WHAT'S NEXT, BRO?

The sky is falling. I can relate. I should grab my guitar and start playing the blues. 

I wake up every morning deeply depressed. As the day progresses, the sadness dissipates like the morning mist. Truthfully, I can't say much light filters through the blinds. 

I get so tired of feeling this way. I get so tired of being me even though I don't know myself. I look in the mirror and I encounter a stranger. I am a faceless figure in an anonymous crowd. 

I'm haunted by the many mistakes I have made in the past. I struggle against surrendering. I try to control my mind and stop certain thoughts before they unleash their poison throughout my system. 

I was worried that I might have a tumor behind my thigh, but it turned out to be a nasty spider bite. Those damn Brown Recluses are everywhere, no different than the dark memories. 

I hope you have a great day, but please don't wish me a great day. I haven't had a great day in a long time. What is a great day? Maybe we're better off without them. They only make the lugubrious days more difficult.

Out of desperation, I do amuse myself. I am like a soldier in the middle of a war trudging through the mud. Just shooting my weapon temporarily relieves me. 

I am not asking you for pity. I just want you to know my reality, so you won't be disappointed when the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. 

I am not drinking as much. Hangovers exacerbate depression. I might feel mentally bad in the morning, but at least I don't feel physically bad. That is a blessing. 

However, I always have this pressure in the middle of my chest. Sometimes I have this feeling that I'm going to drop dead of a heart attack. 

Thankfully, I'm not in pain. I hope it's only anxiety. Maybe I'm the victim Trump shoots in the middle of Fifth Avenue! My cardiologist, after several tests, told me I had the heart of an athlete. He is a big Manchester City fan. He should know. 

Some people want to go to sleep and never wake up. I don't. I want the doctor to inform me I have a terminal illness and I have two months to live. With drugs a patient doesn't have to suffer much. 

I like morphine. I like Xanax. I like anything that fills me with tranquility even though the source may be artificial rather than a Zen high. I will have time to say goodbye to everyone and ask for forgiveness from those I've hurt. 

Time is so fucking cruel. It's hard to think that I will be 75 at the end of the year. I really don't think I'll make it to 80 although I exercise regularly and I feel strong. 

I was on the deck at Cobbleheads last night listening to Freddy & the Freeloaders. I ate a shrimp cocktail and drank two Micheladas. I saw several acquaintances and they said the same thing: "You look great, Jerry. You never change."

Appearances are certainly deceiving, It's a good thing they can't dissect my brain. They would discover a nest of venomous snakes. It would be a horrid sight as all these writhing serpents would be looking to sink their fangs into the bodies of the innocents. But the ancients have warned us for more than 2000 years to refrain from opening the Pandora's Box. 

The runoff is today. I still have a role to perform in my beloved Brownsville soap opera. This election is nothing but a raindrop in the middle of the ocean, but we take water seriously in our drought-stricken wasteland. 

After I know the results, I will have a few drinks and go to bed. There will be no pachangas worth attending. I occasionally go because I like to hear el pueblo's latest gossip and there's inevitably a pretty countenance to contemplate. 

Besos y abrazos. Cervezas y tequilas. Carne y tortillas. 

Tomorrow I will prepare for the next challenge. Not that I need one. Staying alive requires most my energies.

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