Life's Inoculation

Recently it has occurred to me with a grave reverence that- "I don't know who I am, where I am, or where I am going..." My brain is hemorrhaging from the onslaught of it's own continued self enclosed battles. A cold war within started several years ago as I forged a head in the first of my life's traumatizing decisions.

Most people endeavor to force regret out of their vocabulary or being. Those who state that they live a life with out regret either: 1. Focus on all the beneficial or positive events or consequences that came of anemic decisions (this mind conditioning is a gift in it's self). 2. Find it easy to shift from one state of being to the next, blocking the conscious mind and continuing a path of poor choices. 3. Choose to never admit regret for fear of weakening a posture that has been sculpted to prevent life's on lookers from identifying vulnerabilities.

Lately I find myself enduring left over pain from "regretted" decisions that have left life's scars residing below the callouses of the heart. I'm starting to feel as if the callouses have become titanium plated and their consistencies through out my being will render me a Colossus toward emotion. I'm almost certain that this wave of stale air is one of life's tribulations, another building block to prepare me for what is to come, or the swift tail kicking climax adventure that is found in all coming of age tales. The tales that seem to continually resonate through out history incarnating in another form or another life. Does life ever truly prepare us for what is to come? I believe that we can only strive to find comfort in change...

My mind constantly ponders... "Why do I feel as though I have the right to allow myself to feel as though the quick sand of life is swallowing me when every thing in life is decently well?" The Democrats have not yet invaded the White House and cut my salary. I own the "John McClain" of the 1990 22RE Toyota Pick Up Trucks. He sips petroleum and continuously conquers the constant asphalt assaults of wear and tear. And most of all, I have not found it necessary to adapt my lust for culinary gratification into a mundane routine of "Top Ramon".

Has life been too good to me? Can I no longer savor the sweet due to a lacking subscription of a healthy portion of bitter? Has the memories of life's sampled Rich Raspberry truffle Jazz Cakes, the delectable Chocolate Truffle Marquises, the divine Tiramisus, and the highly pleasurable Amaretto Cheesecakes removed the sweet comforting flavor of the two sugars in life's daily coffee? I swash the monotonous coffee throughout my mouth rolling it over my tongue in an attempt to awaken thought to be dead taste buds, but I no longer find the flavor saccharine, cain or bleached sugars that comforted through the previous good and bad. I still search for it daily, but I just can't taste it any more...

I absolutely loathe the hypocrisy in waiting for life's mediocrity to pass... "I can't wait to start enjoying life". Before you know it 10 years have passed, and the true moments of content satisfaction last but mere seconds in comparison. (Now this is a euphoric quarter breath of pure oxygen... Damn... Not even an entire fluid breath and my lungs have collapsed)- That's how it feels after the all to short reunions with friend's and family. I'm headed for the gravel that leads me to The Village...