2008-02-12 - 10:10 a.m.
So yesterday was my birthday...again. It happens every year, and it's sneaking up on me more often than usual, it seems. I tried not to be too disconcerted, but having talked to my mom the week before, I re-lived the old routine that has beleaguered my life and made each birthday more to dread than the last, this one not withstanding. It typically goes something along the lines of, "...your birthday's coming up." "I know mom." "You're getting older." "I know mom. Thanks for reminding me." "You're getting o-ooold." "Yes, mom. I know. Thank you." "So what are you going to do-ooo?" "Don't worry mom. Things are okay." "No they're no-ot." "Mom, can we please not talk about this more." "Okay. Whatever. I'm just saying..." "Don't worry mom, I know exactly what you're saying."
So I turned 31 yesterday. All day, I tried to get my mom's voice out of my head, feeling like it was some sort of other-worldly punishment for letting her down, being such a loser son and all that. You know, the sob-story about the loser guy with a bachelor's degree and no job and no change in that situation in sight. I think if I were to ask anything of my mother as my birthday present, it would be some words of positive encouragement or constructive direction, instead of chastisement for my self-acknowledged inadequacies. It's not as though I'm enjoying the self-loathing for this situation. I wish she could understand that it's something akin to writer's block, only it's happening to my whole life.
It would be so much easier if it wasn't like the whole world was about to crumble down on the matchstick pillars that seem to be propping it up. If I could look at the world with intelligent senses and truly believe that my efforts and activity, what I would be getting paid for and doing with spirit and desire, were worthwhile and helping reinforce the pillars, I would be more inclined to choose and progress. As it is, it feels more like any choice is a voluntary clipping of the marionette wires to myself and a putting on of the blinders to the invisible monarch playing my strings. I play with all the other little people among the pillars, praying the one I'm standing under does not fall. There is no shelter. There is no choice. Indeed, any choice is really no choice at all. The game is much, much bigger than I am, but it is difficult since I am entering it sighted. And it is very scary.
�
�
