Promises, promises

Without a compass, I wander. This new town. A trial of a new life. Stress and depression have pinned me for some time now. Everything of value is forced. Lethargy and self loathing come easily. Things once held with confidence as absolute and true are now reduced in worth and certainty. We had a tall oaken cabinet that stood on legs and had doors of glass. It cleared the ceiling by two inches, and had been moved laboriously from house to house over the years. Our movers had put it in place for us, and it stood so for a couple of nights. Just before we were going to anchor it to the wall, something made it fall. Shouldn’t have set it on carpet. Tearful destruction, unredeemable. It’s the second night now that I’ve been home alone. My wife still finishing out her job commitment in the old town. Got to keep busy, yes keep busy. I drive, checking off a list of errands. Go to the dump, pick up a new snow shovel, buy some cheap shelf to replace the shameful loss of the other. I sit at a light in jammed traffic, a foreshadow of wasted time. On the green GO, a farting pickup truck, blasting rap, turns left in front of all of us, flipping the figurative bird. It’s a beard, chuffing a fat cigar, nose ring dangling. They say don’t judge. I do, and I’m not sorry. Not. The foreignness of everything wants to eat me. In an alternate life, another age, I might be excited, feeling the promise of a new explore. But please, just please. Just give me time. Then, something visits me. I have felt this before. A balloon of hope, unreasoning. A sudden perception that a revelation is to come. A golden gift that I will save, unopened. After all, Christmas is coming.