Where is your head tonight, Tom Bissell?

My brain hurts from all the thinking I’ve done. I go round and round, not solving anything. I sigh deeply and turn off all the lights. I slump into my captain’s chair in the dark, tilt the seat back, and interlace my fingers behind my aching head. The glow from all the electronic equipment in the room gives me light enough to see by. I fidget in my chair, then get up to open the doors and windows. I sit back down in silence.

The lawn sprinklers from across the street come on, and make their rat-tat-tat sound as they sweep back and forth. Looking over the top of my desk and out the window I can see the clear night sky filled with stars. Each one looks like a tiny pin-prick in a sheet of blackness. I wonder just how long it took the light from that star, or that one, to reach Earth. How many millions of years has it traveled across time and space to be here with me now? I wonder if it’s even still there? Or did it burn out eons ago? Time marches ever onward, with or without you Tom Bissell.

I feel small sitting in my studio apartment tonight. I stare at the clock and watch the neon digital numbers change from minute to minute. 2:04. 2:05. 2:06. The display is burned in my vision, like the sun when you squint to the horizon trying to make out a tiny sail, or object, or whatever. I close my eyes and I can still see the clock display. Time is marching ever onward Tom Bissell, with or without you.

What are you going to do? It’s coming down to the wire. 10 years of education are finally coming to its logical conclusion. I’m graduating in less than four weeks. No more student loans. No more papers and reading and studying. No more all-nighters. No more, “Where do you work?” “I don’t, I’m a full time student.” The next chapter in the book of Tom Bissell is about to start. Wouldn’t it be nice if I knew how it would begin?

My stomach grumbles, so I get up and head to the kitchen. I decide it’s too late to eat, so I pour myself a glass of nonfat milk into my favorite Sierra Nevada pint glass. I walk outside, onto my balcony, wearing only my boxer shorts, a white tshirt, and holding my glass of milk. The air is crisp and clean and I inhale deeply. I imagine I have holes in the bottom of my feet, and as I exhale I can feel the air descending through my legs and out the soles of my peds. My soul feels uplifted, and I turn my gaze upward once again to the stars.

Are these the same stars my ancestors gazed up at? The ancient Greeks? Romans? In another time, perhaps thousands of years ago, did a young man ponder his existence in the same way I do now? Did he feel the same emotions I do at this moment—fear, doubt, loss? Fear of the unknown—what’s going to happen to me? Doubt of my abilities—will I make a decent living? Loss of self—I am no longer a college student, so who am I? I’m getting dizzy again, so I head back inside.

I slump back down in my chair in the same manner as before. Nothing resolved and nothing solved, the same problems and questions remain. I wish I had someone to talk to at this hour of the night. Instead I simply have this website.

And so I sit down to write.