It was the stress that killed ya. Fuck the fat! Disregard the starch. Put away the this vegetable or that. Stress was a familiar friend that hung his hat next to yours and you would never give it a second glance. It was the product of so many disappointments that piled up like Trojan War trophies. The fact that so many unresolved circumstances initially created by an ever surging hopefulness were so quickly dashed that it seemed fun by this point to watch them self-destruct. It was pathetic. The politics were bad. You wished for something hard enough and it turned out you were thinking about the wrong day when you made the arrangements. But by then it was too late. You could either call yourself nuts. Which in point of fact, you were! No old man to guide you with a few snide comments. No woman to scold for a few sentences but then shift course to take your side. You were alone. And the world was having at you. Making you a fool. Much to your own sense of dissatisfaction. All the while the animal that you inhabited was going just as crazy running this way and that. Running itself out of gas. That was the way that things worked. A suffragette on the twenty. The pee on the seat now unisex. Be careful where you licked the sauce off your fingers for there might be hell to pay in a couple of weeks.
What was the difference anyway? You walked in a dark world of your own choosing where the lights in your place were not turned on not so much out of habit but out of lifelong stubbornness. You could swivel around like an unhaltered deck gun and fall over into blackness if your let you. Two persons or should it be said a pack mule and a tenderfoot or better put a fool. Open the cellophane on a new deck of cards and peel away the first of the deck and see your own face. You were the one who wanted something so bad that you made the wrong reservations if to do nothing more that to spite yourself. Your dreams were to persistent to allow them to die hard. So you have to live with that pernicious little beast that expects everything but that won’t give a damn. That’s your job after you have fucked up the furniture that your own mother entrusted you from the grave. Who cares? After the expected period of morning the world had left without you and all you could truthfully say was that you are alone. But then, that was always your choice.
The complexity of it all was what would kill the beast by inches. And you would never have the respect to recognize that until of course it was far past too late. That was your fate. Delivered on a plate. So you toil away not taking the chances that you should and you are left exactly back to right back there. The eagles not there to tear your flesh. They had better things to do. So it is your job now. The rest of the world goes on and you are but a speck. The poor dumb beast within which you inhabit having to bear the brunt. The Minotaur had more self respect and would have kicked your sorry ass of its back eons ago. But then, those stores are long gone. You can cry about it or you can see it as an opportunity. And opportunity into the unknown which if you are smart, you will never return from. Go ahead and show them. You’re the gift from the Gods, not them!