The Return of the Mack

It has been a while. More than two years have passed since I graced the interwebs with my words, my thoughts, the darkest shadows of my mind. So why now do I return? I started this because I wanted to be a writer, and left for the wrong reason. It only stands to reason that I return with the wrong reason as well, and leave with the right one this time.
So what has happened in the interim? I have a job, am losing weight, and utterly dismayed at the condition of our country. I have had no funerals, and a few weddings. I need a new car, and find myself maybe able to afford one. I listen to Mozart, with an appreciate of the beauty that is contained within. I have a new desk chair, which I am disliking more and more but since I just bought it, I cannot replace it. I haven't been with a woman for over a year, and that was a disaster.
It always comes down to that I suppose. To the outside eye, things are looking up, but without someone it is empty and meaningless. Its not that I haven't had some dates, but they all ended when I thought things were going well. Try as I might, but I don't understand why such things continually happen to me. It has to be something that I am doing, but as to what I am as clueless as I was sixteen years ago, which is beyond frustrating. I have spoke of this frustration before, and I think that is why I am back after so long. Usually I can force it back into its hole, and keep the sun shining for just a little longer.
It is becoming more and more clear that my current state of events is the norm, and the only thing that I should expect until my last breath. As to what dastardly thing that I had done or will do cursed me with sad state, it must have been a monstrous thing, something that keeps people awake at night because there is no other reason that I can see as to why utter failure is my comeuppance. It would be one thing if I chose this hellish burden, but I didn't and I know not how to remove it, which is the saddest thing of all.
Well, what should I do? There are moments of bravado and plans, and hope, yes hope. They all end a pile of flaming rubble at the end of the runway, before it even could sprout wings and fly. Each time I get up again, weaker and less resolute, when finally I have reached the point of just laying down and staying. Truly, a beaten and broken thing lies before you, crawling along and wishing for the spark to die. But it doesn't. There is that spark, and cruel hope springs from it. So perhaps I might rise again, in a hopeless attempt to realize this thing on the pedestal, which is an easy thing for all around, but so damned impossible for me.
It is a depressing thing knowing the future of this, a cruel hope that says this time will be different, and just when the last part gives in, and I actually believe it is when the door closes, the fire breaks out, and the bridge falls away. It is at its cruelest point when the curse strikes, each and every time.
So this return is along the wrong lines, and for the wrong reasons. It is a return though, and like so many before has the glimmer of hope that yes, this time it will work. I can't truly believe that, at least not today. Maybe tomorrow though.