God, I Hate This Day

I took a detour out on the highway, the rain was coming down. I took a turn out on the roadway to the place you can't be found. Today of all days, I had to confirm it was true. For it's too lonely a place for you to be. It was full of cold and full of rain, a gloomy lonely dreary place so cold that I still feel the chill.... And you were not there... Not in that darkness. Not in that coldness. I hope the place that you actually are is warm, aglow with soft light, where the only walls are made of love. Not in that dark desolate place in the falling rain. May you always have the most beautiful day in May, when that caress of sunshine feels like being held. When the birds sing a song just for you. Where the light sparkles upon the water. Where each moment is a promise of forever. If you can't be here, that's where I want you to be. But, here on Earth, I am not feeling so well. Help me Universe Kenobi. You are my only hope. It has happened before, hasn't it? I would assume and presume that it happens to everyone. The illusion dissolves and you are left with stark reality. And reality does not patronize, does not comfort, does not soften the blow. You clearly see where you stand, who stands with you, And who is nowhere to be found. Not that I would presume anybody has the responsibility of being my keeper. Though I often find myself wishing I were kept. I am strong because I have to be strong. I am independent because I have only myself to depend on. Because I really wouldn't want to put my own weight upon others. I've seen a multitude of times, moments that not even the devil himself could comprehend. Things I'd have to live through again to explain. And so I don't, and I won't. I suppose I deserve nothing even if I desire everything. I need no medals for a lack of choice disguised as courage. Just to be kept, just to be kept. Do you feel the silence crashing over you like a tidal wave, crashing, crushing you? Do you feel the pressure? Today is not the day to mess with me. Just trust me. It's not... Whatever bullshit the world has planned had best be postponed. Leave me alone. I see her face every time I close my eyes, even when I don't. Today is not the day, ladies and gentlemen. I feel I am really walking the tightrope of sanity right now. I honestly feel like I'm going mad. No, this was not a good day to force me to face the world. Please don't feed the trolls or the demons, and for God's sake, please, don't poke the bear. I can not help the bear. The bear is there. He is not a care bear. And if he were, he'd be Maulz Alot Bear. He's part bear and part man, and I've built the best cage that I can. But Beware. The Bear is there. And he is not here to win the Superbowl in 1985. This is no ordinary bear. This is a creature of grief. This is a creature of wrath and of rage. And I would have just stayed home and in my bed, if I only could. But no... They absolutely had to insist, didn't they?  It's January 23rd. This is bullshit. I hate this day. God, I hate this day. Have you ever hated a day as much as I hate today? To hell with this day. And remember world, it was your idea to drag me out in public today, not mine. I don't think that was such a good idea, you know.  So, How are we feeling, Cosmic Wie? Fine? Always, fine. Oh no, I don't think so. Not at all. Well, as we journey through the void, boldly going insane, let's talk about a place that doesn't exist. Let's call it the Planet Teir. A fictional version of Mars, where there's water and breathable air, ancient crystal cities, 40,000 year old tape reels of the most tranquil music never heard by Earthling ears. What's more, there is a race of beings with a civilization of a thousand centuries, who just happen to know the secret of living by pure being. Sadly it's not our Mars. It does not exist just beyond our orbit. Only in the mind of a man named Ray Bradbury. Now these beings could basically be just about anybody you happen to have on your mind. They could even (in this way) bring back the dead, so to speak. And unlike Captain Arthur Black of the second expedition, I would ask no questions at all.... Just accept. Just accept. Would there really be a more peaceful way? Get It Together Cosmic Wie. Hang on Sloopy, Sloopy, hang on. We have got to get it together now, all together now. Just close your eyes, ignore the storm, and focus on getting through today. And a hell of a day it is. It a hell of a blade that transcends years to slice and dice my heart all over again. Gone, gone, gone. No less gone yesterday. No less gone tomorrow. Gone as ever and gone forever, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. Help me Universe Kenobi. Help me. Please help me. Picture walking a tightrope. The ground is so far below that it disappears into the darkness. The rope wibbles. The rope wobbles. Take heart. There is a net. But the net is frayed in a few places and you can't fully trust it to save you. So... The name of the game is "Don't Fall At All". Step carefully as if your life depends on it. Although.... Isn't it strange? This indifference, I mean. Isn't it a bit odd how you are not in the least bit afraid? Que sera, sera. Death does not scare me. Bring it on you bastard. In fact I owe him a knuckle sandwich. And it's my mission to leave a mark before I go down. Do you understand that? Now, picture this: Victor Newman, the most rich and powerful man in Genoa City, after collapsing from pure rage at Jack Abbott's devious back stabbing, low down, double dealing, underhanded tricks. "Help me, please help me." But, Jack didn't help him. Not then. Not until his own guilt drove him back here. It was good to see a much older Jack Abbott immediately rush to Victor's aid when he had a similar spell 20 years later. "Help me, please help me." Sorry, Victor... It is going to be a long wait until Jack finally does the right thing. Be it two hours. Be it twenty years. Be it forever and ever amen. Help is not on the way. And it's a long crawl to the telephone, many miles. Too long a crawl when there are only strangers on the line. Nobody's coming. You are on your own, Victor. And so am I. "Help me, please help me." There is no reply. Can you feel the walls closing in? Four walls, one for each dimension, closing in. Getting closer, closer, and closer. Do you find yourself in a tiny room, standing there, watching, helpless, the walls closing in? Do you feel you were just a bit too little and a bit too late? Do you feel the guilt? Do you feel the self loathing? Do you feel it?!!! Lawnmower Man is in your head now, Jake. There is no escape. Figuratively in the waking hour. Quite literally in my dreams, I am always wandering the maze. I am always searching for something, somewhere, or someone. Beneath a slightly different form, the maze is always the same. Beneath a slightly different reason, the wandering is always the same. The search ends only with the waking hour. Never in resolution. I almost wish, Dearest Universe, it could have been you. this time. If I could actually find you, there would be no almost about it. But that's not how the maze dream works. It's all about the wandering, all about the search, and never finding. I'm sure Freud could make guesses as to the meaning. But I doubt he'd be right. I woke up suddenly from a deep sleep, a recurring maze of encores, of the good, the bad, and the terribly naive... It was that same maze... Only with a slightly different form. Only with a slightly different reason to wander. Still the same search for something, somewhere, or someone. The only thing that changes is what, where, and who... And why is never explained. Always searching. Never finding. It will always be the same Labyrinth. It will always be the same wandering. Not a solitary David Bowie in sight. Sometimes the search is for you, Universe. The worst day of my life will always be the last day of yours. I'll just come out and say it: I was hoping I could spend the 23rd alone, or with maybe the one other person left on this Earth who would understand. But so goes the fates and the breaks. And.... Other than the way I already do, I really don't feel up to explaining why January 23rd is a bad day for me or why I'm just not going to be myself at all... Sooo. If this world's got something heavy to drop on me, I hope they wait until next week. Like I said, I'm still going to give it my best. But next week's best will be far better. I can't expect the world to get it or me. I can only hope to get past another January 23rd. If I sound like a drama queen, so be it. I can't really change how I feel. I miss my sister. I wish the world wouldn't bring me further down than I already am right now. Is there really a bottom to this abyss? Remember, if social media doesn't depress you enough, there's always the news. The only news that doesn't bring me down is Huey Lewis and the. After all it's the heart of rock and roll. I want a new drug and that drug is the power of love. Oh and I wish I could totally go back in time. And who needs the news and social media when we have January. And it's taking so long, way too long to go away. Dearest Universe, Guardian, Angel, Sister. A universe minus one, one with the universe, and I, without you. Who am I? What am I? What can I be? What am I to do without you? I feel like a word undefined without context and without meaning. I lost the dictionary that day. That very first day without you. It has been one, it has been two, three and four, and I still don't know what to do. The world has been in shadow, blurred around the edges, almost like a ghost, no more real than the maze of my dreams, that same maze I wander, looking for you. Those wandering catacombs of might have been. Those dark halls of what I could have done, if I only knew. Yet I still know nothing at all. What am I to do without you? My fellow Americans, Let me be perfectly clear, Haroooo! Not V for victory. I have lost too much to consider myself a winner. Maybe S For Survival. But survival will never be enough. First month, symbolized by one raised finger. Show 'em, Agnew! Errrrrr! Show it to January and the horse it rode in on. This is the first I've heard of this month being named after a god. I had no idea there was a Roman God Of Suckage. Guess I'm not too old to learn something new. I am not angry at anybody. Merely with the fates, the gods, and myself. Most of all I hate January and especially the 23rd. I'm a collection of broken pieces masquerading as a heroic space cadet. And as the song goes, nobody knows it but me. Alright, already! Get It Together, Cosmic Wie. Hang on, Space Cadet, hang on. The hull may be glowing. The deck plate may be shaking. The alarms may be blaring loud enough to give you a splitting headache, but what else you gonna do? Get out and walk? I may not be the best star pilot in the galaxy, but I can still rock it Anakin Skywalker style. Scotty style too. I CANNADUIT! But I do it anyway. When it comes to keeping on going when I don't think I can, I'm a miracle worker..... And nobody will ever know. It's not that they don't understand. It's that they can't. Still, lt's beautiful when they try. Time to fly, baby, time to fly like Wile E Coyote on a pair of rocket powered roller skates. Super Genius. I like the way that rolls out. Sooooper Genius. Can you hear that train a-coming? Rolling around the bend. Ewwwwww. That's one way to see stars. Ah say, Ah say, I think I'll be Foghorn Leghorn instead. Get it together. Hold her together like Scotty. Just one more light year. Just two more weeks. It's okay. It's really okay. I'm fine, I'm fine. (Looks in the mirror Evil Dead II Bruce Campbell Ash style:) "I'm fine. I'm fine." Reflection: "Oh no, I don't think so. You feel like shouting into the void. You feel a good blood curdling scream could clear your head right nicely. So tell me. Does... That.... Sound..... Fine?" Alright, that's a take! Let's call Mr Normal from his trailer to act out the rest of today. Calling Mr Normal! Meeeester Normal, hello! Ah, but not now. Now would not be a good idea. Not at all. Not until I am safely in my car. Also, not around any other drivers so they don't think I'm shouting at them. Rome wasn't built in a day. It wasn't rebuilt in a day either. (Nero belonged in the nuthouse) And I suppose it shouldn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. Certain things I must carry everywhere I go. The moment will be before me, that here and now, no matter how many times I find myself back when, back then, back again. And the moment could never understand. Neither can the task before me, nor the people around me. And if we traded places, I doubt I would either. So, while I can't seize the moment, I still need to play the role. There will be time and quiet moments later to get it all together and try to understand what I never could. Until then, The show must go on. Captain Picard's brother Robert once told him that he would have to deal with the scars the Borg marked upon his soul no matter if he was below the ocean or above the clouds on the Enterprise. It wasn't the Borg, but January that left a mark on me. And I, too, have no choice but to deal with it. Either at work, dealing with people, or at home staring at the walls and damn near climbing them. To tell you the truth, I would much rather be assimilated. I have never heard of a lonely Borg drone, have you? I need the others. A Borg can not be One. Sad but true in this tough old world, but "I'm fine" is most always the correct answer, despite it being a lie. Maybe a close friendship would be the exception.. If you can find one. I am not fine. Not at all. The 23rd looms and I'm all alone. What is the worth of a forced smile that never reaches the eyes? What is the worth of pretending everything is okay, when it isn't exactly? How are you? What a disingenuous question. I'm fine. A lie commonly said in answer. Nobody wants a party pooper. Nobody wants a buzz kill who will just bring them down too. That's why "I'm fine". What else can one really say? What do you want from me, world? Just what do you want from me? Do you expect me to whistle? Do you expect me to sing and dance? Do you expect me to go on like nothing happened? Because I can't. I will not apologize for being a human being. I will not apologize for simply needing pause. I will not beg for understanding. I shouldn't have to either. Isn't this world made up of other people? Shouldn't they know what it feels like? Still.... They seem to get it all wrong. You know? When you invent the answer to everything, when you invent solutions, you invent delusions. And like it or not, I live in reality. I live in now. I live in this harsh, and starkly real world. I have heard all these "answers" before. Sorry, but it's not helping. Your answer to everything is an answer to nothing at all. I am here because I was left here. I can't blame, nor would I want to blame the ones who left. They were given no choice. They loved me and I still love them. They say grief is love with nowhere to go. They were right. So was Paul. 'All that magic feeling, nowhere to go.' Nowhere to go. On bright sunlit days, with the warmth chasing the cold from my bones, I can almost forget. But this is not the time of year for that. See, I don't need the news or social media to depress me. (Though both do a damn good job) I don't even need my own life situation to depress me. It's January and January's already more than enough, almost more than I can take. Still, I will never bow before it. I will never beg for its mercy. Not only out of my own resolve, but also because this bleakness has never had any mercy to begin with. God, I hate it. I just want it to go away. Why is it taking so long? It's like I'm trapped in this dreary dreadfulness for all eternity. If this is Hell, if this is punishment for my sins.... Well, I can't deny its effectiveness or intensity. Just please don't let it be eternal. I need to feel the warm sunshine again. I feel like I'm withering away in this darkness. I just don't know how much longer I can go on. While losing may be the first blow out of the blue, it is not enough to completely break a heart. But when the lost remains lost in the days, weeks, months, and years ahead, it does more than break. It crushes. Does it get better? No. Do we get stronger? No. But we survive. We carry them in our hearts. And it seems a broken heart has lots of room. Love never dies. That's the toughest thing. It's also the greatest thing. I miss you, Universe. Okay, okay, okay. Definitely time for a nice clean cup move down. We both loved Star Trek, you know. We watched that old VHS tape I recorded off of FOX 28 of the top five TNG episodes until it wore out. She later made me a DVD recreation with all the episodes, the Frakes intros, and the kooky Trek commercials. It is one of many happy memories I have of her. So what in the show became real? Trek technology: we already have the communicators. Video calls don't impress me. Food replicators would be nice. Computer, I want a steak, baked potato, and a nice cold beer to wash it down. What I really wish were real would be the Holodeck. I'd be as addicted as Barclay. Why? Because an illusion is better than nothing at all. The Stasis tubes in Sickbay would be highly appreciated too. I'd get in one right now and set it to bring me around on February 1st. The transporter would be a good thing, too. Beam me home, Scotty. Oh and if I could fly my ship around the sun in a certain way to go back to the past. I'd bring you back, Sis. I'd bring you back and everything would be okay. Maybe we both could leave this crappy planet and just hang out on the Enterprise-D. I'm tired, Sis, so very tired. And they just won't leave me in peace. Well, peace is a might bit too strong a word. They just won't leave me alone to deal with the fact that it's been four years today, and you're still gone. That you can never come back. And that I can never escape that horrible moment on that horrible day. The walls closing in and all the breathable air leaving the room that is too small, way too small, where I want to scream, but I don't dare in such a closed in place. Despite the overly bright lights, it was really like a tomb. It might as well have been as dark as midnight. I am not even asking for sympathy. I just need some space... But they won't even grant me this. See there is a funny thing about being functional. Most days, the expectation is reasonable, and quite understandable. Most days we all know we've got to be productive and useful. Most days we understand we can't take everything personal. Most days we realize the importance of another's point of view, and to act accordingly, properly.... But this ain't most days. It's January the freaking 23rd, the absolute worst day of the year. The day my baby sister was lost forever. Do you understand that? Can you Understand that? I don't demand sympathy, but I do ask to be left alone. I'm like that poor guy watching the dials and switches at Chernobyl. I'm trying to prevent a meltdown, here with some dumb asses pressing the wrong buttons. I am here and I'll function. But don't push it. I am not exactly stable today. I promise I'll be much better tomorrow, but today it's taking all I've got to keep Nutso The Clown away and at bay. He's one psycho muthatrucker who always leaves me feeling sick and drained afterwards. Not to mention the burned bridges and ruined relationships I have to repair. I don't want him around and neither should anyone else. I'll be the most pleasant and functional human being you've ever seen.... But not today, just not today. Please don't poke the bear.