So much for that decade. Not 2000 to 2010, but 1999 to 2009.
In 1999, I was 27, getting good grades at UBC and life was going superbly. 2009? Not so much. I am overweight by at least a good 20 lbs, drinking for company, and in bad health.
To make things worse, a case of unrequited love is ready to become a full blown obsession. I am solely to blame for this burgeoning headache and would be a fool and unfair indeed if I were to lay the blame elsewhere. I am neither dirty, nor an old man, but sometimes it sure does feel like that.
Worst of all, I am lonely. As my prospects for a productive future slip away, so to do my prospects for any meaningful companionship. I am surrounded by people very much in love but given the absence of any such relationship in my life, I find myself obsessing over images of beauty that are a great deal more than merely “beyond my grasp.”
In the end, I continue to write: sort of a silent complaining that bothers no one but those who choose to snoop upon invite. There is, however, little solace in writing because, when all is said and done, it catalogues my feelings while doing nothing to alleviate them.
Where did I miss the turn? Could these things have been avoided or am I the creature of fate so long feared and denied?