A time for the tired to seek what they must. Or something.

I don’t know about you.

Right now, out there, you could be anyone at all. You could be someone who’s looking at this over the bridge of an upturned nose, passing it off as nothing more than the rambling…rambles of a fellow with far too much time shoved into his sweaty palms. You could be a young child of a Hungarian diplomat, who somehow stumbled across this page through a series of circumstances involving someone who currently resides in San Francisco. You could be my one fan, actual and whole. You could be tall, short, oblong, delicate, stupid, delectable, wonderful. You could be a real prick. You could be my best damn friend in the world.

It doesn’t matter, not really. Not right in the here, right in the now. Because I’m in that spot again, that space, where all I can see is this light that’s probably shining too brightly for my baby browns to handle. I can’t see anything else. All I have, right now, is the gentle clicking sounds of my fingers, which I’m trying to keep moving, moving, fast enough so that I don’t have time to stop and think. So that I can keep ahead of myself, losing myself here to ensure that I don’t go and get myself lost. Lost, good and proper.

I’m trying my best. I’m trying as hard as I can, because out there, in that space that I can’t see, past the walls and the wind and the bridges burning in a blaze of triumphant smugness, for someone, somewhere; something is happening. Things are happening. Again and again, as they are always going to do, whether you want them to or not. It’s happening. Again.

“I don’t know about you.”

Yet I only wish that I could know more. About the ones worth knowing, the ones who I already am lucky enough to know. About the friends who right now, are strewn about the world. I wish I could know. And for whatever reason, I wish that I could Help!

I need somebody. Not just anybody.
(See, I made a pop-culture reference. Isn’t this fun?)
It’s all I can think about. More than the sound of the helicopter that’s droning out the sounds I spoke of earlier, of my clickety-clacking and stomach churning. It’s got a light out, searching for something, for someone. Just another search. Just another concept stuck in my head, possibly because of the mini-marathon of House and Veronica Mars I’ve held for myself. I’m just searching, wishing, thinking on. Over and over it, just wanting to help. Way of the world.

Right?

I wish I could help the friend who’s tired of where he finds himself, stuck in a path towards a life that he doesn’t want, with people that he doesn’t exactly care for; but the rut is all that he knows, and for the life of him, he’s not sure how he can manage to dig himself out of it.
I wish I could help the friend who’s tired of having more actual talent then the people who have more poisonous social moxie, who then manage to move above when he finds himself unwillingly staying below.
I wish I could help the friend who’s tired of being lost, who only wants to be found. By One. Specific. Person. Because it’s always hard, finding that one who manages to make your skin tingle in all the ways that make sense, and still find the time to like you right back.

I wish there was something to do, to help these fine people kick off their gargantuan metaphorical clogs and rest their weary feet. If you, out there, if you knew them…you might wish the same. They’re good people, fair and decent. But you don’t know. And I?
And I wish I could help me.
Because I’m tired of feeling useless.

But bollocks to that. This isn’t about me. This is in regards to knowing, on the issue of helping. Trying to figure out what’s right, from whatever options are presented, and a few more that happened to be absent. That one right thing, that is indeed out there, somewhere.

I just wonder. I make connections, I get information from late night conversations, and then just pick up on things that I naturally pick up, unless they happen to be staring me right in the face, always leaving me wondering about how many have passed me by. And yes, I tend to be useless, and repetitive, and a host of other things that I could dwell on if I were as whiny as I was as a young(er) boy.

Yet we’re past that. We’ve moved on, the images of collective misfortune freezing and moving by, just another in that endless series of memorable snapshots, pushing the others aside, managing to bundle themselves up until they’ve made a day. Collected remembrance, still looked upon. But done. It’s done. It’s been done. Which brings to the new time, the new place, that new moment of stasis where the flash has flashed and that snapshot is ready to document the day. In that instant of blindness, we have a chance to see what’s around us. The options, the opportunities. The things that are around, that have been making us oh, so, tired. And somewhere out there, there’s something that we can do.

There always is. Just a little off to the side, sitting there waiting to be noticed. An opportunity for advancement, in whatever endeavor is attempted, a right moment amidst all of the wrong ones.

There always is.
A choice that offers a chance, one that serves as a christening, smashing itself into a sepulchre of jagged edges, giving itself up so that you can do what needs to be done. It hurts, sometimes. It’s difficult, sometimes. It’s violent, sometimes. It’s glorious, sometimes.

I don’t know about you.

But I’ve known enough to know that you, whoever you are, whatever you’re tired of, whatever you may be doing, whatever it is that you hope you might be doing…I know that down the road, down the time, something will happen to you. Something important. You’ll have a chance either to do something, or to not do something. Either/Or.

Just like my friends, the ones whom I love so much. Just like their opportunities, just like their decisions, just like their discomforts. They’ve been tired, and they’ve tried to do what they need to do. Standing there, eyes closed, face forward, whistling against the wail of the wind.

There’s nothing to be done. Not anymore. It’s already happening, even if I don’t quite know what those happenings happen to be. The happenings happen, as they are always designed to happen, even when the design isn’t designated; thinking too clearly to be clear at all, wishing too hard to ever be felt, moving with uncertainty through certain convictions, and easily, clearly, certainly getting lost along the way. Is how it is, and perhaps, just as it should be.

___ of the _____. Right?

Events beginning to unfold, choices already being made. Mileage ticking up, plane tickets being bought, contracts being signed. People making their days.

I don’t know about you; but I’m hoping for the best.
Because if there’s nothing to be done, that’s the only thing to do.