Why the me? Why the anything?

I am supposed to work, but I don’t want to. As in the title of the 1990s Stone Temple Pilots hit, I am still “half the man I used to be”. Drained of energy, on an emotional roller-coaster, fighting to muster the strength to go back to business as usual.

Actually, I kind of know that it is never going to be business as usual again. A lot has changed in the last couple of months and some of these changes are irreversible. Not so much my usual habitat – though this has morfed into an everyday hell partly of my own making.

Things might improve of course. The habitat could be rejuvenated or, if it becomes totally inimical to human existence, one might move to a different planet, to recreate life. But, and this is a big but, this requires will and energy. Precisely the resources I lack!

For the problem is to a large extent existential. I have lost my belief in what I do and what I feel. I mean why write another book, another article very few people would read, just for the sake of embellishing your CV or increasing your overall “impact factor”? Why invest in a new relationship if it is going to end up in the sewage? Why make new friends if the old ones can turn their backs on you at the first opportunity?

I do need to work of course to make a living, to support my family, to pay my bills. Yet I can do this with minimal effort, without going the extra mile. And I can try to make money through other means by doing things that would poke the child in me. See, this is the root cause of all the problems actually. I feel old. I feel old for the first time in my life and needless to say, this has nothing to do with my physical age. I am of course aware that life has not been easy on me since 2014. Still, I was fighting, struggling, for him, for myself and for significant others. Now I cannot shake the feeling that I have fulfilled my duty. Done everything I could do. For everyone. On all fronts.

The darkness is not as thick as, say, two months ago. And I know that I will persevere, if only for him. It is just that I have to find a way to adapt to new realities. First and foremost, to the fact that I have “aged”, that I am worn out. I require care (I would not dare say affection). And I am not used to requiring care. I am strong. Self-sufficient. I have always been so. Even the possibility that I may not be that way anymore is scary

I recently came across this song. I didn’t know the band. Apparently an indie folk band from Portland, Oregon. American indie folk is a hidden treasure if you are into that kind of music. And a vast treasure, filled with surprises, rare gems.. I never thought music would be so central to pretty much everything I write when I started this blog. It just is.



Now you don’t have a word to call this kind of a year
That made you kneel and beg it to turn you right
Two dead birds underneath the headlights
Every sound they ever made to call out they are alive
Every piece of me that breaks, trying to keep from the side of doubt

Don’t you doubt
Everybody’s seen some winter, don’t you take the dark way out
Don’t you doubt
Even your breath is breathing for another one
Don’t you just take the dark way out

Thin wind ringing in the silver tines
Yeah, it took you by the throat but it wasn’t the killing kind
And now you don’t tell it like you used to
Every day left in the dark is going to come back to you
Every hope left in your heart is waiting on what you’ll do with doubt

Don’t you doubt
Everybody’s seen some winter, don’t you take the dark way out
Don’t you doubt
Even your blood is beating for another one
Don’t you just take the dark way out

Don’t you doubt
The reasons are all dead and they’re growing in the ground
So why does it give? Why the take? Why the bitter kiss?
Why the me? Why the anything? Just be the man
Be the child, be the cold midnight soaking the bones of this town
In the breath, in the beak, in the honey taken from every green thing giving sweet
In the call, in the pull, in the want and want, in the sound even your own body knows
All there is, seed and shell, your hands are lined with all that they haven’t held.


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