Adventure appeals to me, but only in the literary sense. I oft wish that my life was like those of the people I read about. Where is my journey? Where is the great good that I can do? When did my life become less than the nothing it is? Where is the impossible to be overcome…
Was what came to me today. I see that already I have abandoned my goal here. I suppose this quiet unknown failure will only reveal myself to me, no one is here to share in the shame or to point an accusing finger. My finger is able enough for that. Speaking of which I recently tried to detach part of my left pinky from the rest of it. Why? Is the obvious question and the one that was on the lips of the police officers, EMTs, Emergency room personnel, My therapist, girlfriend, and family. I don’t really have an answer to it. It felt like the thing to do at the time. It made sense then, if I could go back and change things, I don’t think I would. Life is…. right? Is there more to it than that? We huff and puff and make a bluster, but Shakespeare was right even then:
“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
But it’s my life and I try to be the best Idiot I can, if it is a stage the least I can do is make the other players and the audience laugh, if only a little bit…