I truly believe I have the capability of being a better father and partner than I am. I feel as though I am a shell of my former self and that shell is breaking–not in any happy chrysalis way but in the expose yourself to the void sort of way and it shows. It shows most in my inability to deliver on the work I am trying to accomplish. It shows in my trip to the ocean. It shows even in the little things like enjoying games and being able to offer any sort of competition. I am short tempered and depressed and rarely make the effort to take care of myself. I am forgetful. I drink too much. I think too little. I have forgotten the face of my father.
I’ve always felt like when writers create these characters and belief systems they are pulling down the words from another place. The words are like raw cloth that is colored by our individual situations. My love of Stephen King is the love of what arose from his pain and suffering. What is going to arise from mine? Who? When?
More and more I wonder how much time I have left to create a thing worth remembering; how much time I have left to carve a life that satisfies my partner and myself. I wonder if all the great horror writers live on the edge of this questioning, staring into chaos as a way to avoid the void and finding terrifying patterns in that chaos which they wave in front of our faces like warning flags.
Some Thoughts:
- Everywhere I turn to escape feels like less and less of a joy. I cannot play Minecraft or Madden for very long. I’m trying a terrible face of the franchise and truly feel like I am wasting my time in the long run, but curiosity compels me. Nowadays players satisfy that curiosity by checking it out on youtube, but I guess I’m old school ’bout putting in the time.
- I called this a resolution, but what did I resolve or resolve to do? Remember who I intend to be, I suppose. I know that person is not drenched in sorrow and anger.