Where am I at?

If you've read my previous posts, I normally try to be biting, witty and humorous...

Not today. Today I'm melancholy personified. Where am I at in life?

I spent last night alone. Not a new concept for me, but for some reason it just got in the bones more that it normally does.

I'm 33 years old and alone. Without a clue of where I'm headed.

Shouldn't I have crossed this bridge 10 years ago? Shouldn't my life be set at this age, with a home, children, marriage and sterling career?

Instead I sat in my fortress of emotional solitude last night, wondering why I was spending a Thursday night solo and had nary a soul to call up.

Being a college student at 33 is a bitch. My colleagues at the paper have different lives, lives that still bubble with the anticipation of the future. Me? I've waved at the future as it passed me by about 15 years ago.

The cavernous divide between us is noticeable, if only in the responsibilities.

I long to be one of them, to be a part of them. Yet I'm not. I'm a grizzled veteran of life that has seen too much and experienced too much to be one with them.

My life would rain on their parade of anticipation.

The children portion of the American dream I've accomplished, though. Three wonderful, sparkling children (all from the same mother too!) that give me some drive to get through days.

Other than that, it's blah. I strive to attain degrees in journalism and communication, knowing damn well that I probably will not make shit with either one. Writing is a passion, but how long can writing sustain me and be my only partner in life's journey?

I work a job as a 911 dispatcher. Boy, that just makes people trip over their feet running to talk to me about my "cool as shit" career.

I won't even discuss my current living arrangements, with exception to say that I'm not homeless nor living in my car.

I was married at one time. In fact, would have been celebrating an anniversary the first week of November. Somewhere along the way that marriage bust through the guardrail, fell off the bridge and hit the river.

I'm still trying to get to the surface on that one. Every time my head pops above the water, the fucking current of regret, depression and sorrow drag me right back down.

Halfway to retirement in the US Army, I threw it into the garbage disposal and flipped the switch. Ground that fucker up. Nuked it. For some goddamn reason I wanted to start anew, figuring it would benefit my family and my relationship by lessening my stress.

Instead, about six months after the move, I'm whacked with a two-by-four and told "I don't love you anymore."

Now I twist in the wind. Oftentimes I go 48 hours without sleep, only so I can busy myself with two jobs, class and my kids to distract my mind from the burning heap my life has become.

I really don't know why in God's name I am writing this. To ruin your day? No. To seek your sympathy? No.

Maybe to just get some of this tapeworm of bitterness out of my body.

Even as I do this, though, I still hide even more hideous details as I transcribe this. Treacherous "friends", indiscretions, you fucking name it.

It's hard for me to grasp how ignorant and blind I was for so many years to problems, how gullible I was in believing, or why I thought I had the plan.

Even more foolish was the thought that love would sustain through everything. I have a journal given to me that has "love eternally" inscribed to me on the inside. From either the driver or passenger in the car wreck of my marriage; Her nor I have figured out our respective positions in the car yet.

When I read it now, I fucking laugh. Love and eternity are just words. Funny words.

Words that seem to mean nothing, other than affirming my stupidity in believing them.

Don't worry, friends. Sarcastic and jolly Me will be back on the blog soon enough. I've made it quite the habit of being able to easily toss on a skin of funny guy, entertain long enough to satisfy, then slink back to my hole.

A hole that never looks like it will be filled.

Salutations,
Jim