A Saturday With Sam

Once again I am working the weekend alone, left only with the nagging thoughts of moving on and the silence of a large commercial space. Not exactly sure what it is in me that creates the desire to continually demolish my surroundings and rebuild them as if I were a seasonal bird. One tired of searching and reaching for a purposeful fulfillment in life that may never arrive. Plainly, I am neither lazy nor unmotivated, in fact, I believe myself to be quite passionate about things. Unfortunately, these passions never really translate into an actual occupation in which I find enjoyment.

Am I bored because I have woken up alone for so long, do I loathe technology? It certainly does not interest me outside the realm of personal use or gadgetry. Do I put too much stock in women or the never-ending pursuit for ideal love? Am I frustrated because I have found love and it is (or has been) unwanted? No clue; so I am back here again with questions. Namely, why does one perpetuate a stagnating passionless life without making the necessary changes, which may result in potential abounding happiness?

Routine, security, fear, obligations, boredom? All legitimate reasons for some, not I.

I want more, there has to be more! Or at least a residual muddy puddle from which I can drink more than you. Being content is a valueless option, one for everybody else, not the restless and venerable Samuel Welch. Of course, this is my inner-dialogue and I am sure you are thinking to yourself “Well, I am happy, this guy is just a miserable shit bag. Who is he to tell me I am not content?” You are mistaken; I am not unhappy or miserable, just curious, curious to find the thin edge of the crust.

“Take me teetering on the balls of my feet to where your beginning ends and my resolution is born, for it is there you shall find me grinning.” I say with false bravado.

So I leap and you stare at my footprints. I no longer want to help you and take your requests, the back of my jacket flailing against the hard cool wind as I fall forward. “Give me the beauty and marrow of life and keep the monotony for yourself!” I exclaim as my cheeks stretch to form the meridian between my ears. I question if you have leapt after me, but I cannot move my head to check, the parallel horizon expansive in my view. I like to think you have and can close our gap with the tilt of your body. Perhaps you even shouted, “Fare thee well, great heart!” before I left and it did not sound cheap coming from your lips. These thoughts fill my gut and lead me to believe that you and I are equals; my question does not apply to you.

The phone is ringing, but I am alone and flying. Nobody is around to see me quickly lift the receiver and place it back down; Sam is currently indisposed. I do not want your message; can’t you see my arms are spread? I squint hard in attempts to stay in my free fall but the moment has passed and I come tumbling back to work. I look up with a feeling that somebody is watching me, but nobody is there. The office has grown dark and the light from my monitor reflects off the large glass panel windows surrounding me. I refocus and stare blankly at my reflection, muttering inaudibly “God, this sucks.”