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Lame By Any Other Name
July 26, 2012
I am at Cornerstone Coffee House. It’s late July, 2012…it’s also 9 at night. I don’t want to go home. Some people might think I was depressed, some might think I was a drunk, if they knew the coffee bar was actually a real bar as well and I am staring at a bottle of J&B Scotch as I work on my computer. They might be right, on both counts. They might also be wrong on both counts. It could be that I am not really too sure on the first count, and that I am totally drinking coffee on the second count.
This coffee bar is attached to the restaurant Moe and Johnny’s. It is fast becoming my favorite night haunt where I can force myself to write and sneak in games of FaceBook poker in between the articles or words of wisdom that I am imparting as part of my alter ego. God, I wish I had a more entertaining alter ego. I would so love to be someone else lately. Headaches, two to three times a week, are probably catching up to me. Working sixty four hours a week, at two jobs, and then sitting in a coffee shop two nights a week to do more work, borderlines on insanity. Or, maybe I am looking for reasons to absolve myself in regards to the total dissatisfaction I have with my life.
The bar is kind of noisy tonight since they had two different groups of twenty book parties for tonight. I am so new to this place that I don’t even know the bartender-ess’s names yet. They are all chicks. They are cute chicks. They are all probably, at least, fifteen years my junior. They look happy. I want to hate them, unfortunately I like them. And they make a pretty mean latte. The latte makes me smile. This isn’t a new place for me, don’t get me wrong…in fact, this coffee house portion has been here for years but I think it had a different name back then. I can’t remember. I used to walk down here in the morning about 3 times a week.
That was a long time ago though. Last year, I had dinner outside on the patio with my, then current, significant other…who shall remain nameless. Ok, his name was James. It doesn’t matter, he moved to Connecticut this past spring. The call was something like this, “Hi, how you doing? I got a job in Connecticut and I leave this week-end. I would like to see you before I go.” Well, that didn’t happen. I hadn’t seen him for several months before that anyway. I digress. The last time I was here last summer with him there was this very tiny, pale, green praying mantis encroaching on my person. Literally. I would scooch him off my menu and he would find his way back on my arm, on my plate. It was the weirdest thing I had seen in quite some time. I am used to weirdness so I can’t say it was the weirdest thing ever but his persistence was kind of odd.
None of that is really important. It does illustrate the avoidance tactics I am currently using to avoid my life. Remember, the one I mentioned above, the one that I have fallen out of love with? I am trying to fall back in love with my life. I am trying to write more. I go into total brain freeze. My house is in total chaos because I have been rehabilitating it for 5 years now. I am exhausted from work, from my environment, and from never having any extra cash. I am not having fun. I do fun things but I am so tired, that nothing is enjoyable any more. And, on top of life, last week-end was my family reunion. That was good except the people I was with were on a time schedule…meaning, I was up at five nearly every day and not in bed until midnight, all adding to the exhaustion. When I got home, I hadn’t been there ten minutes when there was a loud explosion in the back yard, and when I looked out the back window, half of my back yard was on fire. Indiana is under one of the worst droughts in recent history, in fact, for my life I can’t remember anything as dry as this while I have been alive.
I want to get in my car and drive but I don’t have anywhere to go. How sad is that? It isn’t even that I have ties here that I have to be faithful to. Those I could abandon with good cause, but where would I go? There is no where that draws me. I have never felt so free floating and point less in my life. I would love to say I am in search of meaning…but that would be untrue. It might be more apt to say I am in search of something that might have any meaning at all. I try to make my writing have some kind of point. What is the point of writing it down if there isn’t a meaning within it, a gift for the audience, or a treasured lesson for the self but tonight, I got nothing. The bar closes in twenty minutes and all I hope for is one more game of poker. One more losing game of Zynga poker. I am so lame. Wait. The lameness of my life does not inherently speak to the lameness of the self. I sit and ponder this for a moment. I watch myself in third person and squeeze back a giggle. The lameness of the life does inherently speak to the lameness of the self. I kid no one, not me, not the me watching me and probably not anybody not me watching me.