Sometimes, not often, I think I should take a long, hard look at myself, or at least a passing glance, not so much to identify any of the basic failings which have recently led to losing my family and living alone at an anxious, brittle age, but more to look ahead, and set about doing something to change my ways, sort myself out, become a better person. It's a half-hearted resolution and I duly made a half-hearted attempt to see a counsellor.
A nice woman sent me a letter saying she liked something I wrote; she mentioned she was a therapist, and I replied saying thank you and by the way PLEASE HELP. She recommended a few people. I went online and studied their empathetic faces. The prospect of looking across at them in a quiet office gave me the creeps and anyway I don't want to identify any of my basic failings. The past is another disaster. I want to move on. Move somewhere. Just move.
I've wondered for six or seven seconds about leaving town. I've wondered for two
or three seconds about attending church. All acts of madness have their
virtues and I appreciated that the two ideas shared the same impulse: escape. But they were never going to happen. I'm too old for God or Invercargill.
Life muddles on. It's nice to cling to the things you're familiar with, stick to the same routines, take the road most travelled. I walked to the supermarket on Sunday night and had every intention of following the same exact path I always take but on a whim I cut through a walkway and came out on to the main road where I immediately caught sight of something that got my full attention and made me wholeheartedly think it might be the vehicle to change my ways, sort myself out, become a better person.
The vehicle was a vehicle. Two cars, in fact, parked on the street, one in front of the other, both for sale. One was long and one was short. One was tan and one was white. I thought: those white ones go fast. I know nothing about cars on account of not being able to drive. I walk the road most travelled. I go nowhere, slowly; everyone else has somewhere to go, places to be, and arrives there quickly. In a world of speed and achievement, I dither on the footpath, an island of incompetence. Not being able to drive has done wonders for my feelings of self-worth. I feel kind of worthless.
