Just Ask John Hurt

Today I awoke carelessly jostling my sheets about my bed without a reason to check the time. I check my email to find a familiar message; another job rejection. This makes an even fifty. The cannons of black confetti my parents built explode. I get some on my face but I fail to flinch. My father walks into the room offering support. Before I can thank him it quickly morphs into ridicule followed by hindsight. His blood pressure spikes, angry tears roll down his eyes, and he adjourns to his happy place; the bed. I wipe the confetti off my face. and seek love for guidance, she supports me endlessly and I gain no solace. I seek the guidance of history and watch Mississippi John Hurt pick away at his guitar. As long as John Hurt, with his calloused, leather like, farm hands played 'You Got to Walk that Lonesome Valley' with a smile on his face, me, and everyone like me will be okay.