Dust on the Table

I am on the mend, but still not feeling like myself. I don’t want to talk, but I have to at work. I started talking to a few friends yesterday, but that’s all. I feel bad for ignoring them. The last time I felt this broken was in 1988 when I was homeless and spending my first night at a shelter. But the worst is yet to come. Valentines Day. Just to remind me that I am to be single until I die an angry, lonely old man. Everyone is my friend circle has a partner but me. Because I screw up relationships by being me. No matter. Perhaps a dog would make a better companion for me. All I do is run women off.

So here I am, merely existing instead of living, carrying a broken heart. But one friend who I have known for a long time shared not one, but two pearls of wisdom.

You’re a writer. You say you ruined your happy ending. So did Rumpelstiltskin and The Evil Queen. Its not the end for you. Pick up your pen and write a new happy ending.

You say your hopes and dreams are shattered, your life is ruined. Imagine the pieces of your life, hopes and dreams are laid out in front of you, like a puzzle. You don’t have to put them back in the exact order, but you can create new hopes and dreams. Remember, the puzzle of a thousand pieces comes together when you pick up the first piece.

Profound, as usual, and he’s right. No doubt he wants me to use the four colour pen that was my favourite writing implement when I was in seventh grade. I’ll rebuild eventually. Right now I’m just going through the motions.

In my broken state of mind, I’m beginning to understand one of the three principles from the book 1984. Those three principles are:

War is Peace

Freedom is Slavery

Ignorance is Strength

Throwing myself into my work to keep my mind from dwelling on Dia de Los Muertos is an example of freedom is slavery. Keep my mind occupied with other things so I don’t feel so broken. It will take time for me to feel like myself again. My Spotify playlists are the only things that can help me to smile for the moment. A few friends chimed in to offer their good thoughts. It is humbling to see that no matter how broken I was feeling, they were in my corner regardless, when everyone else had left.

I still feel undesirable, not capable of being loved, or to be relationship material. I guess I am the warmonger that my sign says I am. No woman wants that. I don’t chase them anymore. Not worth it. Its easier to chase a fire hose if I drop it with water blasting out of it at high pressure.

When I am finally myself again, I will write my own happy ending and put the shattered pieces of my hopes and dreams back together. I will not feel like this forever. But for now, I walk alone in my own dystopian world where the sun does not shine, the wind does not blow, and behind every bush and under every rock is something I did, and I need to learn the lesson before I can leave.

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