the other night, james and i watched 'death of a salesman'. the last time i saw/read the play was high school, when such characters seemed distant and unlikely. now, however, i'm amazed at how much i've grown to resemble them...living in fantasy, in essence, not being there for pretty much my entire life...an absentee human...middle age welcomes me with stinky breath, poor memory and words.....that.......just..........seem..........to......................................
i almost laughed out loud, when, standing in front of a bookcase in the living room of my city-stay apartment, i spied a spine that sported the title: 'what do i want to do with my life?' by po bronson. it's very refreshing! even though it's billed as a 'self help' book, it lacks the annoying new age jargon which makes me want to buy and use an automatic weapon. it's people's stories of their quest to answer this very question, compassionately related by the author.
i've realized that i gave up taking that question seriously starting in 5th grade, completing the premature process in 9th grade. both times i let myself----but then again, does a young child have an actual choice?-----be talked out of special studies and playing musical instruments, the only things i've really cared to do with myself...i haven't found a replacement....and it's been 25 years!!!
even imagining that i have inoperable cancer can't shake me out of my stupor ;-) [in the visualization, i don't suddenly take that trip or meet my love or find sudden peace or forgiveness or walk to meet the dali lama or become anything...i just £%£^^£^%£ing die unglamorously, unceremoniously, silently, painfully and.....very ALONE!]
BFN
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