Happy Birthday to me, in a different world, away from all of my loved ones. Celebrating my birthday with a piece of fudge and a cup of coffee. But, at the least, it’s very, very good fudge.
“Spend all your time waiting, for that second chance;
For the break that will make it okay.
There’s always some reason to feel not good enough,
And it’s hard at the end of the day”
Twenty-four years ago today, the planets aligned, the seventh sign of Armageddon was unfolding like the bloom of an exotic flower, and the stars turned inward on themselves as the world braced for an impact of stunning proportions, as the life of one infant began that would herald the beginnings of…
Okay, I can’t keep that up. Let’s try this again, slightly more serious.
In a small, cramped hospital room in the maternity ward on the west side of Oklahoma City, a nondescript woman was giving birth to a child. Nothing special, nothing important, the birth of a child happens every minute, all over the face of this spinning sphere.
But, for the birthee, in that moment of explosive life, that border between life and the biological preparation thereof, the heavy hand of a careworn caregiver jump-started his awareness and conciousness of the world that it was now supposed to be a part of. In that infintesimal, immeasurable moment, that infant’s atoms and molecules and cells and tissues and organs and self had finally coalesced into some form of biological machine that would be around for… however long it was supposed to be around for, to scratch out some kind of lasting mark onto this world that had so graciously and gracefully created it.
Trust me, that makes it sound much more impressive than it actually is, especially considering that it happens constantly. The end result, as you can see, is little more than my occassional spewing of bile and dreck out onto the wire, to be consumed into this catch-all digital ether we have appropriately termed the “Web”.
“I need some distraction or a beautiful release;
Memories seep from my veins.
Let me be empty and weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight.”
And in twenty-four years, I am a collection of memories, reclining on a cold hotel bed, waiting for sleep to take me into a world that I have at least some control over, away from the world that controls me so completely, controls me enough to take me away from those that I wish to see during the one time of the year when it’s important, at least to me, that I see them.
Twenty-four years of a sad excuse for living, metamorphosing into one loose-knit ball of person. So much time wasted, so much foolishness. Even with the potential for so many years ahead of me, still that’s a lot of time wasted.
It’s time to get busy. So much to do in so little life. So many things to make a difference in, so many words to write and lessons to teach and intelligent-sounding things to say.
“In the arms of the Angel, far away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you feel.
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie,
You’re in the arms of the Angel, may you find some comfort here.”
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