That's the Name of the Blame Game
I saw my reflection in a mirror afterward and thought, holy mackerel, am I falling apart!
It’s no wonder. When I’m on the road, I slip into a drive-thru when I get hungry and it shows. I don’t feel like making real meals whenever I am home, which isn’t very long, so I just snack a lot as I go on. I must’ve gained at least 10 pounds by now.
Gosh, I only get, like, maybe 2 or 3 hours of sleep - if I let myself sleep, that is. Most of my nights are spent just staring out of my bedroom window, knowing my Sammy is out there somewhere and I have no idea and I can’t get to her and I can’t…..I can’t…I can’t do anything. Crazy thoughts start running through my head uncontrollably. I’m really down on myself a lot these days. I look at my life and I hate what I see.
I’ve bombed out in just about every way you can think of. I drove my wife away and let her go, and I thought I could take on the world all by myself – just me and Sammy, no one else.
“Now, Sammy’s not even around either. I couldn’t hang onto her. It’s my own fault I let her disappear. What kind of a man am I? What kind of a father, husband, friend? A lousy one on all counts, that’s all I am – just a lousy…..oh, Lord, what have I done…” then there’s dead silence. When I drift away like this, it’s like the crescendo at the end of the Beatles “Day in the Life”, only there’s no piano banging. Once again, like it’s been every night since Sammy’s disappearance, I beat myself up unmercifully, then cry myself to sleep. Sammy is my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night.