The empty void of my life has gone on too long. While Cal has been spiraling downwards, I sought solace in the one place I knew how. My wife? Hell 2 da nah! MARSHAWN!
But lo, Marshawn was not there for me. The unthinkable has happened. He’s…………………….gasp……………………injured.
In conclusion, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."
It’s tough for me to put into feelings how this makes me feel. Luckily, resident psychic Edgar Allen Poe wrote just a poem about it in 1830:
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then–in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life–was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Alright, I’ll be honest, I have no idea what that poem is saying. Nobody does. It’s a poem. People just sit around and pretend to know what poems mean to look cool. And then they flex their mustaches knowingly. With much pretense. When I want to look cool, I don’t need to make up a lot of BS about a man from Nantucket. I just wear one of my many Marshawn jerseys knowingly. With much pretense.
But it’s entitled Alone. And that is exactly how I feel. I feel alone. I can’t see as others see. I can’t feel as others feel. Marshawn is hurt. I’m so alone in this world.
"The confirmists. They hurt Marshawn. Life is only pain, then… what’s the point of living?"
He might play this weekend. Who knows? If he does the storm clouds would part and the sun would return to my life. Let’s not forget what Matthew 16:18-19 says:
18 And I say to thee: That thou art Marshawn; and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. 19 And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven. And whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth, it shall be loosed also in heaven.
Marshawn is the rock upon which the Church Of Christ was built. If I can’t depend on Marshawn to play, what *can* I depend on??? Marshawn was like death and taxes. Without him playing, who will open the door to the kingdom of heaven? Marshawn clearly has the keys. And those are the ones that say "Don’t copy" on them, so who else is gonna have a copy? Nobody. NOBODY!
I just don’t know how to go on with life. I just, I just can’t continue. The goth kid from South Park is right. By joining that dance troupe to serve those kids from the OC, he was non-conforming to non-conormity. And, more importantly, without Marshawn, life is only pain. Endless pain.
Yes, without Marshawn I just feel like this guy again:
"Remember me, from after the UCLA game, I’m baaaaaaaaaaaack and more angry and hobosexual than ever!"
I could go on for like 3 more hours about how disastrous these past few weeks have been, but what’s the point? Nobody cares about Marshawn but me. Nobody loves him the way I do.
I’m so alone. So alone.