My reasons, such as they are, have developed and evolved a bit over the years, but the roots are still recognizable: loneliness and an ongoing unhappiness which has only sent out vines and brambles, entwining more and more of my life. Health issues have only compounded my problems.
Middle-age has brought me no comfort or perspective, as I was promised. Time has only blunted the edges of the hopes I had used to occasionally slash through the encroaching jungle. Now I know that all of my crushes will be without result, now I've realized that my struggles to improve my situation are futile.
Some new wrinkles have emerged, though. The march of time: being confronted with the deaths of authors, scientists, musicians, actors, and artists who have meant so much to me. The aging of my mother and my friends has been painful to witness; I can do nothing to stop it. Even as this goes on, all of the landmarks of my youth have been swallowed up by bankruptcies and buyouts. Fields I once walked through as I wrestled with my teenage despair are now parking lots, drive-throughs, and gas stations. The ice cream shop where my high school girlfriend worked is now a Starbucks; the little movie theater we went visited is just an empty corner of a building.
Thinking about my career, such as it is, leaves me only with feelings of uselessness. I feel like I can be swept aside at any point.
One of the less-anticipated portions of growing old is that now my life is filled with objects. Junk, really. I am coming to loathe my possessions. I spent too much money and time on distractions like books, music, and movies. Now they have almost no resale value, certainly not enough to compensate for the time it takes to get rid of them. It is all just
Time has turned my dreams to dreads
