I've lost my wallet, and with it a job interview. Not that it would have gotten me anywhere. It'd be just another failure in a line of failures stretching all the way back to the horizon behind me. Nothing looks different ahead, except I don't see those failures yet. But after going on for so long, I have no idea what success even looks like anymore.
I was supposed to go to a job interview this morning, but without my driver's license I can't drive. And without my driver's license, I have no identification, which is something they needed me to bring. Thank you, life, for showing me just one more way things can go wrong. It hardly even hurts. It's just, you know, informative.
Some people mark the passage of time by weekends, or holidays, or paychecks, or birthdays. My marker is indignity. Every so often I drum up enough effort to try again. And every time so far it's pointless. I've come to almost enjoy these marking times. What new low shall I sink to next? I kind of feel something almost like purpose in being the speed bump in other peoples' lives. I feel not like I'm beating a dead horse, but that I am being beaten like a dead horse. That's why it's a phrase, isn't it? "You're beating a dead horse," they say. Surely people beat dead horses because they like to, don't they? Every time I fail, someone, somewhere, must be enjoying it. And that, I feel... feels... right. I don't just accept it; it gives me hope. That maybe, by stepping on me, someone will end up higher.
I am the dead horse. I am getting beaten. Dead horses don't feel pain. Sure, my eyes are leaking, but that's just something they do, sometimes. Sometimes the wind blows. Sometimes the sun shines. Sometimes the rain falls. Sometimes I can't get out of bed. Sometime, hopefully soon, I'll stop skidding from this crash landing of an existence and come to rest indefinitely. I'm sure that in the cosmic sense nothing of value will be lost. I doubt anyone can even conceive of some kind of material value in me unless they also possess the necessary technology to resuscitate me. As a favor to those who still wish for me to exist in some fashion, I continue breathing, and occasionally eating. But you know what, I think maybe I might be getting the hang of being a dead horse.
Huh. I'm hungry.
Better get used to it.