Strange World Posting on a Spring Morning

Here is one from the coffers...

This world:

In which I have health insurance, two savings accounts and a checking account that will never reach zero (it seems), a CD which is accruing interest, and now a 401K plan...that, the result of staying put at the same factory for almost a decade.
Yet I ride my bike home from work in the dark...breathing Pilsner and half-interesting thoughts about good cigarettes under a moon that pulls me down streets towards home...stops me to see the folks on South Grand who hope for better days amidst even more smoke and fumes...until I return home to find that I book nationally known juke-joint bands out of nowhere...and that someone has left me a message on my answering machine...a message that causes me to think they have become unhinged.
I eat a cheese sandwich in the dim light and read a book by an amateur economist published in 1934 and wonder what it is all about. How is it that we can waste so much time...so much energy...so much life...trying to get where we're never meant to be?
I know that I'll probably sit in the sun tomorrow listening to experimental "music" in a circle with the same hopeful saints that I left down the street on thousands of nights...they, wondering what will come and not as concerned or maybe terrified behind their gazes and thoughts about tomorrow as that star shines through the spring leaves causing light to dance on the concrete of a junior college amphitheatre...and later, I'll have a relaxed meal until it is time to see some youngsters play a show in a university cafeteria...in the dark, behind drawn curtains where I used to rush stolen pitchers of swill, lace up my Chuck Taylors and run off towards some nothingness called energy.
I'll know that I'm not "happy". I'll know that I don't know what that means to most, if I'm lucky...I can only hope that it doesn't seem like a waste of time...it might even carry me back to my youth, when I thought it was all worth the waste of time.
Dashed hopes will follow most home tomorrow...call them by their name, perhaps.
Dashed hopes will shovel soil on my coffin one day...if that's the way you wanna look at it.
I prefer to take it as it comes.
There were so many that thought I'd be something else...and now I am.
Ha!
Damn, I kind of like it!...at this time at night...alone...when there's nothing but thisness and thatness and another breath under the sky...and you can gargle all the philosophy and theocracy you want...not caring whether the politicians are in charge...or the Earth might shake you to some other reality in a second...like an unbalanced hammock seating slamming you to the ground when you were expecting an easy swing.