Warning: Program only suitable for FCC-designated safe harbor (10PM to 6AM).
It happened again tonight as I left the WREK studios.
I walked out of the Student Center and paused out on the sidewalk to gaze up at the midnight-teal sky, feeling the cool edge of a breezesoothe my cheek. The skyscrapers of downtown Atlanta rose around me, glowing with golden light, and the whole outside world was pulsing with life, full of intrigue a-borning and teeming with promise and possibilities. I stood there in the shadows and sensed its visceral vibe like a heartbeat. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to jump the fence and run away into this magical night to join this wonderful, fascinating world...and then I assessed my sad reality. My shoulders reflexively slumped back into the default position, and I walked disconsolately to my beater car.
It's not the first time that's happened there. Every couple of months or so, I happen to leave at just the right moment, and BOOM--something about the ambient campus breezes and the jewel-like color of the night sky begin to speak to me. They beckon and lure me, and always, ALWAYS, every single fucking time, I turn away and slink back to my lonely hole. But the way things are looking for me right now, my future seems so bleak that I feel as if I'm retreating back to my grave.
Saturday is the loneliest night of the week, and it has been for going on twenty years. But that's a constant thing. But after a year and a half of unemployment and dwindling prospects have abraded my psyche raw, it's an even worse a burden. But I figured that since I've been scraping along on the underside of a spiritual nadir, what the hell--I may as well just give into my despair, and go with it and turn out the most depressing show I possibly could. I couldn't get it done in time for last week, and that depressed me to no end. But it wasn't like I didn't have expert help--I was assisted in my search for the lowest of the low by such gutter-level luminaries as Dave Cloud, Root Boy Slim and the Sex Change Band with the Rootettes, Jehova Hates Phred, Eydie Gormé, the Ass Ponies, the Rolling Stones, Ray Charles, Diamanda Galas--and the two aces in my aching soul-pit of sadness, Marvin the Paranoid Android from the BBC Radio version of HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY, and the madmen and -women of THE SADDEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD. And don't worry, there's not much me in it.
Now that I've delivered this announcement, I think I'm going to try to sleep it off. No, I don't mean my mood--I mean my entire life.