Spell

I have a very nice tattoo called "Longing". At one point, I wore it all the time, as a reminder of Life's never ending cycle of wanting closeness, truth, affection, friendship, empathy.

I haven't worn it in a long time. Didn't need the reminder, I guess. But tonight, blackness falls upon me as I walk the streets of Blackburne, where only Jane silently warms her hands on the fire bin, and Meyers sits on his beach contemplating the sea. It's on me, burning my flesh, contrasting with the coldness of the air.

("Having a pre-teen moment again, Gark? What the heck are you longing for this time?" asks my typist who is wearing her Don't-you-start-that-on-me-cutie! face glued on.)

I have been pretty much away from Blackburne these days and wondering if I should be moving on. Not that being away as anything to do with my life here, but somehow I feel lost tonight as I walk around, wondering if somehow my presence here is making life a bit less serene for many of the people I love a lot and cherish who come here to love and be loved, laugh, dance, talk, drink, cheer and be merry.

In fact, I feel like the front page of the Wall Street Journal: Mucho Bad News All The Time.

Not that I rank in the top 5 of the most popular people on this moon, and I don't particular try to achieve stardom status, so some people couldn't probably care less if I go to the Wastes and eat all that salty stew until I blow up and die of radioactive poisonning, and dissolve in the bottom of a gulch somewhere.

("Aww, poor baby...". My nice typist hands me a kleenex, takes it back, blows her nose, gives it back to me and says with a smile: "Now, you have something to whine about, hun.")

But still. I feel like I'm a never-ending visit to the dentist. And it starting to dawn on me that maybe I have some sort of sickness, or bad karma coming back.

Maybe my strength is losing me.

Maybe I am doomed. Maybe some spirit cast a spell, a real bad one.

*sigh*.

My typist agrees: *sigh*.