The Dark Darkness

Any of you who have been reading this blog for awhile knows that I am a fan of melancholy.  It is a sweet, hollow, emotional something-ness that can keep you company, that can let you feel about things when you are alone.

Lauren Stover has written a beautiful ode to melancholy that you can read here.  She speaks of its ephemeral grace in opposition to the brand of happiness that infuses our culture.

I've never learned anything from happiness.

Oh how I long right now for melancholy.

But what I have is a terrifying fear, part paranoia, part depression.  It grips me in the night so that I cannot breathe.  It is the sort that will destroy my health if it is allowed to continue.  But I am overwhelmed by the things I must take care of, the money it will cost, the consequences of not doing so. . . .

I have become old, a broke and broken man questioning a lifetime.  It is horribly fruitless, of course, and counterproductive.  It is a new experience for me.  I think I am experiencing a form of madness that will leave me a gibbering, jabbering glob of sputum and mucus.

Everything I touch is turning to shit.

So there is that.  I am awaiting the return of melancholy with open arms.  I wonder if Ms. Stover is married?

I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond yesterday to replace my Cuisinart coffeemaker.  Even there, it was $129.  Sitting next to it was a Mr. Coffee--$29.  In my old age and paranoia, I couldn't make myself replace the Cuisinart.  I bought the Mr. Coffee instead.  I will quit buying coffee beans I told myself.  I will get the coffee ground at the store.  Fuck it.  Don't be an effete son of a bitch.

This morning's coffee sucks.  It is emblematic of everything in my life just now.  I am lost and cannot stand the dark.  I am unable to sleep through the long nights.  I will have to stay awake and read and read and read.  There is so much to be done.  There is too much.