You’ll Be Sorry
A brief but necessary interlude…
Have you ever watched one more episode of some silly TV show late at night, knowing you shouldn’t but doing it anyway? Then another and another, until it’s suddenly three in the morning and you have no idea where the time’s gone?
You know what you’re doing is stupid, maybe even self-destructive. You should definitely make better life decisions.
But you don’t.
Alarm goes off. Time to get up, eat a healthy breakfast (just say no to drive-thru!), and get your sorry ass to work. Co-workers chatting in the hallways, speaking up in meetings, addressing you directly in conversation. You should pay attention, but you don’t.
Lunch break would be a solid choice. Not to mention wrapping up work at a decent hour, making time to meet up with friends, or taking a stroll outside for a breath of fresh air.
But you don’t.
Your parents, reaching out to you by phone, text, email.
Maybe siblings or college roommates or caring neighbors.
Everyone talking, talking, talking. They love you.
They care about you. Or they’re simply bored themselves and looking for some excuse to prattle away (subtext: We all realize you haven’t quite been the same since…).
You should listen. Register their words. Pay attention to their facial expressions, but you just can’t find it in yourself to make the effort.
Life happens, the world spins, people you genuinely love and care about come and go. You should engage, invest in the relationships, care about the results.
But mostly you’re going to stream one more formulaic sitcom, anything to avoid the obvious.
Something’s wrong. Has been wrong. Will always be wrong. But what? If you could just put your finger on it. Get your head out of your ass.
I’m going to share something with you now. You’ll have no idea what it means. A single diary entry from November 1790? What the fuck? Like you don’t have more recent troubles to weigh you down.
But trust me. This matters. Our lives are not a single moment, but a journey, and sometimes, that first wrong step happened well before you ever imagined. Say not in your lifetime, or even your parents’ lifetime or your grandparents’ grandparents’ lifetime. Case in point:
Monday 29th—Another snowstormy day. My ninth at this town called Shereford.
The villagers have shown me great kindness, and my deep and abiding tiredness has finally begun to pass.
George Savage came to the public house for dinner, reporting his wife is very ill.
I offered to tend, finding her much suffering.
I gave her some urine and honey and licorice and put a plaster to her stomach.
Later she was much relieved. Samuel Dixon expressed gratitude on behalf of the town and family.
He invited me to stay with him and his wife at their homestead.
I am inclined to say yes. Perhaps I have found a home at last.
If only it’d been that simple. But evil men have always been prone to evil deeds. And now, a mere two centuries later…the truth is coming.
Take it from me. Sooner or later…
You’ll be sorry.