. . a n a d a 1 9 4 1 0 - 2 1 - 0 0 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "One in the L Column" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . by Infernal . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The day I realized I had failed, it was like something swollen and pregnant inside me had burst, a blister on my insides filled with warm, slick solution, rupturing painlessly and paralyzing my limbs and organs. It was a purely physical sensation, what I imagine it must feel like when a woman's water breaks. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, at the man no longer young, at the eyes sunken and gray, at the stubble and pallor that passed for my bravest face. And I knew it was over, and I had lost. The last few years had been an upstream struggle, a noble and perhaps even valiant attempt on my part to postpone this moment. I did not even realize until now that I was battling, and hard, to fight the inevitable. I had to stop, to give up, to achieve the clarity it took to see that I was, truly, a failure. The successes I had were pipe dreams or lies, and the path ahead of me had but two forks -- one, more lies and self-deceit, and the other, a quick and painless drop into hopelessness. It didn't take me long to decide which to choose. The utter lack of hope has been a liberating experience. I no longer have to strive to improve my situation -- I expend only the efforts I need to assure the continued level of comfort I have now. Moving forward is not an option, so extra effort is pointless. I can, with very little work generated or thought allowed, provide for food, and alcohol, and rent, and basic necessities. I need little, and expect less. Each night of drunkenness in front of the TV is a blessing, each morning under a roof a humbling revelation. I've reached my zenith. I've hit my goal. It'd be hard not to stay here. So every day is the best day of my life, and the pinnacle of my lifetime's achievements. How could I not be happy? A lot of people and things had to be jettisoned to create this happiness. Family and friends are the most annoying sources of pressure to improve, to rise up, to make something of oneself--they were the first to go. Anyone creative or intelligent I knew had to go next, because of their incessant blathering about "potential." Don't I know what's best for me? Don't I have the best vantage point to see my impossibilities and work around them? Work under them? Eventually, I was able to shed everyone, like a snake peels away its dead skin, only in reverse. I molted out of my living vibrancy into a husk, a shell, a crackling cocoon to hide in, to set up camp in and never come out. The world will always need TV viewers, and dishwashers, and drinkers of cheap beer. Who are you to say this isn't my destiny? How can you tell me this is not exactly where I am supposed to be? I haven't had to expend this little effort in my entire life, and as far as I am concerned, it can stay this way forever. It doesn't hurt to live this way, not like it used to before. The last weight off my shoulders was my heart, and once that was gone, everything was easier--that thing was nothing but trouble. It made me do silly, impulsive things, standing under girls' bedroom windows like some idiot in a made-up play, writing words and making a racket to express the dumb ideas it made me think. Once it was gone I didn't need music, or love, or sunshine, or conversation, or intimacy. Everything I needed could be bought at the corner store, before one a.m. and after 5:30. Less need equals less worry, and right now I want for nothing. If I'd known it was this easy to live this way, I'd have lobotomized myself years ago. Goodbye. . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . anada 194 by Infernal (c)2000 anada e'zine . . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .