Several times in recent weeks I’ve found myself thinking about the future. Not the gloomy I’m-alone-in-a-cave-forever future, but the I’m actually-living-and-maybe-have-a-meaningful-relationship future. Shocking, but true. Don’t tell anyone, it’ll ruin the brooding, melancholy thing I’ve got going.
What if, and it’s a big IF, I meet someone? What if they are intelligent, smart, funny, active, stylish, opinionated, attractive and not afraid of nerds? What if they find me intelligent, smart, funny, active, stylish, opinionated, attractive and nerdly? What if I win the Powerball Lottery? What if JFK, Elvis, and Jimmy Hoffa are all living on a super secret government island in the middle Pacific? But I digress…
Everyone warns you about the “what if” questions in reference to dredging up the past and beating yourself with it; but no one says anything about the future “what if” questions. I looked in the grieving widow/ers manual and there’s nothing there about this at all. I’d like my money back now, please.
Of course, were she here physically I could bounce all these questions and thoughts off Michele. But then, if she were still here, having these thoughts and questions might result in my needing a cot and sleeping bag for the garage.
I guess there is life after death. Furthermore, I guess it’s going to happen whether I participate in choosing the direction or not.
Man. Is it ever bright outside of this cave.