I wake up and the dim winter sun is slowly rising. I lie in bed staring at the vapor barrier. Insulation. I look down at the mattress. The house. The feeling of being so behind in life, so behind in where I want to be, why bother. I reach for my lighter and light the mattress on fire. It catches quickly and I too burn well. The cabin quickly ignites and in about an hour everything’s gone.
The emptiness, the grief, the sadness, it’s all gone.
I light my pipe and continue to stare at the ceiling. It seems as though the forecast is calling for another dreary hopeless day. I reach for Bukowski and get lost in it until the sun is able to illuminate the cabin more brightly. There are no solutions. This is where I am. I imagine any successful, goal-getter has found themselves here. Wondering why they thought that they could get there.. drowning in a miserable puddle of doubt. It is all too much. There is no more money, only debt. There is no support. There is only silence. Fog blowing slowly by the window. All is lost. Bukowski bathed the silence in alcohol. I can’t. Go. On.
Perhaps today I could knit.
Perhaps I could work on the cabin.
I am out of of lumber and building materials.
Perhaps I could write about it. Perhaps I could.
I close my eyes and re-live yesterday. Breathe taking snow capped mountains, friendly faces, long drives with nothing but snow for company. The trees growing so heavy with it, now and then they drop all the snow at once. I understand how those that have trekked out the way I have, didn’t make it.
I had found hope in the woods.
At home I’ve found desperate longing.
I swallow a handful of pills.
Now I feel two aches. One in my heart and one in my gut, too many vitamins.
What would it take to not be here anymore. “Choose to not be there anymore,” I hear my mother’s voice. If it were only that easy.
Successful people fail. Brutally. If writers block exists, what about knitters block, carpenters block, chicken block-block.
It takes painful failures, it takes a break, it takes funding, it takes unconditional support. It takes love. It fucking takes two.
I roll over and close my eyes. Defeat. For today.
I hate myself.