Issue 196- "One Last Go 'Round, Part 4"

Written, pencilled, inked, lettered and colored by: Heath P. Lail

As I sit here tonight, in my dark room, recovering from God-knows-what knocked me on my ass earlier today, I'm feeling nostalgic. Not the "let me find that Spider-Man comic with the interesting moral dilemma" nostalgia, but more of a "I really feel damn old at 26" nostalgia. I feel like some friendships that have only lasted 8-9 years are deeper than those with people I've known since Kindergarten...and I miss those people. Oddly enough, most of them have come and gone.

Brooke, my confidant (and forever unattainable someone special) has been busy with her own life the past few months. She tries so hard to juggle so much that I really worry that she will fall one day. And she will allow no one close enough to help her up after the fall, so like everyone else, I won't know she's hurt until after she has dusted herself off and walked with a limp for three months. Those days with her at Ole Miss were so much simpler, it seemed--life didn't seem to be so encroaching then. We were not innocent, by any means--but simply more...free. I had the ability to be the master of my own destiny, 5 days a week. I could choose to go to class, or simply goof off in the Library all day long, reading whatever odds and ends I could find lying around. If I caught her at her apartment, I could go talk to her for the fleeting few minutes she always made for me, even tho she always seemed to be heading somewhere, while I never had anywhere to be. Don't get me wrong--I enjoy my job, as well as the new friends I've made there. But I feel intellectually dead there. It provides no outlet for my creative juices, no chance for growth--perhaps rigidity is my bitterest foe and I'm just now figuring it out. Nothing brings a smile to my face quicker than heading towards Oxford on a cloudy, gray day, listening to some sort of inane pop music, thinking back on those days...they seem so far away now.

Samantha chose her own path--a stupid argument over something very very stupid, and she chose not to continue a friendship that I thought would last forever. She gave me an outlet for various things that I could not speak about to anyone else. She gave me unusual counsel more often than not, but somehow it always seemed to make sense in a weird sorta way. When she was fun, she could be really fun; when she was pissed, she could be really pissy. I chose to show my pain over the loss of my Papaw to her rather than my own girlfriend at the time--what does that say about how close we once were?

I'm tired of being the strong one all the time. It seems that whenever anyone falls apart, they always fall on me. I have strong, broad shoulders, a good back and a great understanding of human suffering, as well as an exceptional ability as a listener.

But sometimes I hurt--and who is there to put me back together when I fall down?

Me.

Those of you who know me realize that I have this uncanny ability to get people to tell me secrets they would not confide in a Catholic Cardinal. They just...come out with it....and I process it for them. I can't help but to...my sense of humor deflects the greatest part of it, but some of that wild, wacky shit actually gets through.

Don't get me wrong--I don't want a pity party...I don't need pity. I need Stimulation. I need Challenge. My lack of physical presence leads many to chuckle when I'm presented with certain situations, but my strength lies in my mind. My body may not be as strong as others, but my mind is plenty strong...it's been made that way. I need an honest Thank You. I need a "Well Done, my Good and Faithful Servant". That's what I need, and that is what I am going to begin searching for...a purpose that I can call mine.

May you all have a great night....