Typically when a person is 100 feet away from eating a bullet, the overwhelming emotion is fear. I feel nothing. POW!! SCREEECH!! The car pulls off in a hurry. I don’t see the body, but one was hit.
Casually I continue past what later would be the crime scene and think nothing of the fact that I was seconds away from it. Where was I headed? To the gas station to play the Powerball. Over 300 million is up for grabs. Mega millions too!
I hit the end of the complex entryway and almost get run over by half a dozen squad cars hurrying to the scene behind me. Fastest response time to a gun-shot I’ve ever seen in my friggin’ life. In an urban area at that! Something like 5 minutes! That’s when I thought; “damn, maybe someone actually did get shot.”
I play my lucky numbers and mosey on back to my complex. Ambulance has its horns blaring and lights flashing while it exits. Must be the victim in the back. For a fleeting moment I pondered if I’d be happy or sad if that was me in the back of that ride. Part of me would have been angry because I didn’t have a DNR bracelet yet. Been quietly scoping those out for a long time now. Not suicidal or anything, but if I was in critical status, I’d be like “fuck it, pull the damn plug already.”
I suppose the older I get, the more I think about the after-life. I philosophically used to over-think about this subject in my teenage years. What’s next? Where do our souls go? Are we reincarnated? New dimension? What?
I haven’t been on this planet for half a century yet, but am I already over it? Am I wrong to even have this sort of complex of being ready to hit the next existence? Should I be more determined to change this thought process? Maybe. Maybe not. Be a hard one to flip anyway after it’s been a constant internal conversational piece since my pre-teen years. Besides, I’ve probably minimized the amount of folks that’d miss the wolfe if he was gone. Whether consciously or subconsciously. Probably the result of a long list of anti-people quotes engraved in my head from the parental units as I was growing up. I’m not a parent, but I wonder if parents have any idea how much their children latch onto while their in their first decade of life. Every word, every action…
My common setting is to run. But run where? When I was about eleven, I stood at the end of my father’s driveway and had a deep conversation with myself on where I would go when I ran away. Yes WHEN. I had a bag of food and my trusty Walkman ready to go. But after about an hour of standing there running scenarios like an expert mastermind, I decided I didn’t know enough about the streets to survive, nor did I like the alternatives of showing up on a few peoples’ door step not knowing if I’d be welcome. So I conceded defeat for the time and sulked back inside.
My mother’s house? That was even worse. How do you tell your child you will murder them just because they blocked your attempt to slap his face off? (and that’s just one scenario) I’ll save her chapter for some other memory dump session. Let’s just say this kid didn’t get enough hugs growing up… Maybe she had something to do with why I’m always in fight or flight mode. Neutral doesn’t come easy for me. A shrink would say childhood trauma is a bitch and it has bitten me. So I run.
Am I running from something or towards a goal? What would that goal be? Am I looking for a wolf pack to fit in with? Don’t know. Been trying to figure that one out for too long as well. So many questions and no true answers. Only temporary distractions from my thoughts. I think too much. I’m happiest when I’m not thinking, which doesn’t happen enough!
My birthday is in 3 days. Maybe I’ll win the jackpot and just bounce to Australia. After all it has been a lucky day for me. All I can do is keep moving. Because that’s what I do. It’s in my blood. I run…