Define hopeless, if you will. These words are not for the young. What would they do if at the end of all things there is nothing more than when they started. I sat alone in the room in the sunny morning of the weekend’s start looking around at all the artifacts that had been handed down to me by default. The bed sheets removed I stood naked before the mirror seeing that there was just enough man left to vindicate the effort of another day. I strapped on some minor hopes based on the necessity to continue on towards a reasonable goal and put my wonder to rest. Where had I left the table salt out the previous night? Awake once again in fear of an impending hangover after expending some effort at the bar to keep the flow of beer down to simply three. The interrupted cycle and its accompanying decisions to prolong the agony of empty consciousness once again posed. To nurse the ritual of the destruction of any possible apathy for the concept of a loving opposite theoretical complimentary to my abstract? To plumb the current realms plotted of mock trials and judgments flung by personages of a higher station than my own? To return to the dissipating warmth of the covers in a room that I dare nary touch lest I move some fiction out of place and summon a dissolute ghost?
The bed shook. Or so did I, I suppose? The narrowing cavity of my veins constricted by what still tasted good creating palpitations. A random creak in the closet and my inner eyeballs closed tight bathed in an uncustomary violet gauze. The presence of others, perhaps not of the material attempting to impose their will. And I before the jury performing a level headed speech proposing a discontent at being confronted so unexpectedly. Business hours would not start for another seven hours. So what if my course windward of more traveled sea lanes made no sense to the rest of the world. The pattern of abandonment my own affair. I could only account for my own encounters along the way. No tears shed and no account by others for a requisite sympathy for my plight. In my own head, there never was one. This was life pure and simple. The only sharp edged pendulum menacing rest being a decision to stay or move on. To divest myself of all these useful trinkets and risk the ultimately fatal vagaries of the current composition of a world that promised patent indifference more than ultimate salvation. The latter was in my pocket alone. Walking out the door amidst such odds was ever a challenge.