They had been in the pub, drinking steadily for a while.
Despite the ten year difference in their ages, they had been friends a long time. They often met up in the local pub.
After a while the older man said, “Come on; I know somethings bothering you. How are you doing, really?”
The younger man’s face clouded over. He said, “If you want to know the truth, in a word, awful!”
“Awful?” said the other, frowning. “What do you mean by that?”
The younger man sighed and said, “Oh! I don’t know, I feel that my judgement’s out of balance; a sense of floating in and out of clarity. Sinking in a quicksand of self-doubt. I often feel a growing darkness, so I hide myself in hope. I’m probably subscribing to a narrow view of my own intelligence, but I seem to always be the one in the background, seldom noticed. I know that I so often spend time with unimportant thoughts, taking nourishment from unproven notions. It’s as though I see things through warped lenses. I’m so easily brought down by seeing false joy and grief. It’s all a great vortex, spinning chaotically out of control. I feel I’m continually dealing with the inexplicable, and somehow my ideas are in themselves breeding instability.”
He took another drink and stared at his friend.
“Am I the only one,” he went on, “who has a burning need to know one’s ultimate destiny? Can inspiration come on a random impulse? Does mental isolation always bring about loneliness? What am I really doing with my allotted time?”
He emptied his glass.
“You see? So many questions without answers.”
His friend burped and said, “I wouldn’t worry about it. It all sounds perfectly normal to me.”
“Really, you think so?”
“Yep. Want another?”
“Sure. Why not?”
