Umm... yeah... where to start.

Somebody I haven't seen or spoken to in over fifteen years tracked me down and gave me a call. After pleasantries were exchanged, we started chit-chatting about the good-old-days. About ten minutes into the conversation a bomb was dropped that left me (literally) speechless. It turns out a mutual acquaintance of ours ran into some trouble which eventually snowballed way out of control. The tale had everything... passion... drugs... sex... crime... money... revenge. It was like a prime time soap opera... but with real people I actually know.

After several rounds of me saying "You're kidding, right?" and "No shit? Are you serious?!?" the conversation eventually wound down and we said our goodbyes.

Now, I've been around. I've seen and done a lot of cool stuff all over the globe. But my adventures positively pale in comparison to this guy. He not only lives life to the fullest, he kicks it in the testicles while doing so. Compared to him, I might as well be locked in a monastery somewhere.

I don't know why, but this bothers me.

It's not like I'm dying to trade places with him or anything... it's just that, for the first time in a long while, I'm feeling regret about some of the choices I've made. I'm looking back and thinking "my life would have been more interesting if I had only done things differently."

I suppose it's never too late to change course, but I'm just not wanting to do that at this point in my life.

Okay, maybe I do know why this bothers me.

"I never meant to hurt you" she said as she turned and walked to the door. "I never meant to hurt anybody."

And she was gone.

A part of me wanted to believe her, but rational thought eventually triumphed. In truth, she probably didn't set out to hurt me. She just didn't care. That's all that really mattered, but my mind surged onward in hopes of finding deeper meaning where none existed. My hand instinctively wandered up to my chest in a sad attempt to feel if my heart were broken. Again. Breathing deeply now, all I feel is the scar tissue of past traumas. A little battered... a bit bruised perhaps... but life beats on.

Time passes yet I sit unmoving. Let the world run forward into its uncertain future, I will have none of it.

Here in the past I am safe.

This pain will heal. Eventually. Why should I seek out a new heartache to replace it?

Shouldn't I be more careful?

Shouldn't this be enough?

I wonder if that girl from the mini-mart is seeing anybody?

Dave's Crappy Life Journal — 1993