Fear and loathing…

Maybe it’s because I have a heavy heart, being apart from my wife for so long. Or else it could be the stress involved in this life transition: Moving, searching for work, financial insecurity, etc. But that’s not what I fear. I fear that I’m just past my peak, washed-up, burned-out. Getting older has a lot to do with the growing sense of dis-ease. I’m noticing changes on a daily basis, it seems. Hair thinning, gut growing, moles popping up everywhere. Is that a hair growing out of my ear? For the love of Christ.

Last night I watched “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” For the record, I thought it was terrible. “Pointless” is the word that jumps to mind. I put it in my Netflix queue because the new Hunter S. Thompson documentary is not available yet, and despite not really being a huge Thompson fan, I find myself drawn to his story. I enjoyed the book “Fear and Loathing,” and I like the whole “Gonzo” vibe in general. The guy had fire and could write, and I say I’m not a huge fan simply because I haven’t yet read much of his work. The movie, however, just seemed to be, well, pointless. It was like: “This is how a psychedelic trip can be portrayed on film.” And not much else. But I continue to be drawn to Thompson’s life story: the gonzo, all-out approach to experience and art, and the seemingly inevitable downfall, in his case ending with a self-inflicted gunshot blast to the head.

Disillusionment. This word has weight for me right now. I’m at a point in my life where I can look back and see how certain life experiments are panning out. And the data is not always inspiring. Did I think I could somehow avoid the inevitable slings and arrows? What DID I expect anyway?

I’m certainly not ready to give up the ghost just yet. I’m just sinking down a bit into the mire, and I don’t like it. All this struggling, this grasping for a way out. Out of what? Where do I think I’m going?