Once it’s opened, stand back. All manner of anxieties and misgivings come crawling out. Trust me on this, there’s nothing fun about revisiting past mistakes or coming to terms with lost opportunities. Feels very similar to mourning, if you ask me. Steer clear, I mean it. No good can come from that.
Want to know how I wound up in this no man’s land of regret and bereavement? Willie Nelson, that’s how. Seriously. Him and his stoopid My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys. You’ve heard it, I’m sure, but did you pay attention to the lyrics? I hadn’t until the other day and I should kick myself. Hard.
Don’t listen to him. He’s bad for your mental health. One dumb song was enough to trigger a crisis of confidence. I wanted a toe tapper, something to hum along with, not a dirge. Who expects to confront mortality on iTunes? Maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion. I do that sometimes, okay, always. Well, look, judge for yourself …
You could die from the cold in the arms of a nightmare,
Knowin’ well that your best days are gone.
Picking up hookers instead of my pen,
I let the words of my years fade away.
See? My ‘best days are gone’, ‘the words of my years fade away’? Jesus, why not just stab me in a ventrical? That would be less painful. Add the plaintive, forlorn voice and you’ve got yourself a whopper of a buzzkill. What kind of sicko does that? I’m knee-deep in crushed hope and shattered dreams.
So, if you’ll excuse me, someone has to clean up this mess. Good job, Willie, you thoughtless bastard. Now, stuff a sock in it.