My Story

December 19.  It’s my birthday.  I am 38 years old today and not sure what that means.  I am having dinner with my girlfriend and she is telling me all the details of tomorrow.  Tomorrow we must wake up early and start preparation for the big festivities that are about to ensue.  We need to get to the courthouse and sign the license to become husband and wife and then there is a ton of shopping for suits and dresses.  There will not be many people in attendance but it is the biggest day of our relationship. Tomorrow is the day we become husband and wife. The day in which we make the commitment that we will be together forever.  I could not really understand all the fuss, I already made that commitment about two years ago when she and I decided that we will be together. To me that was all that is needed. There is no license that can grant fidelity and no court capable of guaranteeing everlasting love.  

She wanted to get married and, privately, I questioned the wisdom of such a decision.  All that will do is tangle up the relationship in legal terms and complicate the separation should either of us ever decide that we made a mistake.  But I smiled and shook my head in agreements. I feigned excitement when the question of pictures had come up and participated as earnestly as I could in the discussion regarding the most appropriate color for the dress considering the circumstances that it is not her first marriage.  By the end of dinner we had agreed on a cream colored dress for her and a dark gray suit for me. She seemed really happy and that made me happy.

The next day everything went as planned.  It was a successful marriage. What she did not know is that fraction of a second immediately following the point where  I'm asked if I would take her as my wife and before an affirmation is given by me. That fraction of a second in which my whole life replayed itself in all the painful details of all the previous unsuccessful relationships that ended  without marriage, some with tears, others with anger and most with both of us accepting the bold facts before us.  In that fraction of a second, after the extensive review of my prior unsatisfying life, I resolved to say “no” for my answer to the question before me. Yet, in the next fraction, I could see the miserable future that awaited us both if I said no. She will refuse to be with me ever again and I will regret making someone, who I cared for so much, miserable. I cannot allow that.  So a “I do” came out and we became husband and wife.

We lounged around the casino for a few days and then went home and back to our normal daily lives.  We went back to the daily routine of work, kids and the hassle of living. There did not seem to be much of a change.  The kids need new clothes or new gym bags or any number of things that modern kids seem to always need and we took care of it just like we have done for the previous couple of years.  Marriage was not so bad. It made my wife happy to know that I made that commitment which I had already made but I guess she needed the confirmation of formality.

One evening I came home from an especially tiring workday and my wife was complaining of pain in her back.  I reached into the medicine bag we kept stashed in the closet and got some muscle relaxants that I gave her with instructions.  “You probably pulled a muscle while doing something around the house. Just take these and get some rest and you will feel much better in the morning,” I said.  I went into the bedroom and stretched on the bed. Before long I had fallen asleep, fully dressed and with shoes on. It must have been a harder day than I thought.

In the middle of the night I was awakened by the whispering moans of my wife.  I asked and was told that the pain she had experienced earlier did not subside but grew sharper and was now unbearable.  I had her get dressed and I threw some water on my face to help me regain consciousness. Then we drove to the emergency room.  When we got there, the clock on the wall read 11:37. As I filled in the paperwork, the nurse, a kind looking even though seemingly young lady, questioned my wife and before I could finish filling out all the required forms, the nurse decided that my wife needed to be seen immediately.  She was suffering a heart attack.

The surgery was successful, we were told.  It was not. A second doctor determined that the first one had messed up and the surgery was not enough to clear the blockage in the arteries and a second surgery will be needed.  The second surgery seems to have eliminate the pain that my wife felt after the first. The medical costs were piling up and the cost of all the medications that had to be taken to preserve my wife’s health was merciless.  So I took a second job and worked harder to make sure that I can provide for my family. Along with the extra work was the added responsibility of trying to raise the daughters I acquired when I married my wife. They had to be raised right and the only way to do that properly was to dedicate enough time for them.  So I did that too.

The years passed and at times my wife would seem better and then we would have setbacks and will be rushing to emergency rooms in the middle of the night. The daughters have grown up and they are their own women now and did not require more of my time.  We had added three grandchildren to the fold of the family and they were the delight at the end of each day. During that time, my world had shrunk to encompass only the people who needed me, my wife, my daughters and my grandchildren. They were all that mattered and everyone else that I had known before this transformation had faded from my memory.  I loved my wife, loved my children and loved my grandchildren.  I loved them all so much that I had given up everything that I had known before them and unwittingly, everything that is to come.

It’s November and 12 years had passed since that day in which I said “I do” to the justice of the peace who pronounced me married.  In one month it will be thirteen years of marriage and a total of 16 years of family life. I awoke around midnight by the noises that blasted in the house.  My daughter was visiting and her and my wife were laughing so hard they woke me up. I was flooded by the sense of contentment that only true happiness can bring, simply smiled in the dark, said nothing and went back to sleep. The next morning, I was awakened by my daughter.  My first thought was that she must have stayed somewhat late and spent the night. But she was waking my up with a certain amount of worry in her voice, “Dad, please come and see what’s wrong with Mom, She’s not waking up”

I slid out of bed and walked into the living room.  My wife was laying on the sofa motionless, she had fallen asleep on the sofa and now she’s not waking up.  I walked up to her and shook her to wake up but there was not the slightest response. I felt her pulse around the neck and there was none.  She was cold and peaceful with eyes closed and what I remember as a slight smile on her face. “Call 911” I told my daughter and the cold response that shaped the reality of this morning came back, hollow and scared, “I don’t want to.” she said hesitatingly.  The reality of what had transpired during the night is clear to both of us but we refuse to accept it. I collected all the courage left in me and calmly turned and looked into her saddened face “Honey, call 911”. I never figured out why I left it to my daughter to make that dreadful call.  Later, as I recalled that moment, I had played a few scenarios none of which reflected well on my perception of who I am.  I wondered if I was grief stricken by the fatality of being so close to someone with no sign of life, if I was at the precipice of a breakdown and making the call would accelerate the process, or was I simply a coward who could not take charge of the reality that was before me.  My daughter made the call and the sirens came blasting within minutes.  The medics confirmed what we already knew. My wife is no more.

My wife, in the blink of an eye changed from a person to a memory.  A memory that will fade with time until only the name and some faded pictures are left.  My oldest granddaughter can no longer remember the details of the face of the person who once was her grandmother. She still has all the happy memories that formed her childhood, but they are memories with a ghost now; a shapeless, faceless person who once existed and who once loved and cried and went through all the emotions that all beings seem to experience during their short time of being. 

Waiting

At one point in time when I was a child I ran away from home.  I believe I was about 7 or 8 years old at the time and the tiny and crowded cellar apartment did not give me the space or the time to be left alone.  There were always noises of different sorts blasting throughout the small apartment and I would find myself waiting for hours to finally escape into the small garden where I might have some quiet.  At night, the noise would change only to be replaced by the overcrowded space. This apartment was too small for such a large family a mere two bedrooms had to be used to sleep all eight people who lived here.  So beds had to be shared and even as the talking, fighting, laughing, running, music, television or whatever the sources. The day noises were replaced by the nightly noise of people sleeping. The constant breathing right next to me deprived me from the quiet and peace I desired and hoped for when it was announced that sleep time was at hand and I will have to wait somewhat longer till I fell asleep..

The constancy of the noise accompanied by the repeated demands that I do one thing or another drove me insane.  I could not sleep at night and I was awakened too early in the morning. School must be attended and was even more crowded than home.  The other kids cared nothing about how I may have felt and the noise of the house was magnified a thousand times with all the children stuffed into the converted church that was made into a school.  The suffocating presence of people all around me was intolerable. Something had to change, something drastic had to happen to force the change. But no one wanted to listen to me and no one paid attention or seemed to care the least about what I might be going through.  No one cared about me and it felt like my presence in this household, in this neighborhood and in this city was not needed, my absence will go unnoticed. So I left

I roamed the streets for some time but soon enough I grew hungry, cold and tired.  I wished I had worn my thick coat and made myself a sandwich before I left. I made the decision to leave too hastily and now I must pay the price. If I had waited and analyzed the situation more carefully I would have realized the perils of being a penniless child in the streets of the big city. As a child I had no access to money and I could not work. I cannot go back to that apartment.  I had to find a solution to the dilemma in which I had forced myself. Going home was not an option, at least not right now.  I must wait as long as possible to force the issue. I must be noticed. People must get to the point of at least wondering where I am.  Getting some rest was easy, just find a shaded area and sit down on the side of the street or slip into one of the many parks and seek refuge in the shade of a tree.  I might be able to sleep some if I really wanted to as well. The hunger was the bigger of the problems and waiting to eat is not an option with which I was comfortable.  The thought of remaining hungry aggravated me, knowing that the longer I waited the harder the hunger would bite into me. I needed to get some food. I considered begging for a few coins that I can then use to buy some food but I could not.  I could not reduce my pride to ask complete strangers for anything. What if they rejected me too. There is nothing compelling about me that will make them take pity and drop me a few coins. So I could not beg.

As I wandered the streets, I found myself at the bus station and near the bus that went to the town were my grandparents lived.  My grandparents lived in a big house and it was mostly empty for the winter months. The village, high in the mountains, is too cold to be inhabited and most resident sought warmer parts of the country during that time. I would be going into the cold of the mountain with my thick coat hanging in the closet in the house. The thought of visiting my grandparents nagged me for a few moments. It will be warm in the bus and my grandparents will certainly be happy to see me and will give me the food I needed and a nice quiet place to sleep for the night.  I had no money to pay for the bus ride. As I stood there waiting for a miracle and wondering about what to do, struggling to find the means by which I can go seek reprieve from the hunger at my grandparents, the door to the bus opened and the paid passengers started to mount.  I was a fairly small child and, in the sea of legs around me, I was driven onto the bus. The door closed and the bus started moving. No one asked me if I had paid and I was not about to disturb anyone with the truth.

I sat between a fat lady and a small man on the bus.  They both looked at me on occasion and I could feel the suspicion in their eyes.  They seemed to scream at me. Thief. Thief. First him then her. And a little later, they looked again and their looks put me to shame.  I have stolen this bus ride but what was I supposed to do. I was practically pushed onto the bus. As I am sulking in my shame I heard a voice “Where are your parents?”  The fat lady was asking me as she had reached into her bag and took out something wrapped in brown paper. I had to respond. What do I say? Should I confess that I ran away from home and was a stowaway on this bus or do I tell a lie.  As perspiration ran down my forehead and burnt into my eyes I could feel my lips moving and heard my voice saying “They bought me a ticket and my grandpa will pick me up at the station in the other town” The answer seemed to satisfy the woman’s curiosity as she shifted in her seat and pushed me closer to the man.  She unwrapped her brown back and took out a sandwich stuffed with something delicate that smelled heavenly. The smell made my stomach growl. She smiled at me and cut a piece of her sandwich and offered it to me. I ate it without offering any words of gratitude. The speed by which I ate that tiny morsel of food seemed to satisfy her enough.  I waited for her to offer me another piece which did not come.

As I disembarked from the bus, I made a solemn oath to myself that I shall never lie again.  The shame that came with the lying was unbearable and it is still with me to this day. That generous fat lady is probably dead now and it bothers me that she went to her death bed thinking that the little boy next to her on that summer day was on his way to see his grandparents with the full knowledge and permission of his parents.  That the sweet boy was so small that she made the trip in comfort that would not have existed if a normal size person sat next to her that day. I stole, I lied, and I ungraciously ate her food. I got away with both crimes and that morsel of food she had given me seemed stuck in my throat. the memory of that day brings me nothing other that shame and contempt.

I entered my grandparents house through the enormous gate that was unlocked and slightly ajar.  The right door in the vestibule led to the guest room where company was received on special occasions.  To the left was the door to the family living space, a vast room of unreal proportions, or so it seemed at the time.  The seating area wrapped around two thirds of the room with a red carpet laid on top of the cement floor decorated the otherwise barren center.  A number of small tables scattered in front of the seats and three large windows, two overlooking the snow covered garden and the third overlooking the deserted street, kept the room well lit during the day. A door on the far side led to the kitchen that was dark and musty.  

I turned and entered the living room and there it was, my grandfather seated to my left in his usual spot and grandma on the far end of the room and they were doing absolutely nothing.  They had been with each other all their lives and it seemed to me that they had already said all there was to say to one another. They had between them a level of familiarity that frightened me.  Is this what old people do when they are left alone? They just sit there and stare at the walls consciously avoiding each other’s gaze. Is there nothing this man and this woman can talk about? Why are they sitting so far away from each other?  Is there no reason left for this man and this woman to look at one another? The room was cold, the people were cold. It felt like death was coming and they were just waiting for it to arrive. There is nothing to do and nothing to say. They have no interest in each other and it seemed like they had no interest in anything at all.  They were just waiting,

Is this what was awaited me? Is this why I go to school everyday preparing to grow into a man with a family and children who will grow and start families of their own and when their children come to visit me they will find me waiting.

Leila

6/14/2019

Leila sprang into my memory today out of nowhere.  We had met a few years ago and I found her company to be exceptional.  She was the type of free spirited person who had no barriers to be studied and analyzed and no plan of attack to gain her acquaintance was needed.  She simply was who she appeared to be, a person very comfortable with who she was. Who did not feel the need to create a public persona that would be any different from what the private person is. Yet there was more, an intangible quality that pulled at me and transfixed me into one thought, I want to be with this person, this Leila.  Everything she said, however mundane, was intriguing. Not because of what it was but because she said it.

I felt that pull when I first saw her and we exchanged glances a few times before we spoke.  When she told me her name, “Leila” she said, I knew she would be special. I knew that a woman who, by mere accident, possessed a name that I had reserved for my daughter at the the time she would have been born but never had a chance to use.  The name “Leila” meant the night and the night was always my time of serenity when I pondered the enumerable possibilities the world had presented. A time when I could think through the possibilities of a future that never seems to have worked out exactly as I had imagined.  When I met Leila, may faith was restored. The faith that there was still hope that I will attain the future that I so desired, a future that I hungered for. A future I would share with someone who made everything surmountable as long as she is by my side. Leila and I were so at ease with each other It seemed impossible that there could be anything that can stop us from being together.

So when she mentioned the husband, I was crushed.  I had been wondering about her personal status but felt the time was too early to inquire.  I guess she must have felt my thoughts and broke the news to me in her gentle casual way by simply inserting a mention of the husband in the course of a normal conversation.  The notion of a husband crushed me. The husband was a barrier of immense proportions. A barrier I can not overcome and I will have to make a choice. Do I accept the most amazing woman to have walked into my life as a friend and spend, what appeared at the moment to be every waking moment of the rest of my life, wondering at what could have been or do I simply end all conceptions of a possibility of a relationship and return to my normal routines.

I mentioned nothing of my thoughts to Leila.  She need not know how I felt or else she might be compelled make my decision for me. Whatever that may be, I was sure I would not like it..

I have always had a difficult time meeting women whose company I enjoyed and with whom a relationship that advanced past friendship can be built.  I had always known in a really short time after meeting someone new if anything will develop between us. Usually after a few glances, sometimes it took a smile and the exchange of a few words.  Somehow the women who entered my life have always been successful of letting me know how they felt within seconds of our first encounter. Leila was no different in that respect. What made her different was the timing.  Leila was the first woman who I felt this strong connection with since my wife’s passing. I had dated a few women and even became engaged to one but I sabotaged all of those relationships. I knew they were wrong for me. I did not feel the connection to those wonderful ladies who I should ask for forgiveness except I am too much a coward to admit what  I may have done.

The connection with Leila was real.  But there is the matter of the husband.  Would I dare try to sabotage her marriage for my own benefit? While that was a possibility, it was not a real one. I lived my life with a certain code. A code that I should cause no harm to anyone regardless of the benefit I may receive from doing so.  I did not have any desire to cause unhappiness in anyone’s life and in order to destroy her marriage I would have to convince her that she is truly unhappy even if she did not know it.  Insert doubt where no doubt once existed. I could not do that. If she is unhappy, she must recognize that on her own and the decision must be made by her alone. It's the only possibility I can accept.  It is the only means by which I can achieve my own true happiness.

I decided that she was too precious to give up on.  I will be a friend. We will meet for coffee and possibly lunches sometimes and we will talk and I will enjoy her company.  That appeared to be the only sensible solution to my dilemma. For some time it worked. We would chat, mostly texting and arrange for us to meet at convenient times.  The times and places where not really all that convenient for me, but I enjoyed her company so much that I did not object and claimed convenience. Our little meetings where most enjoyable and I found myself always looking forward to the next arrangement for the next meeting.  Trouble was coming.

Trouble comes when, in the still of the night, I wake up with a sullen heart.  I overestimated my own ability to self control. I am thinking about Leila all the time.  I am driving myself insane thinking about the means by which I will try to break her from the husband, that I’m not sure she loved but to whom she certainly had grown accustomed.  Can I do this. Can I confess my true feelings and see how she may react. It can’t be good. At best, I will throw her life in doubt. I can't do that to someone I claim to love. I must find my way out.  So now I answer messages with brief, dry responses that convey no emotions and after a few exchanges of the new style of dialog she stopped texting me and I never texted her again.

I know nothing of what has become of Leila.  I have a single picture of her that I look at longingly on occasion and tell myself that I did the right thing.  Somehow, that does not make me feel better.

My Confession

I was born and I became me at some point in time so long ago I can't recall.  What is certain, it wasn't an accident what I became. When I was born I was stamped with an existence that is to be spent alone. To be unencumbered with ties to people, places or time.   I never cared for the company of others, never cared much for material possessions that I owned and I certainly disavowed and cleansed myself of all memories of things, places and people that will come into my life and then quietly leave to pursue whatever endeavor they perceived as essential to their own survival.  I felt mostly annoyed at the deception they permitted within themselves, the deception that they mattered and that their lives mattered. They were searching for meaning to attach to their small lives and experimenting, few randomly while others prepared a plan, with the method by which that elusive meaning would present itself to them.  The meaning that will make all their endeavors worthwhile. The meaning that did not exist. Some became a part of my life for some time while others I simply watched from a distance, hoping they would not notice me. I was not to become what they are. I will not blindly search for that which I know does not exist. I will define the purpose of my  life and I will give myself a meaning that did not involve the great accomplishment all others seem to be working towards. I always preferred dark corners to visible spaces. I yearned to be forgotten so I may be left alone to accomplish my task. Not of greatness and not of continuity. My task was to define me and create a purpose that I can accept.

I could not comprehend either the joy or the sadness that people around me diffused  so effortlessly. Yet, at some point I seem to have recognized that these expressions where necessary for survival.  I had to learn that which I did not possess by instinct. So I learned. I laughed when an anecdote required laughter and I consoled when a misery seemed to be at hand.  When the end of each day came, and I was certain that I was alone, I reviewed my actions and recalled my few utterances from the day before so I may be satisfied that no offence was committed.  Before sleep, I will spend countless hours trying to define my existence in a consistent manner that will lead to the formulation of a purpose towards which I would direct my energy, but to no avail.  Every instance I could imagine introduced some contradiction. The purpose, a true purpose that does not require me to deceive myself, was elusive. Maybe it did not exist. Maybe such idea was incredible enough to not be possible.  I struggled to find an escape from the lie that has become my existence.

In the course of time, the lie that was my existence became the norm.  When in the company of others I would be the jovial, caring and compassionate man everyone knew and loved.  What no one could see is the burning desire inside me that demanded I seek solitude and when solitude came, so did peace.  Those late hours when only the odd sounds of the night, the constant hum of the city interrupted by the occasional cat meowing or dog barking, could be heard and no soul could be felt where my happiest moments.  The moments where no expressions of happiness or sorrow where required. The hours when I could slip deep into myself and wonder at the world around me. My dreams where the waking moments while those moments in the night right before slumber where the most real.  Did anyone feel as I did? I often wondered. And the answer always came, exactly the same every night. Of course they knew, but, much like me, what choice did they have. Survival required the same duties of everyone and everyone had to follow the rules or face extinction.

And so life went.   Dutifully during the day and peacefully in the night.  I embraced my education as an escape rather than from a desire to acquire knowledge.  Studying and understanding required a significant amount of solitude. Through all the years I had the recurring feeling of something lost.  I attributed that sense of anxiety that creeps upon the soul from the depths of an abused reality of the past to the duality in which I had forced myself.  Could liberation be at hand. Is it ever possible to live the life that I wanted, rather than the one to which I was bound by a reality shaped for me by many preceding generations of the people who constructed the lie.  In all my trials I could find no escape. This is the way it has to be done.

I could not fathom what I knew will have to be done. Marriage was the next step of the process.  It needed to happen. I was an aging man now with no wife that I did not desire and no children that I did not want.  Yet the idea of marriage could not escape me. I must adhere to the standards in order to at least appear to be normal. I am content in my own world, but the world as I knew it and in which I must continue to survive would not let me. That hunger of the world around me required that I shall be consumed by its norms.  I was growing tired of the sadness that people showed me when they would inquire about my children and learned that I had none. So marriage must happen and children must be had in order that I maybe seen as normal. That is the world and it demanded it. I consented to the demands as I have always done. I must meet a deserving woman who would be my wife and we shall have a reasonable number of kids, maybe three, I thought. A sense of anxiety prevailed over me.

I was not a hermit or anything of the sort.  I had been with women at different times in my life; some of whom lasted for years while others mere weeks.  I told a few that I loved them even though I did not truly know what that meant or what it entailed. What behavior was expected of a man in love.  I did not know so I could not emulate. Those were relationship that in the depths of my soul I knew can be severed at any point in time and I would move on and continue with the life that I have lived where no past mattered and no future to be realized.

But now it’s different.  The woman to find is one that I will marry and we are expected to procreate together, at least three times by my estimation.  More importantly, it has to be someone who will tolerate my idiosyncrasies. The times I will undoubtedly tire of the incessant need she will have to be in my presence at all times and I will seek solitude but not be able to either explain or convince her of why I would need that. It seemed like an impossible task at first yet I knew it can be done.  Others have done it so It must be doable. Yet, I had no reasonable idea of how I am to convince someone that I am deserving of the commitment that I wanted when I did not truly desire the commitment and neither felt deserving of being its recipient. What I did not expect or did not know at the time was that I am about to fall in love, true unadulterated love for the first time in my life and I am not to understand it until many years later.

In the middle of the room I had rested my left arm around her shoulder and she wrapped her right limb, humerus resting on the small of my back and the lower portions wrapped firmly but loosely around my waist, as I looked down and to the left where she stood, she looked up at me with her great brown eyes, shining with happiness, and closed and open them twice.  two quick shots in succession transpierced my eyes and bounced around my brain activating switches that had been dormant for many years and, as if a a roadway opened inside me for that little creatures message to gently meander through the expanse of my inner self, she rested gently in a space within my chest that I have never known existed. It was deep inside me, so deep and so empty. My heart quivered as if making more room for whatever that was that now inhabited me, I felt dizziness brought about by the immense confusion as to what had just happened.  a teenager had just made me feel the wonders that I have missed in all the nearly forty years that have thus far been my life. The dullness left me and true happiness took me over like a wild storm takes over a twig. I wanted that child in my life more than I ever wanted anything. With her, in that moment, I had formed an everlasting bond. A bond that can never be broken by distance or time. So I married her mother and she became my daughter.

Diary of a Bored Man

6/10/2019

Today, like most other days, nothing happened.  I don’t mean to say nothing with any absoluteness.  Nothing of importance has happened. I woke up, drank my coffee, used the bathroom, was supposed to go for a walk but decided against it.  I hate walking and you would not know it from the way I stagger out of bed and ritually prepare for my morning walk everyday. I am at an age when the doctors decided that I must exercise to retain somewhat of a healthy heart.  For what purpose, I don’t know. It will give out sooner or later. No matter how much walking I do, one day my heart will be in the ground with me wrapped around it. But the doctors said exercise and I followed their command. It would have been exhausting to argue with them regarding the merits of their recommendation and it just seemed easier to do what they say rather than having to listen to all the lectures regarding the benefits of even a mild form of activity.  But today I skipped the walk in favor of a third cup of coffee. By the time I finished the third cup nearly half a pack of cigarettes that I enjoy smoking every morning had disappeared. The mornings where special. Morning is the calm before the storm. The calm of absolute silence where no sound can be heard and during the hours of this heavenly state you find yourself. You realize the incredible beauty and serenity that can exist in the world only if the morning would last forever.  But the reality sets in, and the calm is disturbed. When I open my eyes I remember the coming daily storm of constantly interacting with people most of likable enough but were mostly uninteresting in their concerns, at least the ones they shared. But I must work and I do my best to fake my excitement to see everyone everyday and feign interest in hearing all about what happened the previous day. I never have anything to say because nothing ever happens with me the previous day.

So I finish my third cup and do my morning routine.  I finally get dressed, the usual, nothing fancy just jeans and a shirt with tennis shoes on my feet.  I drive to work and decide to take the long route. The third cup that took the place of walking was most enjoyable and I wanted to savor the quiet and solitude that it gave me.  So the long way it is. Music gently plays on the radio while I was smoking more of my treasured cigarettes. I enjoy the long routes, I get to watch people in their cars finishing up what they could not finish at home.  Ladies finalizing their makeup so they can be told they look amazing. Businessmen on the cell phones making calls and arranging for meetings so that they may advance their position in the world. College students reading the last chapter before they arrive in school to take an exam.  Invariably, one of them will lose control of their vehicle and cause a wreck, And everyone behind them will curse them till eternity for causing the few minutes delay in the important schedules of their lives.

I was somewhat disappointed that today there were no accidents, at least not ahead of me on the long route.  Of course, the disappointment is not due to the lack of accidents, I’m not morbid enough for that. I was disappointed because I made it to work too early.  Work is not a place I want to be early for. The only consolation is that I will be able to leave early. I had to prepare myself for the upcoming six hours of interacting with the diversity of people with different traits none of which appealed to me.  So I take one last deep breath and close my eyes for a few seconds to regain command of my mental state. A picture flashed before me. A picture of me remaining seated behind my desk and being preoccupied with important matters from which I cannot be separated.  That is what has to happen. If I can convince everyone of the heavy workload which awaited me, then maybe I will be left alone and when everyone maintained a safe distance I would return to my primary interest and preoccupation of reflecting on the beauty of being alone with my thoughts and the ability to fully admire my peaceful solitude.

The plan seems to be working.  Here I am, in the middle of a work day writing my diary.  I wonder what made me think of starting the diary today. I have always wanted to maintain a diary but felt that my life is inadequate to document.  Nothing ever seems to happen. At least not enough to merit the filling of pages that no one will read, or that is not worth reading. How do you get anyone interested in learning about nothing that happened.  How can the existence of someone with no family, no friends, no significant relations of any kind be of any interest to anyone. How can a bored man become interesting enough to write a diary that any sensible person would care to read.  How would I ever be able to write anything on 6/11 that is any different from what I am writing today. Maybe there will not be an entry for tomorrow or any other day after today. This is going to be the summary of my life, the ramblings of a bored man on a single day.  Oh God, work is so boring. I wish I was at the coffee shop. I will stop writing for now and see if there is any work to be done,which there always is. When I finish I will leave. I need to eat first. Yes, I will eat my lunch and then finish my work. Later, after I rest a bit at home I will go to the coffee shop.  

Finally I’m at the coffee shop.  I enjoy these greasy spoons where I can watch life crawl by.  No one ever seems to be in a hurry in the coffee shop. It feels as if time itself has slowed down and you can see the minutes ticking away one after the next and between ticks, nothing happens.  A few utterances of the people scattered around me. Meaningless chit chat among people who are ending their hectic day. Parents catching up with the kids, others simply friends talking, and they all seem tired but interested in what the people around them are saying.  A few smiles spring upon some face while others wear a veil of seriousness. Some are seated next to each other while others are conversing across from each other. The one girl seems to be there because she lost a bet. Her companion, who is a very handsome fellow, seems to be dominating the conversation and his handsomeness, which was the likely cause of her being here with him, seems to be wearing out and now she appears to be ready to leave but he is completely oblivious to what she is saying with her eyes and form. The things she is not given a chance to say with words.  As he talks, she is looking around at all the other people who appear to be having a much happier evening than she is. Her eyes seem to be searching for something around the room. Maybe an escape from the bore who was nice to look at but apparently thought that she needed to hear every thought that wandered into his pretty head. Her eyes met mine diagonally across the well-lit dining room. The reflection of light from her eyes caught me by surprise and I turned away to look outside the window at the night lights. The streets outside the diner were dry after the afternoon rain.  The well lit avenue is bustling with cars occupied by people hurrying to get somewhere. Their routines must be maintained and the rain had increased congestion on the roads so everyone was driving as if late to some important function. Mostly though, I knew they were just going home, tired from the trials of the day and ready to rest so that the day may repeat itself tomorrow. The people inside the coffee shop are completely oblivious to the outside world. The world which will consume them once they step outside the doors of this little heaven.

My afternoon was uneventful but I had enough things to do to stave off boredom for a few hours.  I took care of paperwork that needed to be completed and I signed whatever documents needed my signature.  Somehow, my signature made things more official. I’m not really sure why. All the documents that required signature contained information that everyone knew to be true or agreements that the parties have already recognized.  whether or not I signed these pieces of paper was not going to change the truth of the information they contained. But the paperwork must be completed and I’m rewarded relatively handsomely for my signature.  So everyday, I sign whatever documents present themselves on my desk and the business keeps operating as usual but everyone maintains a sense that somehow things have changed for the better due to my signature.  At three p.m. I needed a break so I decided to read the news. I do a quick search and there are no surprises. There are times when I feel that reading the news is a complete waste of my time, but then I remember that I have not much else to do with my time.  If I don't read the news then I will be staring at the walls, possibly marveling at a fly’s ability to zig-zag its flight around my head without being caught by my big hand swiping at it and wondering what is so special about my head that makes it so attractive to that particular fly.  Nothing in the news was going to radically alter the monotony that was my life. Of course, that was the case yesterday and the day before and everyday. The monotony was real, the routine was established and boredom has become the norm.

Thirty minutes later I decided to go ahead and leave.  After all, I had arrived here somewhat earlier than my usual time.  So I got up and went home. At home, I changed into my pajamas and sat in my chair sipping a cup of hot tea and smoked a couple of cigarettes.  I was about to watch some television but then decided not to. So I Slipped into my thoughts for a couple of hours. I wondered if I was lonely and concluded that I am not.  I am alone because I choose to be alone. I despised the meaningless conversations that people seem to enjoy so much. sometime in the past I had forgotten what interested me.  Now I don’t seem to find an interest in anything. The mundanely repetitive nature of the world is just boring me.

At eight p.m. I decided to head for the coffee shop and people watch.  My boredom lessens when I see people congregating to slow down the pace of their day.  When the collective will of all the diners seems to slow down time itself. Nothing important is going on tonight, nothing important goes on any night at the coffee shop.