well, i guess that this is now the end
paper signed, forget the pen
wonder if we’ll ever meet again
— the prophet aimee man
during times like these, i think a lot about catch-22, joseph heller’s brilliant novel. if you’re not familiar, it’s the story of blah blah blah john yossarian blah blah world war ii blah blah wants to get out by saying he’s crazy blah blah paradox blah blah have to be crazy to fly bombing missions blah blah if you don’t want to fly bombing mission you’re not crazy blah blah. which is where the phrase “catch-22” came from. you’re welcome.
this is where i find myself lately. as i daily watch people lined up against the wall to be summarily executed at work, i desperately need to run as a means of escape. but i find myself unable to run when i’m this depressed. running is my happy place. but when i’m happy, i don’t need to run to be happy. i only NEED to run when i’m unhappy. and then i can’t. so i wait till i’m happy. catch-22.
yesterday was another day of tearful goodbyes to friends, a ritual that will continue till early november when i join them. today, i need nothing more than to go out in the heat and suffer for a few miles, to forget, to do the thing i do to survive. to remember that life is worth living. to celebrate. but i can’t. i just can’t.
tomorrow will be better. i’ll have the day off. the numbness of walking over the corpses will have faded. i will run with a smile. because i won’t need to.
why does running do that to me? it’s making me crazy. which means i can’t fly bombing missions. damn. another alternate career ended before it begins.
i love to run. sometimes i just don’t know how.