me and I don't want to be bothered. I don't want to see what people have to say about other people; I don't want to see what people say about me. I don't want to care. I don't want to get upset. I want desperately to be out of touch.

Maybe

Everyday, death comes a little closer. I see him just behind the tree, and just around the corner. He stalks me, but I don't care anymore. At least I think I don't. Would my defenses cause me to run were he to knock on my door right now? Or would I open it and ask him in? Ah, the relief from worry is alluring. To breathe that last breath, to finish that final struggle. It's so tempting. But there is nothing pretty about it: the decay, the rot, the stench. But at my age, and now that I no longer know how to provide security for my love ones, I cannot help but wonder if isn't time for me to cross that lonely bridge.

I have a good life, but full of worry. I suppose sloth has delivered me to the edge of ruin. But maybe it was the course I was supposed to run. Used to, before I became legally blind and when my hearing was better, I worked quite a bit; I ran the race. But now I tire of not knowing what lane to run in. I'm just tired. Tired of having troubles that I cannot pay for; tired of cars breaking down that I cannot repair; tired of worrying about the trees and tree limbs that need cutting and trimming; tired of first world problems, I suppose. But mostly I'm just tired of not knowing how to make money.

When Adam fell from grace, God punished him by demanding he earn his living by the sweat of his brow. I tire of wondering how.

Maybe today I'll walk down that path and hold hands with that old foe; maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after.

Until that day.

Words

We can see our sadness now. It surrounds us like ghosts in an old parlor, a constant reminder that words once spoken can never be retracted. As all creatures who turned on one another and then recoil, we try to maintain a balance, a semblance of civility. But the ghosts will not go away. Their shadows fall behind us and in front of us. We walk slowly for fear of falling into that dark night. I would say I do not believe in ghosts but it would do me no good; denial will not make them go. I feel them pressing upon me from every side, crushing me, invading me, possessing me even to the bone and marrow. Words. The grief of gall carries us on the current; its turbulence unrelenting. To speak is death. 

Both sides now

Facebook is not a safe place for two-faced people. For as sure as the night follows the day, both sides of their face will eventually be seen by all.

Nocturnal

It's really sort of deceptive when I complain about the nights I'm up and down with insomnia. I make it sound as if it's awful not being able to sleep, and I suppose it is the following day when I'm so tired I can't get much done. But in truth, I love the silence of the night. It's sort of like being stranded in a space station; the continual hum of solitude soothes my soul. Even watching old television shows are better. It's as if no one else in the world is watching 'em but me. I suppose that's why I've always had trouble with a day job; during the daylight, I'm tired, weak and long for the night when the world is mine.