Wonderland

When men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice
I think she'll know

Most nights it was a little niggle. Something that drowned easily in beer, that got outshouted by the playlist of the night, or that gave up and watched Leno with him.

There had been others like this one. They usually lived under the surface for a couple of months, peaked feverishly on a random, ranting trip to Hangoverland, and petered out quietly after. Status quo. So it goes.

The one haunting him today seemed to be of a deadly new strain. One that had sneaked past his usual daily antibiotics; and had waited till the lights in the house were out. And had chosen a sober night to attack. And attack it did....with a vengeance for all it's deceased earlier versions that had been thwarted.

The hapless author tossed and turned in his sleep for a while, and realised he'd been wide awake all along. Staring at the ceiling was not the answer now. Forced yawning or counting sheep were never the answer. He'd usually switch on something soothing on his walkman at this stage, but no song seemed to have the answer.

Dude rose wearily to wash his face. This is to be one of those nights. Denial was not the answer.

He switched on the low yellow bulb in the washroom, splashed his face measuredly a couple of times, and straightened up slowly to stare back at his reflection.It seemed a routine he'd been practising for a while now. Like say, a decade.

Work was so not the answer. This was something he'd figured out at the time of switching career interests (again, abt a decade back)...so the failure of this hypothesis wasnt breaking his heart especially now.

Workaholism wasnt the answer. Shirking work wasnt. Having a job description that sounded awesome wasnt. Cribbing wasnt. And comparing paychecks threw up more questions that the act alone would answer. And it didnt. Workmates werent the answer. Areas of interest werent. Certifications werent. Prospects elsewhere werent.

Music promised to be the answer for a good while. The act of listening, not playing. Both werent. There were some guitar riffs around that could make him orgasm involuntarily, but they'd been playing for a good while now, and the dude's niggles continued to bubble. And there were lyrics he'd probably copy paste into his wedding vows, or his "birds and bees" talk to his kids. But nope, guitar riffs and lyrics werent the answer.

Books werent the answer. He'd been reading them a million a year once, but more to avoid having to talk to people, than anything else. And he liked reading books for what they had to offer, and not for what he'd been trying to wrangle out of them. Fiction, thankfully, never pretended to be the answer. Non fiction usually fell into Paulo Coelho, self help, spirituality or textbooks. And all 4 categories could sincerely fuck off.

Religion promised way too many answers. He'd been born way too cynical to actually believe anybody or anything. Especially when they all insist that the really good stuff gets you sent straight to hell. It's almost as if he'd rather stay ignorant of this answer, than put away his beer.

Sex wasnt the answer. Not that he actually knew this one. But there was something incongrous about the idea that a mutually assisted emission of body fluids by 2 sweaty, frantic characters hopping about manically under the covers, would answer his usual questions. He'd love to be personally proved wrong by a rather fetching member of the opposite gender...but part of him knows that he'd find himself staring again at some unfortunate mirror that night. Before rushing back to his senses and the bed.

Love...tough one this. He'd been convinced this was the Holy Grail....so it takes a while to let this one pass. But he probably wouldnt fall into this unless it's with some1 who's asking the same questions. Some like minded one who'd rather ask the questions, than get them answered. That puts two peas in a pod. That does not necessarily solve or silence the question. Then again...I wouldnt know. Never have been in a relationship. Abortive or otherwise. Wouldnt mind being proved wrong at this one either.

Football probably was the answer during boyhood...but those days are done. Hobbies are more like distractions away from the questions, rather than a path to the answer and I'd prefer keeping it that way. So that saves beer from ever getting questioned.

Travel may just be. Cooking may. Biking may. But I have friends who are champs at all 3, and they've got questions plaguing them as well. And there are a zillion things I could pick up and mull over in this way, but they just wouldnt be the answer. Or there was no way of knowing if they would.

The guy's reflection now looked like he'd forgotten his wallet someplace.
Usually he wore this quiet, demanding, searching look that wouldnt waver or blink....but would stare right back at the dude, until the latter turned away with a muttered FU. Not today. Today he looked like the prosecutor, who'd been struck with amnesia. The dude had no clue about the question.

Which was what started this fucked up niggle in the first place. This wasn't a case of Dennis not going where he promised himself he would. The dude didnt know where to go from here.

The 'Now What?' syndrome, ladies and gentlemen, has finally landed.

Currently listening : White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane