Harvey Pekar once said that he would sometimes wake up and feel a body next to him like an amputee feels a phantom limb. I have, over the last year, been confronted with that sensation, be it in my own bed, in a hotel room, or in a bunk on a tour bus. I suppose for some it can represent relief, for others sadness, but for me it always just ends up with some lame neo-urban redefinition of accountability punching me in the head.

One tries to do things properly, you understand. You work hard, you make sure that things are taken care of, that the people you love are taken care of, and a lot of the time you don’t really take the time to stop and think if you’re being taken care of – did the person who’s no longer on the other side of that bed take care of you? Through the darkness and the collapse, through the anxiety and vomiting – were they, in truth, there for you?

That’s where I have problems with this new definition of accountability that I’ve been sparring with. At what point do we simply forget the actions of others and attempt to reinstitute our belief that accountability exists? And if we can’t, at what point do we just say ‘fuck it’ and permanently look the other way? I did what I was raised to do. I worked hard, provided safety and security and, looking back on it, asked very little in return. In the end, ironically, very little is precisely what I got.

Everything in life, even love, must fight to survive, and in doing so lose battles during the course of wars. I am hoping that I find myself waking up to find that my belief in accountability is on the mend. Either that or it’s invested in a boxing glove.