I'm a liar

I said I wasn't going to write about my meaningless, pointless life again this summer, but I lied.

I spent another Saturday night by myself. I had a rather worthless Saturday, actually, and although I have told myself several times this week that life is too short, and I can't afford to piss away my time, I have come up a bit short in the success department.

I spent about 90 minutes of my time Saturday night at the grocery store. I have professed my love of coupons and ridiculous coupon deals previously, and this week was an extraordinary week as I bought a lot of Diet Pepsi. It took a bit of effort on my part, but I bought multiple 12-packs of Diet Pepsi, and one 12-pack of Pepsi for Chip, who will be in town next weekend. Each and every one of them cost me less than 40 cents. That's right, 12 cans of soda for about three cents per can. I'm a genius.

As I was making the last of my Diet Pepsi purchases at 10:30 on Saturday night I was doing so at a grocery store in St. Louis Park. This grocery store is near a new, trendy commercial development. They call it The Shops at West End. There are several restaurants that double as hang outs for the beautiful people. Many of the restaurants appear to have the sacred outdoor seating that Minnesota rubes piss themselves for the privilege to sit at. I'm sure the drinks are uber-expensive, but that's not a problem for the beautiful people. God bless 'em. Somebody has to fund the service industry, and it's certainly not going to be me. All I can afford to do is buy cheap soda and submit liquor rebates so I can enjoy a few cocktails on the cheap in the confines of my apartment.

The West End has parking ramps for the beautiful people, and my grocery store is across the street from one of the trendy nightspots. Although signs claim parking in the grocery store lot is for customers only, it was obvious at 10:30 that rather than comb the ramps for an open parking space a few of the beautiful people chose to use the grocery store lot. I noticed a group congregating in the lot on the way to my car. It wasn't hard to deduce that this group was assembled for the purpose of a bachelorette party.

Although I had a limited view of the group from several yards away, I'm pretty sure I spotted the bachelorette. I'm guessing the woman in the tight, tiny dress with the stripper heels and a sash was the future Mrs. Somebody. Lucky guy, whoever he is. I didn't get a good look at her, but I saw enough to determine the future groom will have quite the trophy.

As I drove home with a car full of Diet Pepsi I thought a lot about the world I live in, and how there's no place for me in it. I found myself thinking back to 2007. In 2007 I watched a documentary called "The Bridge." It was intriguing, albeit a bit gimmicky and lacking in substance. I won't go into detail about it, but I will say that one of the people featured in it reminds me of me.

I remember talking about that similarity with Rush. I remember telling him there's not enough joy in my life, despite the fact my life is not particularly difficult or miserable. I also remember calling Rush from the pool of my Florida resort in late December 2007. I remember sitting there with my feet in the pool, telling him how warm and beautiful it was in southern Florida and how that was the joy in life that made it all worth while. And I wasn't kidding.

The problem, I have found, is that the moments of joy are few and far between. I'm not miserable most days, but the joy I find is temporary, and doesn't sustain me. This has been a recurring issue since I graduated from college, and there were times it crippled me. Nowadays I'm barely numb to it.

I spent a few hours Saturday night sorting though crap I have held onto for far too long and wondering why I was going through the motions of sorting it when I could literally dump entire boxes of crap into the Dumpster of my apartment building and not miss a thing, or be worse off without it. Sure, the Gilligan and Skipper figurines I came across warmed my heart slightly, but had I never seen them again, would I be worse off for it? Not a chance.

I sorted through worthless crap, wondering what to do with most of it and why I was bothering to waste my time sorting it. If I were moving to Utah this fall the exercise would have meaning and purpose, but I don't know where I'm going next, unfortunately.

Lately I find myself wishing I was moving to Utah. It seems like every sign in my life is pushing me toward starting a new life in Utah. There's just one little problem: I found out four months ago that I'm not good enough for my ex-girlfriend, who moved to Utah in early February. When she left I couldn't see myself leaving Minnesota. Now the idea of moving to Utah makes more sense than ever, except for the whole I'm not good enough thing.

The future is what you make it, they say. America is the land of opportunity, I'm told. That's all true, but there's only one thing I want at this point in my life, and when it comes my way is largely out of my hands. I'm trying to tip the scales in my favor, but all I can do is hope and pray, as I have been doing for most of my adult life. Some day my prayer will be answered. That's the only certainty I have in this world.