Sunday, March 27, 2016


This is a day for families and loved ones. So, in essence, it is a day that reminds me that I have neither. I am one small catastrophe from utter failure, and I center myself to try not to be bitter. Because bitterness is and always will be a pill that ruins my spirit.

I would take a boring Easter. I would take one with religious fundamentalism, one with family members that I do not wish to be around, one that makes me wish I was alone. I would take that Easter because I know all too well that this one ends without a smile.

Some say alcohol ruins the health or cigarettes ruin the lungs. Loneliness, however, ruins everything. Lately, my health has been no grand experience. My legs feel lethargic on my runs, and my body carries too much water weight. I spend entire weekends not seeing a sole I would call a friend. That has been most of my existence since moving to Idaho. Everyone I meet is either leaving or leaving me, or I am an automatic outsider in their group. Stephanie, the name on my tongue makes it feel vile, says all my answers lay in counseling. I could take some pills and not care, and maybe then I could watch with a smile as my life descends into chaos. I am starting to believe that I fall in love with smart, but uncaring people. They know how to work this game that is this life, and I do not. I have these ideals that force me to care about people, care about my path, care about doing something worthwhile. I thought it was the path to happiness, but all it has given me lately is loneliness and despair.

Steinbeck once wrote that the miserable man carries despair within his heart wherever he goes. While at a dock on the Mexican Coast sailing down to Sea of Cortez, he witnessed the young men of a small town carrying a solemness that pervaded the very air.  However, I think the true travesty of these young men is that they had each other, but they could not see the adventure. Poverty is such a trap of the spirit. Steinbeck was poor in California with the richness of good friends, freedom, and booze. Being poor and at the whims of another is true poverty.

Also, as of late, I fear too much. I fear for my body because it does not act like it should. My hands flush red and purple. My legs feel weak. My legs ache and my gut sometimes dances madly. My rhythm is gone, and I constantly try to convince myself that I am traveling on a fine path. However, I cannot convince myself. This legal world is a rich man's world. It's all about connections and too many people say things as if words (when not in some legal document) were but whispers caught on the wind. They hold no value, and they cease to exist the minute they are unleashed.

I think of building. I think of it constantly. I want a family. I want a job that pays me for once, one that can help me stabilize my life in this world where the dollars you make determine your value and level of freedom. Yet, I do not want to give up my love for others, my desire to not work solely for the rich, my desire to make a difference. Yet, I have no access to this world. These jobs seem to be held by people given a silver spoon from a young age. To them, it seems like it's a trendy experience and they earn their meager wages while getting supported by the parents who are part of the very system they seem to want to upset. I find it more than bizarre.

All these words will look differently in a couple months when I am done with law school. However, I do not know where to go, nor what to do. I still wonder if I will have the funds to get to July, to pass the bar. Afterward, I may be properly fucked. However, that is a day that will come at some other point. Maybe I will be the homeless guy who passes the bar. That would certainly be better than the homeless guy who does not. 


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Ambitiously enduring.