I’m feeling sorry for myself today. This is not unusual. It comes and goes in waves as it has all my life. Today it rose up within me like a gaggle of internal thorns puncturing organs and blood vessels at will.
I feel self-pity because:
1. My father is dead (he died 11 days ago)
2. I am desperate to travel and I “can’t”
3. I want to live somewhere other than where I live now
4. I want to be making more money than I am right now
5. I want to be able to solely write fulltime
6. I want to be able to read fulltime
7. I wish my family was more connected and less fractured
8. I wish I was less complex, less selfish and more loving and compassionate
9. I don’t want to have to deal with anything inconvenient, ever
10. I want to be free
Now, this list is fairly humorous and absurd. Let’s deconstruct it.
1. Yes. My father is dead. He died 11 days ago after a hard 23 month struggle with terminal cancer. This is life. Nothing can be changed about that. He had his loving wife and loving son by his side the whole ride. We should all be so lucky. He was loved and he loved well. RIP.
2. I absolutely can travel and am planning to do so, most likely in mid-July. I haven’t left the country since late 2018 due to moving to New York City, Covid, my father’s cancer, etc. I may drive across country instead with Britney; we’ll see. But I have the money saved in an account for travel. All I was waiting for was for my father to pass. That has happened.