New World (Part 4) – A Poetry Journal

2-9-22 – 10:31 a.m.

Time is the enemy. I feel myself decaying. Too much coffee. We’re pretty much unpacked from our move. The neighbors on this street are very private. I wonder what they do behind closed doors. Probably nothing sinister. Probably just watching TV and glued to a screen like the rest of us.

My job requires me to read the news closely. This is a blessing and a curse. I did it anyway, for the most part. The media is a fear machine. Everything is hyped; everything is ‘the worst ever.’ I know this because I work in media. My uncle is like many Americans. He’s caught in the web of tribal hatreds.

My mood has been stable lately. Everything is new since the move, but that’ll wear off. Depression always comes back; it’s the way of life. It’s sneaky, like a thief in the night. I never know when it’ll come. I’ve gotten better at handling it, but it still hurts. C’est la vie, such is life.

I have to interview compelling, brilliant people for work. Very intimidating. I interviewed a man yesterday who had an advanced degree in mathematics and computer science. He also was an officer in the Israeli Air Force. He seemed like a tough dude. Who the hell am I to ask this man questions?

Questions are asked, never fully answered. Solutions to problems lead to more problems. And on it goes, until we all get buried in the ground.


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