Months Looking up From the Well

I’ve began work on wrapping up my longer stories but the time and energy factor has been severely retarding me (and lets face it, I’m already fairly retarded) from moving forward. I like writing humorously but lately it’s been more posthumorously. The only laughter being bellowed internally, triggered by the absurdity of my predicament. Let us visit there.

May Day

I open my eyes. I’m laying on my back in a void, a cosmic well. There is no light that penetrates here. No sounds. No technicians to watch me. This is a place of emptiness, of nothing. Miles, perhaps light years, above me there is a hole where I can see the ceiling of my bedroom. I feel wretched, awful. I whisper “It’s the middle of May. It’s my birthday today.” Memories project into thin air; a movie playing into nothing. You can see an old man telling me “Remember these years, they are your best” before atomizing back into nothing. My laugh is cut short by coughs. “This fucking cough” I mutter as I lean over into the nothingness.

It’s my birthday. I’m sick with pneumonia. I’ve been sick for months now. I’ve missed work, my savings are drained, I’ve a ton of neglected responsibilities and now my meat wagon is broke. In this miserable state I wonder: “After everything I’ve been through, is this it? is this how it will end?” Vindicated in the courts. Children are finally safe. Years of legal fees, surviving false accusations, stress, fighting.. Over! It’s supposed to be easy now! Everyone said so! And yet here we are, laying in the void. “My health, of all the fucking things to take.. My health! What else? What else is there to fuck with? It’s as if I can’t live, move on. Build.” I agonize in silence. The idea of dying isn’t the worst but the effects of my doing so are unthinkable. Suddenly a voice penetrates the void. It’s my son. “Hey Daddy.”

In the void a glass wall constructs itself. I sit up and gesture for you to sit next to me.

“This is the glass wall of apathy” I state. “I watch things through here and feel nothing. I don’t know why I look through this wall but I can’t seem to help myself these days.”

We sit and watch Allan slowly rise like sacks of potatoes that have been stitched together and possessed into some form of lifelike animation. He makes his children breakfast, takes his dogs out, tries to work. We see him dumping buckets of sweat and anguishing because he’s perpetually out of breath and energy. He takes his kids to school, picks them up. Makes Dinner. Washes dishes, vacuums the floor, cleans the bathroom. He lays down often but can’t sleep. He just lays there. His children wonder when they’ll get their dad back like he used to be? We watch this cycle repeat for weeks. Faster and faster it goes. Finally, I tell you I’ve had enough. The glass wall dissipates. Quitely, I lay back down. I stare up at the hole. A moment later I close my eyes.

The Dream

I woke on a summer afternoon in a field of barley. It swayed as the wind blew, the light from the sun flashing through and warming my face. The wind was ethereal, a maternal touch; loving. I stood up to witness an ocean of gold, yellow, and brown dancing all around me. At first I saw nothing but the setting sun, the wind, and the barley. Then in the distance I noticed a large wooden building with a horse head gable, I started making my way towards it. I walked. Maybe it was a few minutes, perhaps a century. Eventually it grew in size as I came closer. Ancient wooden beams. Writing above the doorway. As I began to examine it I heard a woman whisper in my ear: “We keep going.” It grew to a deafening echo. The world went black. Something was with me, something not good. Fight. “Where are you?” I can’t move. Sleep paralysis. I see a shadow standing over me. “Get out! Get out!” I can’t move. Black. Start with your pinky.

I open my eyes to my bedroom, Jojo’s laying on his bed and Fatflaps under it. Peaceful, quiet. I was juiced. I hear in my head “We keep going.”

June

I dove through the breaker. An infinite amount of bubbles warbled around my face and body. A split second moment of peace. I’m weightless, white noise, pure chaos, energy. I come up the other side and unintentionally do my best sea mammal impression by blowing the saltwater from my lips. I tread the water for a minute and start laughing. I feel so good. The water is cold, 65ish Fahrenheit is my guess, but I don’t mind. I love this place. The end of one world and the beginning of another. I hear my children laughing. I make my way back to the beach and plop on the sand next to them. The sun bearing down, evaporating the ocean off of me and leaving little salt deposits. I’m breathing normally these days. My energy is back. I made it through shit again.

Vehicle owners typically can’t tell when their brakes are getting worn which is why manufacturers put a strip of metal in them that creates a scream with the intention of warning said driver. My brakes started to scream in May and fortunately my doctor found out and solved what was going on with me. I’ve never dealt with Pneumonia before but I won’t forget it. The Psychological effect of the sickness itself and the toll it took on my body was also heavy.

Each day has been challenging. The best solution I’ve found is to break tasks down into smaller ones. When I can’t accomplish those I break them into even smaller ones. Usually with a lot of internal bitching and anger but whatever works. “We keep going.”

People are a sort of steam powered locomotive that when they get derailed, it can be a difficult process to get things back on the tracks and moving again. Gently feed it coal, water. Adjust pressures. Release the brakes. Patience isn’t everyone’s virtue but perhaps it can be learned.

what the fuck

I don’t think I’ve ever been depressed but the past few months maybe was it? I wasn’t sad as much as just miserable. Things I enjoyed I no longer enjoyed. All I saw was an endless list of things to do that brought nothing but more misery. Work, repairs, renovations, chores, even being a dad at times.

I think getting the right medicine was the biggest thing but also I focused on eating healthy, forcing myself to exercise and stay active. I think of Pat McNamara’s “Motion is lotion.” I’ve watched people die. When they hit that point of not moving and living is how you know it’s their time. Even at the end of June I don’t feel fully recovered but let us apprise ourselves of our positives:

• We’re working steady again
• We’re back in the gym again
• We’re accomplishing mundane tasks easy again
• We’re writing again, reading again, and enjoying ourselves again

We’re moving again. We keep going.