I want to tell you middle age sucks. Because it kind of does. But life has always kind of sucked. My problems are the same as the average 20 year old. My achievements are about the same, too. In face, it’s like I hit a pause button my life and woke up a really old 20 year old. A 41 year old 20 year old. Now, no one wants that kind of person around, for sure. Not unless they think they can make money or get into heaven by helping you become a real bona fide grown up. The kind that has an acceptable answer when people ask “what do you do?” Right now I tell people I do recovery. That always gets a positive-ish response. Always. You’re doing something with your life. Good for you. A year ago I would have said I don’t do anything. Drugs. I’m honest to a fault, it takes me too much energy to come up with shit that didn’t happen or otherwise isn’t true. Six months before that I would have told you that I’m a student. Out of those three things student is my favorite. I’ve been a waiter, and when I am I’m “in the restaurant industry”. I’ve been a bartender, and when I am I’m a bartender. That gets an odd amount of respect. I’ve been a warehouse worker, and that turned out to be a pain in the ass to describe to people because I didn’t want to just leave it at that. I had to tell people I had an entry level position in a global tech company. Which was true. I have never been able to tell people that I’m homeless and unemployed, so when I become those things together I enter a program and recovery, because it’s okay to be in recovery. It’s positive-ish. I want out of recovery so fucking bad. I’ve been in four programs and graduated two, and I’m on my way to graduate the a third. And I’ve learned a lot. Honestly, it’s because of these programs that I am kind of an authentic adult and not just some poser who can’t hold a conversation with the real grown ups. I don’t want to do drugs again. I do want to drink socially. I do believe that’s possible. More power to me, I know. Hell, I just want a life that works and that I enjoy. I never want to stop drinking the marrow from life, get it? I don’t want to settle for a life that works, I want one that’s worth keeping. I want a wife. I’ve never had one of those. I’ve never had a husband either. Nope, never been married and I’m in my early forties. I think that means there’s something wrong with me in other people’s eyes. I don’t get it though, so many people say that marriage was the worst decision in their lives, or that their first two or three were, and I’m the broken one because I didn’t go through the predictable misery? Whatever. I want a wife now. And not just any wife. Part of the reason I’ve been single forever is because I’ve been holding out for the fairy tale. Fall in love, get married, and forget the world. Happily ever after. The real deal. And I still think that can happen. I remember my dad telling me in his forties that he didn’t feel old. And now I know that he didn’t. Liking a girl, excuse me, woman, still feels the same as it did when I was sixteen. Being rejected still feels the same, too. And I think that people who tell you different are either lying or they killed a part of themselves I’m personally not willing to lose. Not ever. JRR Tolkien wrote about the condition of childhood as something that most children lose at a certain age somewhere between childhood and adulthood. He described it as an island that slowly fades away and soon the child, or young adult, can only remember it as a dream, as something that wasn’t real. I never have lost sight of that island, and I don’t intend to, either. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. Do you have any idea how fun that island is when you can stock it with beer, spirits, and drugs? It’s a blast. I used to romanticize about writing under those conditions. Like a saintly drunk and high adult child recording the mysteries of life in a place hardly anyone can ever go, bringing forth creations of beauty and value that bla bla bla. Now I just want one person to read one goddamned post about nothing and I’d be happy. Goodnight.