Hoping the lightning comes next


Bruce Springsteen’s voice comes over the juke box like a message from God:

“So you’re scared and you’re lonely and you think you ain’t that young any more…”

This is soooo true for me.

My insides hurt.

My girlfriend, Susie, tells me: “You got to get practical. Life is a game of musical chairs. You’ve got to find a place or else.”

Deep down, I know she’s right, but I also know it’s not me.

Yes, I’m scared I’m going to die a lonely old man, one of those odd uncles families invite to dinner on Thanksgiving.

Susie tells me I ought to go back to school, get a good job and settle down into some corporate existence.

But I’m not like Susie.

She’s a brick layer. She builds her life one boring brick at a time.

I wait for lightning to strike, some act of God to make me over into someone the world will remember – if not Jimi Hendrix, then Tiny Tim.

I can’t accept the fact that is hasn’t happened already.

And I sit, waiting to hear the thunder, hoping lightning will come next.



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