Is it enough? Is it the goal of life?

The struggle, every day. To look back and say I did. To give up and finally admit that the day is gone and sleep is all that is left. 

Maybe if I could start every day at 4:30, maybe if I got a job and promotions, maybe if I stop making things, I could do more. 

Is it admirable? Will I earn a medal? Will the president shake my hand? What will my son think of me when he must do it on his own? 

Once in a rare while, a chance encounter with a friend from back-when, they ask me how I’ve been. I laugh because it’s all I have. I laugh because I did. I laugh because the truth is an ugly, unnecessary splash of dirty ditch water from a rude motorist. 

Bullets, bombs, and vehicle collisions. Drunk driving, drunk brawls, and drunk falls. An overdose reveals the light with a tour into darkness never before known. Thank god to have awakened to another day and curse him for it in the same breath. 

If I’m alive now, is that evidence that I have done it well enough so far? Is it acceptable?

What bliss it must be. To think it is guaranteed. As if surrounded every day by an invincible shield. To think it could not be threatened. 

The threat I must face. The soft pluck of violin to bring my mind gently to the day is often still not enough to comfort. A decade ago, it would have been Slayer or Hed(pe) at 90 dB. Distract my body with the more immediate concern of insecticide inhaled ceremoniously. 

Life isn’t the only thing. Tragedy, challenges, travels, and tribulations. I wondered then as I wonder now. Is it enough? To simply survive? 


Author: Goose Andeluse

Compulsive maker and fowl carpenter.

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