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.