Wha?

Present: Existing or happening now; in process; contrasted with past, future.

I think that I'm at a point in my life where I'm pretty happy. It sticks in my craw to have to admit that. Then again, maybe it's acid reflux caused by an as yet undetectable tumor which is malignant, aggressive, inoperable, and fatal. Anyway, a sunny attitude ruins my reputation as a grievously injured party. But there it is: I have been in a good spot. I feel like I'm in the world and not trying to swim furiously through the world. I'm always trying to get somewhere and I'm in a big hurry.

I think that life is like a fine fog and I'm just sitting on a bench squinting into the gloaming. I can't see too far. The fog is not too thick and it's not too cold and it's pleasantly damp, like mist on a hot day. Faces drift in and out, most of them pleasant although some scary shit does materialize from time to time. They mostly come and go, or they stay a long time; never can tell, those faces. The fog is OK. I'm just sitting in the fog. I want the big telescope so that I can see for miles and miles but what would be the point? It's foggy.

I've always liked the imagery of allowing my essence to escape my body and drift straight up ten feet or so, like a helium balloon in the shape of a horse head. I do this a lot and I try to hang around up there and keep an eye on myself. It's not awful to watch and there's an appalling lack of drama. I see a person, mostly, who has been given a lot.

If you made a movie about my life, which would destroy all previous box office records, I'd be the character that would make everyone groan. You'd wish that I would simply shut up. "Is that guy whining again?" people would say. "I hate that guy. I'm going for popcorn." I'd still be on the screen complaining when they got back. "Why does she stay with him?" they'd ask. "He's really annoying."

I remember being on a vacation in a city that had a world famous cathedral. We fought the traffic and crowds to see this site, only to find it disappointing. It was noisy, thick with sweating tourists trying to hear shouting tour guides holding up sticks and umbrellas, and expensive. It was crouched on a chaotic intersection, its facade caked with the grime of car exhaust. Some of the structure was cloaked in scaffolding. A few days later we were traveling through a village in the country side and stumbled on a small village church. It was a tenth of the size of the cathedral. It was empty. We sat for a while in a pew and took in its essence. A woman opened the door in the balcony, nodded at us, then sat down and played the organ. We listened for a while. Who knew? I'm sure that church wasn't in the guidebook.

I'm pretty content with what I have and I'm not greedily eyeing things that I don't have, at least not with the runaway greed that typifies most of my past behavior. This is total freak show stuff.

I have no idea who I am.