~ Walk With Me

This is one of those days when it feels like it’s all nearly over and done. The wind on my window gets cooler by the hour. Darkness comes less reluctantly. And I pull on a heavy green jacket as I shamble out the door to begin another day, at 4 p.m.

Let’s walk.

I heard faraway laughter ….. then came a whoosh through the trees, and the whole world got busy again, spinning again.

There were hurricanes and floods ….. elsewhere. Here, everything kind of dried up. There were parades down my street, so the town could celebrate this drying, this autumn’s arrival. Of course, I slept through them.

While the trees undress themselves for the coming winter, I slip quietly away from all that used to be. Let the winter isolate and damn me to the consequences of my decisions. Let bitterness tighten its grip around me as I watch the first snowflakes swirl outside my window — all that’s done or left undone, blanketed in soft, white ice. Sealed, like my fate.

Did I let go of you — or did you let go of me? All those old, warm words of hope and longing, born at last as gray smoke into a white, November sky — out of the chimney and gone forever. You keep your memories and go that way, I’ll keep mine and go this way. Regret is gonna seize me, shake me and scold me, but I am stronger than that now. Regret needs the winter more than I need you.

These days, I often go out walking. I find it’s just about the only thing left for me to do. I’d write more, but the feeling itself holds back the words I need for describing it. So I walk — into vistas of autumnal oranges, browns, grays and reds. Dead leaves crackle underfoot and spiral overhead, and now and then, the wind whooshes and rattles everything in sight. The moon ascends, begins to glow and I swear, I can almost feel my soul finally shedding this skin.

Wrap me up in mystery — I don’t wear sincerity well. Under an ink-colored sky, I pull my jacket shut and zip it, squint into the sinking sun and quicken my pace into the cold. Yes, it sure feels like it’s all ending.

But I’m just getting started.

~ The New Loneliness

To the eerie opening strings and rolling fog of that Lee Hazelwood/Nancy Sinatra classic “Some Velvet Morning,” I begin writing again.

At the same time, I’m fielding messages at Yahoo Messenger. A woman I know is taking a trip to Singapore. A lot of people I know go to Singapore, which is strange since I live in rural Illinois. But a lot of people I know don’t live anywhere near rural Illinois. We all only half-exist to each other. This modern cure for loneliness is the new loneliness.

Also, at the same time, I’m sitting at my office, under dimming and blinking flourescent tubes. They’re burning out at nearly the same pace that I am. But what am I burning out on, exactly? My career? My lovelife? My clothes? My face? My general surroundings and current prospects?

All of it.

At age 38, I’ve reached a dead end in the maze. A summer of seeking health, wealth and self-actualization has given way to another cold, sighing autumn. I made far less progress than I hoped, but — I made a little. Now what? Now what? I feel like such a baby these days. But I also feel old. I feel same old, same old. And here I am complaining.

It must change. Not by itself, not by the grace of any higher being that might happen to notice, not by fire or flood or a sudden windfall of money. It must change by my own doing. By my own hard choices and new regrets.

My first entry back to blogging is the last one I hoped to write. My slow nervous breakdown has gone digital and it’s going public.

Welcome to the new loneliness.

** To hear “Some Velvet Morning” click on the link below and go to Mr. Last Light’s playlist. The first 15 songs, from “Some Velvet Morning” to “The Greatest” are my autumn list ~ a cozy swirl of autumnal melancholy, nocturnal reflection, bright orange heartache and pure pop bliss. Enjoy.

http://www.projectplaylist.com/user/15173642/view