THE EMPTY NEST

I forward a text to my youngest son Michael: "I'm getting a haircut. How many times did you tell me you needed a haircut as if it were a medical emergency? I'd take you and give you $20. And you were always so proud of your looks afterwards. You were a beautiful boy." As usual, he doesn't respond.

With my three sons I'm only left with the memories. Through our children time mocks us. They were babies only a short time ago and now they're men forging their own lives with little notice of their old man. I was no different. When I entered high school and continued through college, I had little time for my parents as my days were filled with studying, working, playing sports and hanging with friends. And at 24 I left my hometown for good and woke up one morning in Brownsville and since that date I haven't risen from bed.
I am suffering from the empty nest syndrome. It's all a dream. When you finally awake, you're dead as the local obits remind me every week as another acquaintance passes. These precious little boys are gone forever and it happened in a flash. I sit at my desk thinking about their long-gone youths and it's all incomprehensible to me. And it is depressing to see how far I have fallen on their lists of priorities.
I'm fixated on the Tom Brady divorce. I don't know the reason I am shocked because celebrities move regularly from one relationship to another, but they seemed like the perfect couple. They had everything. And yet they grew tired of each other. I try to find some succor in my failed relationships witnessing their demise, but their separation doesn't assuage the pain that tortures me.
Everything ends. Absolutely everything. This article will end shortly. Will it have any impact on reality? Absolutely none. It's like us. It's little more than filler. I look at the people around me and I want to shout, "You're gonna die, motherfuckers! And except for a few loved ones who will soon follow you, nobody is gonna give a damn because you ain't nothing but filler, assholes. When it is all said and done, you will have had no impact on reality. At least the Nazis were kind enough to give the Jews a number. You don't even rate a zero because at the final bell, the sum total of your existence will be a negative."
And for all you fools who want to be politicians, you are the biggest nobodies because your minds are suppurating with pure bullshit. You can't even be yourselves. You are so consumed at projecting an image that you are not even you anymore. You're nothing more than a political sign on which somebody can draw a moustache and paint a pair of horns on your head.

Forrest Gump climbed on the bus with his box of chocolates at one of those unshaded stops that blogger Juan Montoya writes about but not before noting, "That's all I've got to say about that." 

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