Maybe

Maybe in another life, I could get married and have children. Maybe in another life, I can own a car again and drive anywhere I want. Maybe in another life, I can have freedom, I can cuddle with my wife after making love at night. Maybe in another life people will respect boundaries with me. Maybe in another life I'll be fiscally independent. Maybe. Maybe in another life I'll be famous and someone will give a shit whether or not I'm even alive. Maybe I want to live my life instead of being a warden of the state. Maybe. Maybe I want to be able to join a gym and see women wearing thongs and shirts with no bras. Maybe. Maybe I should kill myself. I believe in reincarnation. I've studied Near Death Experiences. I've communicated with the so-called dead. Maybe. Speech pathologist said to say, “Maybe monday” at a higher tone an a bunch of other shit I don't remember. Glottal fry. Maybe it's gone. Maybe.  

Maybe there's no point anymore. Maybe the assholes who do the paper work for the state give a shit about me, I don't. Maybe God is energy, maybe God is evolution. Maybe “God was one of us, just trying to make his way home”. Maybe I could steal my mom's gun and shoot myself. Maybe the world is going to end in three years and maybe no one will read this Reedsy. No wait, definetely, no one will read this Reedsy. No one ever reads my Reedsies. There used to be comments until guardian took over e-mail. Maybe it's better this way. I'm not afraid of death, maybe. Maybe the church members will care, maybe my exes will care, maybe parents, aunts, uncles, but they'd get over it, maybe or maybe not, but if I'm dead, who gives a fuck? Me? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I'll need to put this in sensitive material in case anyone does decide to read my 91 stories. Maybe I'll be published after death like John Kennedy Toole and win an Pulitzer. Maybe. Probably not. Maybe my mom will listen to me for once and cremate me instead of burying me and maybe it'll save thousands for my family, but I don't have a wife and kids, so who cares? Maybe someone cares? Maybe I can have my freedom after both parents pass from natural causes, probably not. Maybe I don't want to live here anymore, maybe I don't want to live anywhere anymore. If the cashier shoved food in your mouth and said it would be $3.46, you wouldn't pay for it, or would you? Would you? Maybe. If you liked it. Like at the lunch snack bar in middle school where they said you could try a snack, but made you pay for it. Maybe the meaning of life is meaning or maybe there is no meaning and it's evolution and chance. Maybe God is energy, maybe Jesus was God, maybe not, maybe nobody knows what the fucking hell their talking about, but everyone thinks they do. Definetely. Maybe it's time to go off campus, buy some pot and get high. Maybe my shrink will perscribe me THC. In my dreams. Maybe I don't need cialis, maybe I do. Maybe the point is to get high and escape. Maybe death is the escape. The ultimate escape. Or maybe the Spirit World “is a world very much like this one”. I want to get out of . . . no wait. Maybe I have to think about what I want instead of what I don't want.  

Maybe it is like getting a thread through a small needle or like riding a bike. Maybe. Maybe it's time to end it anyway. If I wind up back in Gwinnett, I'm going to kill myself. I've already decided that. Jump out of a moving car, Tylonol, hanging, random shooting (I wish), run over by a truck. I want to be free and in control. And in the Spirit World, I can go wherever I want to, I can talk to the friends my legal guardians took away, I can get married and have kids and own a house with a garage, a jacuzzi, a tub, a bedeii. Maybe Spirits don't go to the bathroom or maybe they do. Maybe it doesn't matter whether or not they do. Maybe there are no girl's rooms and boy's rooms in Spirit. Maybe I can cuddle in Spirit. Maybe I can cuddle with a girl in Spirit. Maybe I could spy on people in Spirit. Maybe it won't matter once I'm in Spirit. Maybe we're bodies with spirits or maybe we're spirits with bodies. It doesn't matter. Maybe it does matter. I don't know. What the difference between . . . . I don't know and I don't care. Maybe the war in Russia and Ukraine will expand and World War III will break out and the entire Earth with it's cultures and histories and species will be no more. Maybe evolution will start again and maybe it won't. Who gives a fuck? Maybe mediums will come to our planet so we can transmit the message or maybe they won't. I just don't want to live anymore and maybe I want to die. Maybe there's a painless euthenasia. Wouldn't that be nice? Maybe I could get high on MDMA, crack, pot, etc. and die of dehydration. Maybe that'd be a good way to go. Or eat a million bananas and die from potassium overdose. Maybe. Or get diarreah. Maybe my psychological problems will get better with a change in medication, but I doubt it. Who cares? My job is to make the doctor feel better. Right? Maybe that'd be the last time I fuck up unless I fuck up the suicide. Research: anatomy and physiology. Oxygen. Too much oxygen can kill me. Get admitted to a hospital and fuck with the tank and good bye. Good bye. Suicide A -Z. Alcohol, benzedazedepine, crack, drowning . . .you get the point . . . until I find the perfect one. Men tend to kill themselves with firearms whereas women tend to poison themselves. Who cares why? Christmas is the time when most people kill themselves. Merry Christmas. Seasonal Attitudinal Depression, lack of life balance, too much love, not enough love, the list is ad infinitum. Maybe we're born to die. Everyone dies eventually and after three generations, no one remembers anyone but the authors and the leaders. Name a famous baseball player from the 3500's BCE? I didn't think so. But, the Earth will be over after World War III and evolution will start again, or it won't, but nobody will be there to care. No Shakespeare, no sophocles, nothing. World War III. Nothing. An empty Universe. At least all the assholes will be gone.