BORED | db

II

LIFE GOES ON - THE SUNDAYS

Build me up, don't get me down
Weather the storm
Well, life goes on

★drew★

My eyes are tired, I can feel my sunken eyes as I blink. God, I need a coffee. I'm not sure how much I slept last night, but judging by the state of my reddened sclera, I would place a bet that it wasn't that much. I'm wearing a ratty, old t-shirt I got when I donated blood, but at least snoopy is on it. These jeans are at least two sizes to big everywhere else but the waist, and I didn't bother with any makeup.

I will kill myself if I am perceived the wrong way today.

Why can't we all venture out in cloaks if we want to? Perhaps we can, 'free' will and all, but the societal constraints to that would be catastrophic. Or maybe that's what they want us to think so we don't resist the metal cage forced upon us offering little wiggle room. Whatever, I'm not putting on a cloak yet.

Some depressing song is playing in my ears and I must skip it in the car on the way to the school function. Music alters my mood with one note, one strum of a guitar or touch on a piano. Sounds and smells are the most powerful senses to me, I could probably live without the rest. Of course, I think I could probably do just about anything if I set my mind to it though.

I drive a sporty car, far too impractical for everyday life, which is why these were meant for men who have divorced and whose children no longer speak to him. This is a car for people in crisis, which is, I suppose, why I bought it. Everyone but me loves it, and I too love it on occasion, but not enough for how much money I drain into it. That divorced, lonely man, the man who should own this car, he's got enough money to pour down the drain. Me, on the other hand? I've got three jobs and a full-time school schedule to pour myself into. At the end of the day, there's not much else to give; yet, this stupid mid-life crisis car demands to suck me dry of every last penny I've got.

Seems I've gone on a bit of a spiral of bad decisions lately. I bought a ridiculous car and moved away from everything that's comfortable for what? A gay school? Now that I put it that way, transferring was possibly the sanest decision I've made in ages. It's a small college in California, the lesbians have all dated each other already and the grapevine is analogous to wildfire. Which, in California, is an infectious entity and nearing incurable, should that tell you anything.

I haven't made it not two months and I've already gotten a grasp on what I can expect for the next two years. Lots of smiles--people who mean well, truly, but who will never be able to follow through--to ease their own minds about how inclusive they are. These are people who have been told they have to solve all the world's problems and who chose to start with social justice issues. An admirable choice, albeit the most exhaustive of them all because a day's work is never done. Because of that, they say yes to every request, only to realize they are but a mortal and but a speck of amalgamated dust.

I talk about them as if I am not looking in a mirror. These are my familiars, it makes me disturbingly comfortable to exist. A time meant to be uncomfortable, amidst changes I cannot even begin to explain yet, has now turned into a calm sea with the occasional soft breeze drifting me one way or another.

I never said I was perfect. Only that we all strive for it. But after a while, perfection turns stale and the mere idea of it makes my eyes glaze over now.

I'm still sitting in the car, you know. I've never been to this parking lot, and I'm not even sure I'm meant to stall here, but the idea of a ticket is so laughable to me I exit my toy car. Within seconds, my headphones are placed in my ears. I don't have a cloak, but I have the wizardry of musical technology.

I often leave it to the weather to dictate what I listen to because I need someone's outsides to match the inside; Lord knows mine are in disarray. I like wondering if Mother Nature would like the song playing. Would the moon smile in the face of this melody?

The sun has subsided for the moment, which I find a temporary solace in. I have the stamina for catastrophes, many reserves to dip into in the case of job loss or death, but dealing with the melting spotlight our very Mother has created amid the mental turmoil I'm already facing is not within my wheelhouse. I am even unclear in the destination in which I am walking toward. At least, I think I'm walking toward it.

I have the calming hum of The Sundays in my ears, there's a cool breeze through my uncombed brown hair, and I find myself wishing I brought my glasses with me so I could see the inflections on the leaves of the trees. Nature has been a great comfort to me today, but it does not dull the throb in my skull as a result of not knowing where I'm going or who I will see. I don't know anyone here, not really. Although, I'm beginning to think it's hard to get to know anyone here.

I will only stay for as long as it takes to get my hair cut, not a moment more. I probably won't even get one because I'm late, about as often as I am screwed. Late would be my first name, Screwed following as a middle and as a result, and I'm hoping my last is a bit less me. After all the consequences to my actions, I feel as though I am less than myself. I know I've got all my limbs and all my faculties, and yet, I act like a scorned pet just before the anesthesia sets in for a procedural amputation. Surely, it's for my own good, but that doesn't mean I won't yelp and cry the whole way home in desperate need for a reprieve.

It's not so busy, not nearly as busy as I was dreading it to be, which appeases me. Instantly, I'm drawn to a corridor emitting sentient sound. The corridor was silent, of course, but it acted as a megaphone of sorts.

In hindsight, it was a call sirens would envy. I was beckoned down the path and instantly thought of a last name. Alice. I have plummeted into Wonderland, and the tricks and treats that await have me forgetting all about reality.

Hello, stranger.

★db★

I'm kind of dreading this next part. Reliving the happy bits is a bit like dying all over again. But here's to hoping that I find peace in grieving.

Toodle loo
Cherry bye!