Has The Moon Exploded?

Growing wiser is a perk of growing older until you realize that reality sometimes sucks.

I think reality is the problem that I’m facing, but I don’t know how to further define my issues. I don’t feel good, but my cold and my fractured/sprained ankle are only physical aspects of present maladies. Being a wise and insightful physician of life, I’m diagnosing myself with flu-like symptoms of the soul.

Something is missing is the phrase that keeps ruminating through my person, which is basically a sign of depression. I don’t think depression is what it is. I started digging deeper yesterday into what it is, exactly, that seems to be missing. I found that my former life is missing, or I miss my former life, which ever it may be.

One aspect is the physical part. I’m a bit broken at present. I have a cold that is greatly exacerbated by Spring allergy season. My ankle is horribly sprained, slightly fractured, and I now hobble like the elder who wears his waist at his chest. My hair is thinning, graying, and certainly receding. I have a small patch of strange-colored skin on the side of my head, which makes me automatically think I have skin cancer. And my shirts and pants seem to be shrinking. I blame the shrinking on the washer and dryer versus poor diet and lack of exercise. Some might call that a hitch in my wisdom.

Physical aside, I know that there is something else. My adventurous spirit and passion for spontaneity and lust for the different are all exhibiting strangely as if the moon no longer had gravitational authority over the tide. The power of my moon is missing.

I miss my friends, those who I used to frequently define as part of my personality. I miss the G-man, who died almost a year ago. I miss Uncle Ted, Otis, GROB and our regular adventures. These people made me laugh, and I don’t seem to laugh any more. I miss spur-of-the-moment escapades. I miss gathering with others without having to have a reason. I miss the inspirational connection and shear force that my moon brought to my life.

I’m not sure why I’m unable to adjust to these changes in my life. I have a good life; I have a wonderful daughter and a great wife. Of course there are marital issues from time to time, but it is a marriage, ya know. These things happen.

I believe in God and the power of prayer. I believe that the Lord will take care of the needs of family and me. I have good job and I’m pretty good at what I do. My household income allows enough money to pay the bills and have some fun. I have great friends, although they are a bit more absent than I would prefer.

I am also a member of a men-only small group at my church. Theses guys, I believe, would do anything they could for me if I were in need, but I’m missing a connection with them. I can’t seem to form a bond like I have with my other friends. I think it’s because I fear their judgment of who I am. It’s my fear of their judgment, mind you. I don’t think it actually has anything to do with them.

As with any parent and husband, my life revolves around the sun. In this case, the sun happens to be the two other women in my life. I’m constantly doing something for one of them, or something to improve our living conditions, or planning something that will make one of them happy. But I feel as if I’m running in place. One project ends, the list of others awaits. One bug killed is no different than the another waiting beyond the shadows for the shoe of death. In between, things break and need immediate action. Eight billion inconsequential decisions need to be eternally made, seemingly by me.

I wouldn’t give up any of it for anything, ever.

Why does it feel like I’m always working a job? Where did the laughter go? Why am I sounding like Otis?

What happened to my moon?

 

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