An elegy in D minor

I find myself being less and less engaged in conversation. People’ll tell me about their trips to Italy, their friends who call them up at two o’clock in the morning to tell them about their troubles, how they’ve got a couple of days’ vacation and they’re going to spend it rearranging their closets…they’ll tell me about their sons and daughters, how they’re just like all the others, on their tenth job, hooked on DMT, going into the army, flunking out of community college, worshipping false idols…and then I’ll yawn or suddenly remember to change the air filter in my car or think about how easy it would be for me to drop out of society and live within the welfare state and then I’ll hear them say something like, “what can I wear that’s really flattering?” or “and all the congregation lifted up their voice and cried. And people wept that night” and my eyes will glaze over and I’ll start to doze off and then I’ll hear, “are you listening to me?” “Of course, of course,” I’ll say, hoping that they don’t ask me to repeat what they just said ‘cuz I’ll never be able to do it. I’m amazed that these people still consider me a friend. If they knew how little I listen to them, they’d probably reevaluate our friendship and I’d be alone…again.