A Few Thoughts from the Big City
Do any of us set out to live an uneventful, pedestrian life? My guess is that, yes, many of us want nothing more than a decent partner, a job that pays the bills, and kids that don’t end up as axe murderers. In the land of low expectations, you could do a lot worse.
I am back at the library, the intellectual and cultural center of this neck of Hillbilly Land. There is a man a table away from me struggling to get his phone charged. He is unhappy with the progress the USB port is giving him. He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a couple of chargers. Those do not appear to be sufficient either. A mild inconvenience for me could prove disastrous for this man.
I could invent a back story for this homeless person. That is what writers often do. I have done it all my life. One guy is a secret agent, another a fledgling serial killer. See that guy over there? He is about to steal a large sum of money from work so he can run off with his mistress. I am not sure any of those random people would be given a backstory that matches their reality. A homeless man’s story is only interesting if they can somehow come out the other side with their wits intact. I am rooting for this guy, I haven’t seen him before, but the other homeless people know him. They are all saying hello or nodding in his direction.
When this man was a child, I doubt he envisioned that he would be an old guy without a home or a job. Perhaps he even had parents who had bright hopes for his future. No one wants to think that they will be the guy sitting by himself at the library, loudly cursing the phone charger that is letting him down. Indeed, no parent would wish that fate on their child.
Could it just be a bad cable? The dollar store sells them, and most of them are good. Still, the occasional defective actor slips through the quality control process. I bought many cables there and have had excellent luck with them.
Author’s Note: I had a lot of trouble sleeping again last night. The past, a place I have a complicated relationship with, has been tugging at me. Thinking about the deaths of people who die far too soon can do that. Perhaps I am worried about living long enough to finish all my projects. That is probably it, right? Old Killy McGee has come after me twice in the last six or seven years. I have been lucky. I hope I won’t need to dip into that well again soon. It is a morass of stochastics and probability that allows only so many withdrawals before the bean counters take some initiative and do their thing.
A woman, another homeless person I have never seen before, just sat down with the man having phone charger issues. She is much younger than him. She is clearly agitated. I could take off my headphones to get a sense of the conversation, but I would rather listen to Mozart in my headphones rather than their conversation.
An interesting thing just happened. The people at the table are having animated conversations, not with the other person across from them, but with themselves. If I had a solution to this problem, I would present it. I would write it up, send it to anyone I thought would read it, and then work to implement a plan. I have nothing.
Mozart juxtaposed with hopelessness. And here I sit, the eyes through which a nonsensical story with no plot, direction, or purpose, is told. Mozart’s death was an unnecessary slap in the face to humanity. He was taken from us way too soon in the most significant cosmic ripoff in history. The universe didn’t care that a genius was struck down before reaching his prime. I can’t help but think that the universe has the same attitude toward the two people at the table across from me. Genius, homeless, no matter.
The woman at the table is becoming increasingly animated as the man is loudly mumbling about a local church. I guess they will stop by there and get their lunch. They might be a couple, even though he appears much older. Love, right? Who can know how such things happen. Who understands the chemical, biological, or cosmic forces that work to bring two fragile and precarious people together. I have no thoughts on how such a thing might have happened to them (in particular) or others (in general).
Implied Author’s Note: I tried to publish the post I wrote about Dawn and her memoir yesterday. Things became odd, very odd. My website says that the post was published, and I can see it on my computers at home, but it does not appear on any other computers. I have no idea what is happening. In the past, with hundreds of other posts, I have never had this problem. I spent some time researching the problem, and I came up empty. It must be some kind of omen, right? Maybe not, probably not, most certainly not. I am sure it is some random nonsense that has a technical solution.
The couple just left together. He struggled to lift his backpack from the floor, his arthritis creating problems I am familiar with. She did much better. She had no problem jumping up, her backpack already around her shoulders. I wish them luck, but they will need more than I can offer, a lot more.
Author’s Note: I do not make New Years’ Resolutions. If a person wants to change, they should simply do it. An arbitrary date on a calendar means nothing to me. That said, I have 8 books I want to get out the door and into the world this year. Some are 90% done, others closer than that. A couple volumes are going to require a lot of revision. Time and energy are in short supply in my general vicinity.
I usually sit and write at the library until I get up to use the bathroom. Old guys need to go a lot. For any young men who might be reading, when you reach my age, you will wake up in the middle of the night, probably multiple times. You are going to plan your travel so that a restroom is always close. The whole thing is an inconvenience and can quickly become a major problem. Hopefully, modern medicine will progress to the point where discussions such as these will be forgotten by the time you are my age. Good luck to all of you.
I have moved upstairs to the nonfiction section at the library. I am very hungry, but I am still on my “post-blood-clots-trying-to-kill-me-diet.” I am hungry all the time. I am hungry when I go to bed and hungry when I wake up. I am hungry all day and into the night. The powers that be tell me that is better than dropping dead. Most days, I tend to agree.
Implied Author’s Note: I recently discovered that nothing I have ever written has influenced a single person. How did I come to such a realization? That is a topic for a novel. If I can get those 8 other books out the door, I can work on that one. With luck and a cheeseburger or two (something I haven’t had in years), things will be just fine.
Highly unlikely or even inconceivable events do happen on occasion. This might be one of those strange moments in time. Bizarre might be another word for it. I need to leave and go home. Against all odds, my laptop charger is malfunctioning. When I get home, I will try another cable. That’s probably all it is, right? I just need to swap out the cable. If that doesn’t work, I will have to think of other things I might be able to do to fix this mess. Without a charged laptop, there isn’t much for me to do at the library, and there is not much they can do for me. I don’t need any social services; I have a home and a job. I took a shower before I came in this morning. I think I’ll just head home and think about what I want to eat.
