Fishbowls and Sisters

I can't take credit for the title of this blog; my sister's roommate came up with it, and seeing how this week off from work has taken a turn from anxiously awaiting the mundane monotony of everyday life for the mere excitement of seeing my paycheck pop up in my direct deposit to a visit to Ithaca to spend time with my sister and her close friends, I thought that not only was the title catchy, but appropriate to the experience I have enjoyed before a second adventure down memory lane in the fantastic, yet small state of Rhode Island (coming up soon, and I can't wait) finishes off the week. All my inhibitions and life's disappointments seem to disappear with the consumption of fishbowls (an inside joke to those in the know) and yet upon reflection, it is because of this abuse that the true character is center stage. Most of you have commented on the "person who caused me to join Facebook" and have inquired about the rekindling of souls that has been so anxiously awaited from one end, and although this process is still ongoing, the reality is that without this precious substance that has its place in biblical history, this reuniting will more-than-likely not occur. (Of course, I'm talking about booze, after all, Jesus turned water into wine, not seltzer.) In fact, as I write this, I take note of a text message sent from my closest of friends, that is a response that I sent only because of my indiscretion due to "fishbowls".
It's late, and while most of blogs are philosophical, this one is written mostly because of a request; more like a challenge to what I am capable of under the influence of "fish". A lot has happened in the past two weeks, and while most people turn to these ulterior means of mind-erasing to forget about the bad, for me (for whatever reason) I am able to reminisce more adequately.
For starters, it seems like every time I bond with somebody, some higher power decides to have a little fun and take that person out of my life. But I'll tell you this... I am not giving up without a fight. People, I believe, are inherently good and deserve second and third chances (God knows I wouldn't be where I am today if somebody didn't take a chance on me). And when I found out that I am unable to provide that same chance to someone I feel is deserving, my purpose is now questioned. Think of it this way. I feel that everything happens for a reason (call it... fate), and there is a reason, unbeknownst to me, that I am where I am today. For the longest time, I thought that reason was to guide this particular person on a path where he could make the most of his potential, and become the person (to others) that he was to me. I saw in him humanity; I saw in him a future; and I saw in him love, a quality that not everybody is capable of showing. And then in an instant, he was gone. And while the idea that I have failed in my quest to change the world was reinforced with his removal from my life (yet again), I still can't help but take it personally. I do thank God, though (or whatever higher being is in charge of dictating my life) that there are other people who fill my life with rare happiness, but there is still an emptiness that I realize after a few approaches to the handful of straws that the bartender crams into the fishbowl.
I suppose the common theme is hope. Without it, we have despair, and with that comes a bleak future filled with broken promises and regret. Reflecting isn't enough; the actions not only speak louder than words, but are also the only source of change; a change that needs to take place if happiness is to come from more than just a half-empty fishbowl filled with ice. Here's to dreams (as subconscious as they are) and the hope that one day, those dreams will be realized, and life will amount to more than just "between sips".