Confession:

I’ve always had this romanticized notion of running away. I love the thought of leaving everything behind; of being completely free and spontaneous. Of going where no one can follow or even find you unless you wanted them to. But eventually reality intrudes. Bringing with it the nagging reminder of Adulthood and Responsibilities.

Now I run away in a different sense, Emotional detachment instead of physical. It’s how I deal with disappointment and pain. I don’t avoid my problems, I am too grown up for that. Instead I avoid the reminders. Anything and everything that reminds me of the hurt, I cast it all aside and I keep doing this until there is nothing left.

Only when I feel hollow inside do I try to look back on why I wanted to run in the first place. If I can do this and still feel nothing, then I know its time to go home.

Mary and Max

MARY AND MAX tells the story of two friends: Mary Dinkle, a chubby, lonely 8-year-old living in the suburbs of Australia; and Max Horovitz, a severely obese Jewish man with Asperger’s Syndrome living in the chaos of New York City.

Delightful!

I can hear her knocking.
I wake, unlock the door then climb back into bed.
She crawls in behind me as the sun rises.
We sleep until noon.

The Road Ahead

Most days I stumble through the avenues and byways of this world in a stupor of resignation. When people speak to me I hear only static. I can see in their eyes that there is something they need to tell me, but I hear nothing. My ears refuse to listen to the inane babble of the masses. Panic and despair come in waves, crashing upon me with the force of a thousand tidal waves. They leave me gasping for air, and exhausted to the point of collapse. Random absurd memories strike from nowhere….old drunken adventures. Ridiculousness to its fullest. Broken mailboxes, stolen road cones, a truck filled with the smell of our youthful zeal, weed, and spearmint gum. Anonymous warm mouths, tightly clenched lips, and dark rooms. Cheap cigars, windows rolled down. Laughter filling the desert night air. Music plays, we speed. Throwing any care away. HIGH HOPES for a beautiful future fills the dark sky as we embrace the vanity of American Youth.

Now, it’s 8 yrs later, and all is dead. The desert roads of my youth have been replaced with superhighways, oozing with urban filth. All those dreams we drunkenly screamed into the night sky have finally transcended the atmosphere into a cold dark and uncaring universe. Everyday I search in vain for the slightest twinge of these old hopes buried deep within me. The road ahead is full of drunken uncertainty, of fears and panics and awkward disappointments. The fire has been put out. I can only now hope to survive until the bittersweet release of senility finally comes for me. I put no faith in my ability to adapt. I simply endure.

by Adam Schirling