Monday Morning Rituals

A truck loaded with despair

Every Monday morning for two hours I experience life in its rawest and most awakening terms.  Let me explain.

I deliver things and stuff to medical centers of varying sorts for a living and every monday I load up my truck and drive two hours with the rising sun at my back to an overly Christian “city” in the southern tier of western NY.  Somewhere around thirty minutes in I start to have the oddest most terrifyingly surreal experience.  It starts with this feeling deep within me that I’m somehow driving downward as if I’m forcing my way through the very layers of reality which weave themselves so neatly into life’s beautiful tapestry.  Further and further I go as I start to feel more and more as if I’m the only real thing out there, as if I’ve broken through to some reality in which everything is constructed of life-like automatons whose sole purpose is to mimic our way of life.  With everything devoid of humanity’s grasp I start to feel very alone and very cold.  A desperate despair creeps over me, swirling around me, enveloping me, and devouring me to my very core.  I recklessly mull over the worst possible thoughts I can manage continuously as I push further and further down towards an unseeable void of utter chaos and ruin.  Then I reach my first stop and sitting there peering out at the new days dawn slowly creeping upward towards the heavens I breath a sigh of relief.  I beat back the darkness once again and a new week full of new hopes and renewed vigor can once again commence.

Some may think that this is a terribly unhealthy preoccupation that I really shouldn’t be engaging in (especially with a loaded truck on the highway).  But these people simply don’t have a clear grasp on what it is to really live.  Anybody can live while they are happy or content or numb or ignorant.  But to push oneself to their lowest most dreadful place and to keep pushing forward through that blighted muck towards new horizons…well that’s really what it is to live.

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