Some meaning

Should I take the time to try to extract some meaning from these moments?
Eleven years ago I lived in this neighborhood like a ghost,
Too old to talk to co-eds crawling on and off the campus,
Too young to yank myself out of narcissistic states of reverie in front of mirrors.
I ran alone, because she had stopped talking to me already, after two weeks.
My poor sad dog lived with my parents.
Little did I know, that she and I would break up and make up many times before we finally figured out what a waste of time we were for each other.
But, there was a space I carved out in my mind with running and poetry inside this neighborhood, feeling a pull toward an old church, and wondering what it would be like to be here as an old professor who attended a small Lutheran church.
Little did I know that my mom would get the final cancer a year later and die in two years.
Little did I know that I had five more years of heartache and sorrow and depression and confusion before I would meet the love of my life.
Little did I know that I would be back here in eleven years with a boy of my own and a different dog, a dog I was to discover in a year when my poor sad dog who was living at my parents would come back to me and then die.
I knew very little indeed, other than I had a strong pull when I ran down this street, but couldn’t put my finger upon it.
I was running around like a maniac looking for God, looking for love, looking for meaning and magic and a million dollars.
And God kept trying to snap me out of my narcissistic reverie to pull me to a new place.
I was busy trying to seek out old skins to put my new wine into, and doing a standup job of bursting those skins and spilling the wine.
Why did it take me so long to wake up? Am I still asleep even today?
Surely I am at least a little bit awake, awake enough to listen for the still small voice instead of running around screaming, God, where are you?

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