In Search of Something Stupid or… A Fiction Writer’s Curse

I have issues.

Deep-seated psychological issues for which, I know I should seek help, but for which, I also know, there is no relief. Don’t be alarmed. I’m not dangerous… per se, but rather more, “stupid”. Yea, I think that is a much better word to describe it.

At least 3 times a week, I spend my lunch break in a near by big-chain bookstore. Oftentimes I don’t even buy anything. I just window shop. Sometimes I do buy. I collect things. Books, yes. But also I have an obsession with these other items, comic books, graphic novels, figurines of my favorite characters from my favorite books, shows and movies, replica swords, magic wands, model kits, posters, pictures and any and all other things that would be placed in the category or need/geek. Sometimes I sit and think to myself, when the zombie apocalypse occurs and human civilization crumbles into a barbaric state of savagery and survival, these trinkets will be worthless. Then sometimes I think to myself when the zombie apocalypse occurs and human civilization crumbles into a barbaric state of savagery and survival these trinkets will be all that’s left of a world that no longer exist and therefore they’ll be priceless. Then, we’ll barter our old memories instead of coins and lost dreams will become the new currency.

I have issues.

I wander through this bookstore lost. Searching for a book, or a figure, or a sword, or a wand. For an item that is waiting for me. Something that is special. Something that only I can find, because to everyone else it is hidden and only I know to search for it, even though I don’t know what it is. I look for this thing that is waiting for me, and when it is found, it will unlock this secret potential within me, which I have always known was there, but could not access alone. That I could not reach until I found what was missing. I am in search of an item that will cure my blindness and awaken my sight to a world that I know lingers just beyond the veil of what my insufficient eyes can see.

I search for a book that I cannot read, for a sword that I cannot wield, for a watch, or a necklace or a ring that I cannot wear. And I search for these things desperately, even though at the same time I know that I can never find them.

I have issues. Deep-seated psychological issues for which, I know I should seek help, but for which I also know, there is no relief.

I search desperately for something that I will never find, because what I search for does not exist, and that…. is just so stupid.

 

Peace.

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