Insane in the Brain

I don’t know why I’m not frantic; I should be.  I guess I’m at a point where I don’t see how the luck can get any worse.  I could loose everything I own I guess or find out I have cancer, but maybe that would be fine.  Family would take me in.  Jesus owned nothing – maybe that’s not a good example.  I’m overhearing a conversation about alcoholics – more reminders, more pointless hints.  I really screwed it all up.  Why did I choose this life?  I think love makes us do many a strange thing.

I’m focusing on the few positives.  I didn’t loose my MP3 player after all.  My boss isn’t terribly bothered that a contaminant has ruined my latest biofilm, although that spells hell for next week.  I have pleasant weekend plans.  Court again tomorrow, so there is some apprehension, some uneasiness, but that’s the score I suppose:  visitor many, home team none.  I don’t want to be trapped anymore, but what choice do I have?  I’m still married to the wrong person.  If only the course of our lives had been different.  Maybe I’d be completely happy, instead of settling for the pleasant moments I get, nestled between horror, shock, and disappointment.  My life feels a little surreal.  Maybe that’s why I’m not frantic.

It’s all a little hard to believe sometimes.  It’s like it’s happening to someone else and not me, my life a tired blur.  Maybe I’m only me every other weekend and the moments we share in between.  Maybe that is enough for now, my heart singing melody from time to time, otherwise rasping angry sentiments, filling my life with its noise metal and poetry.