The road to hellSometimes I have a dream, we respect each other for the good we are and can do, for the love we bear, because it is our currency, and we work together so that none of us despairs, none of us loses, none of us has a life that does not fulfil us.
Then I wake up and get back on the treadmill that is all life is, where we are measured in money and instead of an angel of light, I find myself to be a worn-out middleaged man trapped in purgatory by a woman who was and is shamelessly selfcentred.
I wish that I could forgive her because forgiveness is golden, but every day is a reminder that my heart cannot find ease in this sweating trashpile, where I am condemned to pointless anger because I am small and cannot bloom.
Once a girlfriend said to me that one of the reasons she was dumping me was that I lacked ambition. I wanted to say, But I have the ambition to love you for the rest of my days. And foolishly I thought that was actually something valuable and real. But you can't put dollars on it, and I can't deny that dollars fuel the good life. You can't feel bad that a person wants the good life, and thinks you will be a stumbling block, rather than an enabler.
And it is true. I have never been much good for anyone and good intentions really do pave the road to nowhere, if not hell.
I wonder whether she would say to me now, But you are just lazy. Because don't you have the capability? Don't you have the power if only you could flick the switch?
But I am putting words in her mouth because I want to understand why people have stopped loving me. So I interpret their silences and omissions in ways that make sense, knowing what I do about myself.
It has to make sense. No wonder people believe in gods. A world without reason, so abstract and heartless, seems too hard to bear.