Leaving Lost Wages

I lost my wallet the other night with eighty bucks in it, my credit and debit cards, driver’s license, two library cards, and some school pictures of Mimi, which, in the end, I miss most. Moving around through the world these last few days without that familiar bulge in my pocket, but more to the point, without my official documents has, for some reason or other, made me feel slightly unmoored, giving rise to more than the usual amount of self-doubt and introspective recrimination, causing me to ponder as I pedal, with greater frequency than is typical, what the hell I’m doing with my life and whether any of it matters in any meaningful or even authentic way.

I keep thinking of that film (which I didn’t even really like at the time) Leaving Las Vegas, in which Nicolas Cage plays this guy who goes to Sin City to drink himself to death, and I wonder, why not? What difference would it make? Who gives a damn what I—or anyone—does? On what grounds is it any better to go to work and make a living than it is to simply throw in the towel and sink into oblivion?

Oh, I know it’s important to be a responsible father and husband and to remain a contributing tax-paying member of society and all, but as long as your don’t become an undue burden to family, friends, and fellow citizens, then who cares?

All of us exist in a complex, interwoven web of social and familial connections and no doubt have some sort of responsibility to contribute to the overall well-being of others, but at the same time, can there by anything so wrong about just wanting to disappear and have the zipper pulled closed?

If I didn’t have to do anything, I’d probably do nothing, but maybe it’s just the prospect of going to the DMV to replace that lost license that’s got me feeling this way.