I sat in the audience as a friend played his percussion recital. Over the years, I have seen over a dozen drummers perform pieces in order to graduate. Even though it had been over a year since the last one I witnessed, I couldn't help but know what was going to happen. There's the timpani piece with poly-rhythmic mallet riffs, there's the marimba piece with rolling floating sounds, and there's the weird experimental piece which brings out the percussionist's dark side. Staring at the performance, I knew I had gone down this road before with much more enthusiasm. Afterwards, I instinctively sauntered to the Green Room for the after-recital party only to find it bare of food, drink or people. That was the only difference. No party.

Instead, I went across the street to the pizza joint and hung out with a few people I knew much better five years ago. We all have a glaze over our eyes. There is no longer that shining, far away look in our faces as if the present is merely a bump in the road toward fame, fortune and success.

I try to engage the group with little philosophical questions, but they will have none of it. They have jobs, assignments, and other engagements. I try to pal around and start absurd discussions, but they will have none of it. They are all climbing the wall called thirty and wondering why they have to deal with me at all. I try to spark anything of interest, but they will have none of it.

It does not take me long to realize that my quips are unwanted, and I finish my pizza and take my leave. I invite them to watch me act in the play I'm currently in called "Killer Joe." One of the folks asks me if I get paid to do it, and I say no. The glint of interest passes, and nobody commits to coming. I look at their faces and realize that we no longer root for each other like before. We are just going through the motions when we see each other.

We shake each other's hands. We talk about what we are doing. We listen to everyone else say what they are doing. We all wish we were somewhere else doing something better than this.

This weekend, people asked me if I wanted to go to a poetry slam, and I declined. People asked me if I wanted to go to a variety show, and I declined. People asked me if I wanted to go to the massive music event downtown, and I declined. Why? Because I didn't want to go through the motions.

One my ex-girlfriends is a poet, and I've seen most of those slammers read the poems they will inevitably read again. I've witnessed the variety show a handful of times, and it always reminded me of local circus freaks, too boisterous for their own good. I've been to the big music event more than a handful of times, and it's just a bunch of wading through people, trying to find a parking space, wishing I could get to the bar to order a drink, and standing in line to see bands that I've watched several times already. Everything is something I've done before, and it's all my fault for I experiencing it so much in the first place.

Even the news is a bunch of repeats. Catholic priests molesting kids, not new. Palestinians and Israelis fighting, not so new. Students shooting up their school, really not new. Humans are ruining the Earth, not new at all. The weather is not cooperating, never been new.

Where's the new thing? What will inject that enthusiasm spot in my body and get me back into the swing of things? How will I rebound from this spring funk? I can't even get a youthful spark for the new Star Wars movie yet. The more I go out in public, the more I'm reminded that I need to disappear again from society. Zarathustra holed up in the mountain, Jesus wandered out into the desert, and Yossarian ran away to Sweden. Chris Jungle throws a blanket over his head.

As much as I enjoy performing and watching people perform, I lose my enthusiasm for everyone, even myself. As much as I enjoy catching up with old friends, I'm reminded why months can pass before we speak again. As much as I like people in general, there comes a time when humanity is not the answer.

I can't go through the motions any more. I need to clear my head or cloud it up. It has to change. Because if it doesn't, it will always be like this.

Chris Jungle currently resides in the Lost & Found Box.