It is high summer. Day temperatures are in the high 80ies – which is a record breaking high in our parts of the world, thanks to #global_warming. I’ve always loved summer. For a number of reasons. One being that I got to look forward to the summer break from school. As troubled as my upbringing and childhood may have been – and was! – summer always meant a time away from all the harrowing routines. Summer meant: Going away on vacation. I come from very modest, short of saying poor means in my family. But they managed to take us somewhere abroad every summer, although modest destinations as well. I’m grateful for that. So, summer meant: Getting up somewhere in a foreign land with hosts not speaking our language and breakfast basically consisting of a strong cup of coffee / espresso – even for us kids. Summer meant: All you had to put on to be “orderly” dressed was swimming shorts. And flip-flops, maybe. Sun glasses, if you wanted to be sophisticated. And then after coffee and the sun already high up in the sky the only other “to do’s” on the day’s agenda were: Head to the beach, bring your beach mattress, your frisbee, softball tennis rackets and ball and other toys and – enjoy yourself to Kingdom Come! (Only to be topped by snacks and soft drinks carried on in a cooling bag and the perspective of dining out somewhere downtown at night, preferrably at a place where the locals meet in all their life-embracing enthusiasm!) Summer always meant the best approximation to that which others know as “innocence”. I do remember that I always felt like I was on top of the world!
It is summer now. I’m not a kid anymore. And for the life of me – I can recall those memories, but barely any of the feelings. They somehow got buried in the debris of what my life has become or rather: Has been from the get-go. There is only this thick, muddy, murky sewer-pit substance of darkness engulfing me from the moment I open my eyes to the moment I close them (and the latter only being possible with a pretty “fair” share of inebriation as of late). A depressive episode, you say? Well. Fuck me, then! It feels like it’s never been anything else, but that. And I’m just done and spent with the hanging on and waiting for that day that will never come: The day that my being will feel worthwhile exploring. It’s not. None of it is. Life is absurd and always was as we’re only here for one tiny moment – and some of us only for “reasons” of enduring inexpressible amounts of pain – and the next moment, we’ll be gone for all of eternity.
I am pondering getting my things in order. Last will and such things. (But before that: Seeing to it I don’t inherit any debts to my family for the series of poor choices I’ve made in my “adult” life).
Well. Whatever. None of it ever mattered. Or will matter. And that’s perfectly alright.