Friday, December 18, 2009

A Holding Pattern Over the World

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Trying to find some traction up here. Feeling very serial killerish - at least, what I imagine that would feel like. Sort of not wanting to be around anyone while at the same time wanting some human intimacy. Easier, I guess, if you just trap a human and keep it tied up in the basement. But, ultimately, not fulfilling.

I look at the words I just wrote. Perhaps I am trying to be funny. I don't feel one way or the other about it. Just another instance of acting "as if" I were this darkly funny person named Charles Boney.

Mostly, I feel like a stranger trapped in this skull.

My family cares so much for Charles. They are trying to do so much to help him. They must love him a lot. For their sake, because they appear to be nice people, burdened with a son or a brother who has been hollowed out and broken, I pretend to be him. I say the words "happy" and "better" and "thanks" a lot. Seems to keep them from worrying.

Makes them leave me alone.

I don't have to trouble with anyone else in town. I workout at the Y. Read at the library. Sell books at Henderson's. Drink a cup of coffee at the Black Drop or a can of Ranier at the Horseshoe. Head back to the room. Sleep. It's all a holding pattern over the world. Not trying to make sense of things. Just trying to find a moment of reprieve from having to act like someone, I am constantly told, that I used to be.

I know I can't stay up in the air for much longer. Soon I'm going to have to find work and start a new drama, play another role, show the smiling face, trade the inane banter. I guess that I'll just deal with it when it comes.