When Does It Begin?

When does it begin?  It is gradual, I am sure.  I try to think back to when things began to change, and I can't find "the spot."  I remember all the years when I woke up happy for the new day.  It would be an adventure.  Somewhere after college, I began to worry a little bit, I think.  I remember coming back to a town that was not "me" friendly.  I got a job and lived for free in my mother's house.  My girlfriend was still in college and some of my friends had decided not to move after graduation and got jobs in town. At night, feeling the harshness of my life, a life now lived among Yahoos, I found some unhappiness and discontent.  Perhaps it was the first job that did it.  Perhaps it was the environment.

Still, there were many happy times.  I was still fascinated simply by going out and watching things.  And of course, there was always music.  There was always something to articulate my mood for me, happy or sad.

Maybe it was the money.  Rather, the lack of it.  I was part of the working poor, but luckily I came from hillbilly stock and had grown up with the idea of "making do."

My girlfriend decided to go to grad school after graduation.  She would not be coming home.  I would see her on the odd weekend.

Still, there were many happy times.

I got involved with a new girl.  She was like nothing I had ever deserved before and life was exciting.  But really, I found, you can't have two girls at once, and things turned tragic.

Still, I was happy sometimes.

My father died.  It was terrible.

I bought a sailboat.  And that is where I spent much of my time on weekends, mostly alone, sailing to some remote anchorage where I could cook and drink and read and sleep.

Then I was in my thirties, and I worried sometimes.  I could feel life's rush then, and I began to wonder what I was really going to do.

So I bought a house.  My girlfriend left me for a boy with a trust fund.  I had trouble making the payments on the house alone.  I began to worry a lot.

Still, sometimes. . . .

 I met a new girl who was very, very wealthy.  And I got new friends.  After some years, she was gone and there was another.  We got married.

I was forty.  At night, I could feel time rushing away. . . .

Then I couldn't sleep any more.  Suddenly, I realized that I had become something, that this is what I was.  And I wondered how it had happened.  Still, I thought, there was this.  And I thought I could be content.

Then that too was gone.

I began to remember waking in the morning after the sun came up, lying in bed, feeling very wonderful.  I would get up without thinking.

I just can't put my finger on it.  When does it begin?  When does it happen that we can't sleep and don't want to get up?  Now, lying in the dark, back and hips and knees and neck aching, my eyes pop open and I reluctantly turn over to look at the clock that I can no longer easily read.  I squint with foreboding and make out the fuzzy numbers.  Shit.  I try to stay in bed a bit longer, but my mind is already buzzing.  What do I HAVE to do today?  What have I left undone?

And just before I get up, I wonder what I will write that day.  And sometimes, like this morning, I just can't think of anything at all.