I sit here in the propane shed and it's been nearly a year and a half since he died. I, for one, have the worst case of survivor's guilt in the world.
No matter what is actually true, I should be the one who is dead. I, he who drinks too much, who eats McDonalds' every day, who wants no kids and no family, who is little more than a drunken writer following in the footsteps of all those idiots who came before. I am useless to society, I have no expectations, and I am cursed to unhappiness.
He, on the other hand, actually wanted a normal life. He wanted a beautiful wife, and children that he could hand down the beliefs handed down to him from his own parents. He wanted a nice house that he could raise them in, and he already had names picked out for them. There were to be no girls, of course, because there just wouldn't be. All boys. God forbid he had daughters, he came up with new and interesting ways to torture would- be boyfriends...it was one of those things where you knew that even though he wouldn't admit it, he sat home sometimes and thought up ways he could terrify teenage boys. Sick fucker....
He wanted to be a cop. Even if he didn't do that, he would have been a decent, law abiding, constructive, useful member of society. Anything that this country asked of him, he would have done. A draft for a war? He'd have volunteered. He was the soldier type anyway, and he'd have always done what was needed of him.
He was not like me.
"Let it Be" just came on the radio, as it always tends to when my soul is in turmoil. I never like when peple say this song is about weed, because it loses so much meaning when they do. This is the only song that makes me think there might be a God.
Either way, I want to let it be, I want to let it go. It should, by now, be dead. But it isn't. It haunts me everyday, it follows me like a dog that smells another dog's scent on your shoe, and you can't shake the fucking thing off. It will probably do this until I am in the ground also.
He'd be infuriated if he knew how badly I've gone off the handle because of his death. He'd smack me and say, "You're still alive you fucking idiot. Live your own life, do what I never could! Have kids, have fun, enjoy it! If you don't, than your an asshole who deserves what he gets."
But then again, I'm drunk right now off of rum and beer. It's your fault I'm drunk, dick, and I'll be there to join you eventually, be it heaven or hell. We will drink and be merry....for tomorrow we are dead.