A Literary Life

You wake up and think you are in a romcom. Or maybe just a bad comedy. But instead you are in the middle of "Moby Dick," a tale of madness and obsession, or the "Catcher in the Rye" - you want to erase all the "fucks" in the world, or "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," - everything is twisted and out of control, or "Catch 22," - everyone you know is mad except for you, and you're not so sure of your sanity either, or the "Lord of the Rings Trilogy," - you are in for a long, strange journey filled with lightening and thunder, but you are the hero of a fabulous adventure, and all will work out in the end. But no, it's turns out you are really in a Beckett play. Doesn't matter, which one, a short work, a long famous work, it's all the same, and life is a slog, it's real, it's odd, and fractured, and you just have to carry on, just because. There is no alternative. You live. And you wait. And live some more.