I have hit the inevitable crossroad. For the past three months I have been existing in a state of nothing but wait. Waiting for the months to drag by so as I can save sufficient amount of funds to purchase a couch, a comfortable bed, a state of the art television, a game system…all those little attributes which make the foundation of a nice home livable. After three months of this, the only outcome I have achieved is boredom and an expanding girth.
I know no one in this city and really have not attempted to connect with any the locals. The very few I have made contact with are mean and insufferable. Bitter and conniving. However, my logic being, let me get my affairs in order and then I will socialize with my ilk so as I can have an apartment I am proud of to show off to people I most likely won’t give a damn about. So, I remain at home, playing video games and writing absurd memes via Facebook or twitter to a dead audience. Online, the few people whom I do lovingly associate with (all travelers of various ages) broadcast their lives from Viet Nam, Peru, Mexico City and various other exciting and wayward locales. I sit in my uber modern apartment granted by the powers of fate and watch their updates in downright jealousy. Angry, depressed jealousy at that.
I have even stopped writing purely out of boredom. I began a novel, but lost interest. And writing? The sole passion that kept me sane over these crazy decades? The neglecting of updating in this blog confirms that. But, what ferments my fear of remaining and making this my home? What reigns in the decision of not simply continuing on travelling? Two major reasons, really. Firstly, it is my age and health. I am getting old and my health is waning, so that puts me in mind to stay put and live out my remaining years within this tomb. It is a tomb. My neighbors are all doting elderly and continue to drop off like flies – a week does not pass when someone isn’t being courted off in a body bag. It is depressing when you are faced with your inevitable outcome. Secondly, as you may or may not know, I receive a monthly supplement. It is enough to live comfortably off of, to be certain, however it is not permanent. Sort of. I am evaluated once every three years to see if I am still insane. I am certain, one day, it will be taken away. Then what? Work? I have not worked in over a decade…what am I going to do? In that, who the fuck would hire me? I know I wouldn’t.
So, the decision which hangs over my head like the proverbial sword of Damocles is this: Do I remain here in the constant paranoia of perhaps returning to the streets when this is all snatched away, becoming one of those shoddy old souls you see pushing his meager possessions down the streets in a cart or do I leave and experience all the crazy that I crave out in this wonderful and relentlessly cruel world?
The way I lived, the way I enjoy living, I understand is an outmoded construct. I am a dinosaur. Even among the gays I am considered somewhat of a pariah. Twisted and evil was what I was called recently in lieu of my books. No longer is the homosexual of today the pillar of free thinking or progressively different from the norm, this new generation has become the very thing that we attempted to differ ourselves from; they are now hateful and overtly judgmental. Especially among each other. Everyone is so divided...my time here in the states...fear, fear of doing what i want has been placed in my mind. I remember there was a time when I wasn't afraid to do or go anywhere. Is this what getting old is supposed to be like?
I am getting off track. I believe if I am to continue to live, I need to follow my passions and not preoccupy myself with accumulating material possessions.
Typing this out, I believe I have my answer…