I am tire of this.
I am tired of wasting my time
because of family or friends
or ambitions (or lack there of)
or psychological hang ups
caused by childhood trauma
or religious upbringing
or boredom and pathos
or daily assaults and barrages
of stimulating mental and media fodder
or love, that most stupid of human hang ups
that eventually hangs us all up now and again
even though we believed we were too smart
for that shit these days.
I have fallen for women before
and when I loved them
I always believed that they loved me back.
But I really don't know if they actually did.
There is no way of truly knowing.
And I lost my wallet.
I can't find it anywhere.
It's not that important.
All I really need or desire to have from it
is a driver's license
a bank card
and a library card,
all easy or somewhat easy to replace.
Two forms of a ID here,
a PIN number and account there,
a proof of residence and snap,
I have everything back that I care about.
It's not that important, but still
It seems important to me.
I nearly lost my mind trying to find that wallet today.
What a foolish thing to lose one's mind over.
It's like torture without any real physical suffering.
Sometimes I hit things with my fist
as hard as I can.
Sometimes that thing is my head.
I do it to jar thoughts in my head
that I cannot seem to let escape.
I did not do that today after I lost my wallet,
But I came close after scanning for it
for the third time on the same stretch of mile.
It was after the third time,
when I was feeling so completely sorry for myself
that I also thought about the women and men
in my life that have brought me to hitting my own head.
The love and grief and frustration and anger and catharsis
I have felt with them or for them or by them.
All living and breathing flesh and blood and bone and thought.
These are the people and they are not things
and sometimes they have driven me head jarringly crazy
and this is when the car pulling out the parking lot I was crossing
whizzed passed me going fast, too fast, nearly fifty miles per hour,
almost hit me as I was looking down, still scanning for my wallet.
Impulsively I yelled "Slow the fuck down, asshole."
The driver yelled, but clearly could not think of a cohesive and literate rebuttal.
I keep walking as the car pulled around the corner, then stopps parallel to me.
"Learn to walk on a sidewalk, you prick" is what the driver yells back at me.
All I can do ss laugh to myself.
I lost my wallet.
But it's not that important.
It's just stuff. Stuff I can replace.
Aaron C. Molden