I’m that Tired Guy, the one sitting in front of the computer screen wearing little more than boxer shorts and a white t-shirt. I’m that Tired Guy clinging to the one brain cell left in my cerebral cortex like a castaway upon a shard of wood in the midst of a turbulent sea.
My eye is the beholder.
So is yours.
What I see I know, I think, I feel, I ascribe, prescribe, analyze and criticize. Aristotleans will tell you to ignore your senses, seek the golden mean and pass the dutchie pon the left hand side. Foucault has his pendulum, Occam (well William) has his razor and Scooby has his Doo. Left is right and right is wrong, democrats feed republicans the beefsteak of economic calamity or the makings of a politically incorrect atomic bomb and Michael Stipe’s rally cry includes a birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean…BOOM!
Still, is there really a plan? Geddy says so…
All is for the best
Believe in what we’re told
Blind man in the market
Buying what we’re sold
Believe in what we’re told
Until our final breath
While our loving Watchmaker
Loves us all to death
(Well ok, not really. The musical outcry from RUSH pokes a fine hole or three through organized religion since we really are just mindless, blindfolded sheep anyway right?)
Who cares about a plan. Aren’t we all in it for the parting gifts anyway? Because it’s about what’s next, not what’s now.
In my eye I viewed death one way, and then quite suddenly, my life changed for both the worse…and then the much better. At that point I and my eye saw eye-to-eye, for once agreeing, but only after some serious stuff went down when I failed to see what was right before my eyes.
(The eyes do have it.)
Let’s get serious.
When my mother lost her battle with cancer in 1994 I obsessed about death day and night. I wondered when I would die, how it would happen, would I be remembered for being a good man, a bad husband, a horrible underwriter or just a creative fool with lots of talent and no focus. It frightened me so much I would wake up in the middle of the night bathed in a cold sweat imagining the shade of my mother was present in the room, eyes full of a deep sadness, of dreams unrealized and lost hopes.
My insides clenched, my mind whirled and while my peer group of twenty-somethings dreamed of becoming wealthier thirty-somethings I was wondering if the cancer would come calling earlier than most. Teeth grinding, shoulders hunched, head hanging low and confidence weak I sloughed through each day beneath a dark miasma of my own making.
I have a tale to tell
Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well
I was not ready for the fall
Too blind to see the writing on the wall