Noise in the Signal: 10 Essays on Life in the Infinite Age

Me

I am not a lifestyle brand.

The Texas sun rose high as the lord himself this fine morning. Too bright to appreciate fully. I’ve been awake for six hours, stirring, toggling between DVR’d NFL Network documentaries and chain-smoking cigarettes in the crisp moonlight. I walk out onto the balcony of my one-bedroom, feigning interest in the gym. I walk to the gate and, bleary-eyed, remember I’d left my headphones at the office. There’d be no workout today.

I saunter back inside and glance at a guitar that’s been collecting dust for months now. I miss that ol’ thing. I miss the way the spun-steel calloused my fingers as I glided up and down the fretboard. She’ll be back in my arms someday. Someday.

As I walk into the dimly-lit kitchen to Keurig a cup of coffee, I try to muster strength and a smile. Another wasted evening. Another stare-down with the Kodiak Bear in the room. She’s been there a while now. I reckon she’ll swipe at me if I get too close to her on the couch.

Counting minutes, laying limp and catatonic, in a daze watching NFL morning shows. The thick fog rolls in. I slip away into sleep for fifteen minutes only to be rudely awoken by an alarm I’ve yet to outwit. I shower. I chug another cup of coffee, too quickly, and hop into my car to commute to work somewhere within the ballpark of on time. I used to play music in this car. Used to blast Kendrick Lamar at ear-splitting range and car-rap. Most days it’s just quiet now. Thinking about everything and nothing. This is me.

John Gorman
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52 min
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59 cards

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