For me, I pray

Potpourri brings with it a kind of melancholy, like fingers along the neck that aren’t yours. Slipping beneath all the thoughts you forgot you held at bay, but perhaps you never did, and they just came because, well, the fake things smell like comfort. And comfort is dead.

I’ve asked my wooden Don Quixote figurine, several times, What do I do? About everything. My finances. My world. My universe. My writing. He says to fight windmills. And in a way I always have. But playfight, really, not the real things. With injuries and dangers. I fight while trying to figure out how to fight. I drink water to try and figure out how to drown. It’s not an easy thing to do, given the complex nature of, well, everything.

It’s all really simple, I guess. I say I guess because I don’t have her to talk to anymore.

The wall behind my desk is bare, with the desk and bookshelves moved away, around, into the bedroom and as a stand for the tv.

My cousin had a heart attack yesterday. They found him unconscious. After twenty minutes they got his heart beating. He’s 35. He was alone, his heart stopped, and in the course of twentyfive to thirty seconds, he panicked, alone. Alone. And then he passed out. And that was it.

He’s in a coma. Doctors say 5% chance of survival. Not talking brain damage, not talking whatever. We don’t know how long he’d been there, before they found him. I don’t know how to handle this. I could handle it, a long time ago, when his brother died of a heart attack, also my cousin. I could handle it because I was young, detached, and hardly knew the guy. He was a powerlifter, bodybuilder, drug-user, party-goer. We had nothing in common. He was built, beefy, loud, sport-obsesssive. He had a child. Then he died underquestionable circumstances.

My uncle was devastated. One of his six sons, dead, nothing. Every thanksgiving we pray for Curtis, we thank God around the turkey for the continued wellbeing of the rest of the family. Now the oldest is in a coma with no chance of being the same person he was before. I can’t handle it because I don’t know what to do.

He’s a good guy. Really good. Great. He adopted his dead brother’s kid after his brother died, raised him as long as he could until his wife said no more. He always had good things to say, good heart. Good person. Best of the bunch, really.

So this is my uncle’s second dead son. Out of six. And I can’t imagine what’ll happen to him now. I can’t even fathom what kind of a tailspin this will turn into.

Work gave me today off. I’ve been a zombie, mostly, I’ve been a wandering nomad in my apartment. I want to cry, I’ve cried. I cried when my manager called me, out of the blue, yesterday, and told me to go home and have today off. I didn’t talk to anyone but a coworker about it. He must have asked.

It was a godsend. I cried when I helped a customer. She offered me beer. Told me to go see him. Who? My cousin. He’s in Canada.

I talked to Brian about it. He said he worries we’d just be in the way if we go and see them. The family. Our cousins, uncle. I think it’s partially because of the discomfort. It sucks. Heartwrenching. I don’t think he wants to cry. I don’t. Not right now. Not with divorce papers coming in the mail, with a bank account that’s lacking and the bill collectors knocking on my phone.

I’m in little pieces, with very few healthy ways to let this pain out. Clean, maybe. Fight through the emotions. Go back to work tomorrow.

I don’t. Know. What. To do.

Not that I’m asking for help. This is a self journey.

Bethany offered pot to help me get my mind off it. I refused, and only because I don’t want to start now don’t want to be around her right now, don’t want that brand of release. Whatever it is. I’ve never done it, and although I probably would have, with her, I never will now. She’s in a similar boat. She has no money. She’s stuck. She can’t do anything. She’s trapped and more alone than I am. I have family. She has nothing but a fairweather friend. And me, for all that’s worth.

So maybe I’ll write. Maybe I’ll kill guys on the TV. I watched an Indian film that really made me feel better. Until the end. When I realized it was a romantic comedy and not just a comedy. Yes. I want that. I’m a good guy. I want that. Not need, really. Not need. But I want that. Whatever.

i shouldn’t dwell on this. Whatever this is. I don’t know.

To my fallen family, I pray for you. For my falling family, I pray for you. For me, I pray too.