I tend to lose things all the time. I constantly lose pens at work and lose them in my car. Being that the pens are in my car, they aren’t really lost. They’re just misplaced. Somewhere beneath the piles of paper, empty bags, and junk mail, my pen(s) are just waiting for me to hold them tight and tell them everything is going to be okay. I have a thing for pens. It’s not a sexual thing. It’s not some quick fix I need to battle my cocaine habit. I don’t even do cocaine. If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Then again, if I did have a cocaine habit, that would be the first thing I would say. I am running off track here. Enough about my non-exist habit.
While pens are lost all the time, I also misplaced papers and other nonessential things that really serve no purpose but really just for a trip down memory lane. No lie. I save everything. Not a hoarder. I am more of a collector. With everything I lose, they can be replaced. They just cost a few bucks and I have a pen once again. But some things you lose cannot be replaced. You might be thinking that I am talking about losing a friend. I have lost friends but they are a dime a dozen. Friends come and go. Usually I try to reconnect with them on facebook but there is only so many pokes and Farmville request I can handle. I am talking about something much more important than friends. While friends are important, there are more things that surpass them in importance. Something we all have, at least I did have it.
I was never fully aware of it. I’ve heard about them. I’ve read about them in a book somewhere. I was taught about it during school. Even with all that information being pumped and shoved in my head, you’d think I’d get the idea and grasp the concept. But I never did. I just went about my merry way, not really knowing about the thing inside me. I am talking about your soul. Well, my soul really. I have no desire to hear about yours. I lost it sometime ago. I’ll get to that soon. When I first lost it, I tore the house apart. I flipped the couch over. I dug through kitchen drawers. I looked in the flour jar, and checked the back the fridge. It wasn’t there. I had to retrace my steps and think long and hard about where I might have lost it. Where could it have went? Where on Earth did I leave it?
My soul was good I guess. I was a good kid. I walked old ladies across the street, I’d drop a nickel or a dime in the red bin during the holidays. I was your regular boy scout just without all the scandalous scout masters. I did everything I was told to do. I was truly a good and honest kid. My heart was big. I did all those things and then some. While I kept a good head on my shoulders, I found that being bad could be fun. It’s a nice break from the mundane rituals of being kindhearted. We all know to let loose every so often. I just took that old saying to the extreme. Guess the jokes on me. I had my being a rebel phase. I put my hand in the cookie jar. I would jaywalk. I was a punk. The kid your parents would lock the car doors on when they spotted them loitering about. That’s about the extent of my vigilante days. I didn’t commit crimes. I am not that evil. I do know somewhat the difference between right and wrong. I just rather listen to the guy on my left shoulder. Funny how it’s the left. Everywhere you look and everything I have read, seems to damn the left. Lefty’s are evil. Devil on your left shoulder. I guess I chose the wrong hand to write with when I picked up my very first crayon. With the guy on the right stands there and sulks, the dude on the left plots my next move and nudges me to ‘go for it’. I don’t always listen to him. We have our arguments every once in a while. When I listen to the guy on the right, he pats my head, tells me I’m a good boy then proceeds to give me a cookie. Oh, how I love cookies.
With these two pulling at me like a game of tug or war, I try to keep my cool and follow my instincts. But with a rap sheet like mine, my instincts are a bit askew. As I grew up, the wicked ways of 
adulthood were in my hands. I stopped walking ladies across the street. Usually watching an old person struggle, got me to chuckle. Though if someone pushed her down, I’d feel bad but would offer no helping hand. Oh, look. That thing that was once inside me is now gone. Slowing, the bright ember of soul I had, it nothing but a dim light, flickering with what little energy it had left.
I found the sultry dance of a half (sometimes fully) naked woman to be mesmerizing. The abundance of money piling out of her g-string, only tightened when I shimmied another folded up bill her way. With the smell of sex the air, and the ‘occupied’ signs on the bathrooms, I knew that was I was taking part in was just another high-five moment from the guy on my left shoulder. I did do my part and chat with the girls. It usually ran me about twenty dollars but the one on one her and I had, was nice. Magical is a better word to describe it. Nothing says, ‘lets talk’ like a good ole thigh grind.
With my wicked ways reaching boiling point, I lost all hope for the man I should have been. I was poisoned by another. He let me know that whenever I was feeling blue or down, to sit down and remember that, “hey, I’m better than everyone.” Those words still hold true today. Maybe that little bit of advice was the final gust of wind that snuffed out the last glow of light from my darkened soul. Do I feel upset that I lost my soul? Sort of. Do I worry about eternal damnation? I guess I sort of do. I mean, if heaven and hell were actually there, I would prefer being in the skyscraper than spend however long eternity really is in the subbasement. I blame my friend for the loss of my soul. He corrupted me and created the soulless man who stands before you. There has to be some upside to not having a soul. I just can’t think of one. There are plenty of downsides. While I take not having a soul like a real trooper, I sort of think I need one. I mean, think about it. When my time comes, if I don’t have a soul, I guess I won’t be really going anywhere. That would just a worse scenario. I would be a prime candidate to becoming a zombie. Hell to the no! I don’t wanna be that. I better do what I can to find this thing. You think they sell these things on the black market?
It might be a good idea to post up some posters and ask around town, seeing if anyone might have spotted it somewhere. While I do enjoy my wicked ways, I rather have my soul. I don’t like losing things. After I post this, I am going to dig through my coat pockets. I usually fill those up with everything. I bet it’s in there, next to my receipt from the bar and the strip club. I hope I didn’t tip Glitter with my soul for her gymnastic style, lap dance. That won’t help her get through college.
pitweston
Latest posts by pitweston (see all)
- The Million Dollar Question - February 1, 2021
- Depression sucks. - January 31, 2021
- Happy New Year - January 5, 2021