Her life was getting miserable-r, just like anybody else’s, but while getting into that cavity that one falls into in the back of their minds; that cavity that makes everything a thousand times more horrible and painful; she had a thought– there were others too, just as miserable.
They live perfect lives and always have something missing inside. Product of a complex world. Less time using hands, more time forming thoughts that have no basis
No relative thing to hang on to.
He leads a perfect life and has everything else, but he still misses that. That time when he used to care less about everything. Now he realizes he’s old and is only growing older, and now he would do anyyythinnngggg
To get it back. It only took over a decade for him to realize how much time he had lost.
Then there’s him. Running on diet Pepsi. Needing it every five minutes to wake up. Mundane drive around town, mundane job and a slow life. He’s got all the time in the world and it’s always spent on useless stuff. When the sun hits his head from the side, he could look like a star of all sorts. He’s got a skinny body and a tiny head; you could put a cape on him and call him superman. He hops into his beat-up car and sputters off. There’s bills to pay, other odd end jobs to find, possibly a nice girl to hope for, and the pursuit of god damn happiness.
Then there’s that guy. Everything’s going right for him, but it’s just those other a-holes that ruin it for him. He just needs his box of food and a night of watching sports with his curtains all closed. He just needs a girl to make herself ready for him at all times. There’s no concept of time. There’s no rush for anything, there’s no aim. There’s just eating, breathing, fucking, and using the toilet. If the world would let him, he’d eat a box of pizza forever and grow forever into a ball. They would roll him down the stairs, roll him down the streets; he wouldn’t care. That’s life for ya. It’s just others who have it all jacked up. What a bunch of losers.
Thus, in the end there’s nothing to be happy about, and yet even more, there’s nothing to be sad about knowing that everyone is just as miserable as the other. There really could be no misery when misery is the norm. She saw the guy gulp in the bottle of Pepsi to get a kick start on his life. She saw the reflection of the dude in a car trying to race back in time. She saw the fat dude reading about sports in his phone with apathetic eyes. Dim sunlight, fading reflections in time, slow moving speedy car rides. Stars in our eyes. Buzzing delusions, vacant dreams. Our faces converge and we look at one another. There’s a sense of wonder, but there’s an ever greater sense of hopelessness. We ride down the road together, our heads rocking around.
She was a blonde high-school classmate who wanted to become a missionary one day. On the bus ride home, she told me about a time when someone she knew got into a car accident and almost became decapitated, or was decapitated. I eventually learned what that meant. Those days were cold and grey from what I recall. Sports jackets and pathetic blue jeans. Rice paper powder face and straight long hair. Cold wet basements and visions of a blue house along with thoughts on what it’s like to be grown and to be so far away from all this darkness here. Across the seas and straight to Europe, people probably lived a better life. Riding a car around blue hills with headphones on. From the basement window, the bleak daylight used to shine where I stood. And my heart would skip thinking about the college guy who could save me. He sat at the dinner table with a pack of cigarettes. He had a checkbook and a history of love affairs. I keenly listened and made glamorous assumptions about the adult world and was jealous of him and his freedom and all that. It was sad thinking about what could have been in those times of eye liners and flare jeans. Maybe weekend trips to California and a dark haired boy to go out on dates with and to brag about. But those were tied to dreams with the blue hills and convertibles; far out of my reach. In order to live you have to have cheap thrills so that’s where his cigarettes and stories came in. Those were hopeless cold times and my skin was pale and the clouds were grey and my eyes twinkled at whatever that flickered before me.
I can’t believe I’m hearing this same old tune again. How long has it been, like twenty-some years? Is this what it’s like being old now? My, how I’ve grown… into something no less different. Blank eyed and coming of age, sitting in the car and looking out the car windshield; I once watched my self being somewhere far away from this place.
Here I am, miles and miles away, across the seven seas, years and years down the road
Surrounded by dust and glitter under the eastern sunlight
Finding pieces of myself that my feeble arms have tried to hold together for so long.
How weird, to be hearing some same old tune
That I would’ve never chosen.
The ride down the lane; down the tube like straight roads of my memory. Blurred visions outside of lights passing by amid the darkness. The lack of conversation and the lack of memory of the few brief things we talked about. I was too consumed with comfort of a ride home from the place I interned at. No bus tonight. It was a smooth drive with a professional man who earned a living, who had a Russian accent, who had a place of his own, a car of his own, who paid his own bills, and who offered to drive me home from our office. I was just a poor graduate student who mostly associated with other broke students. Opening the door to his car, it felt like I was touching something valuable. And when I sat down, I felt so relieved in the presence of a real grown man. We were essentially working in the same department, but he had a legitimate higher position while I was a temporary intern. It was the first time I fell in love with the thought of being like him. I could smell the freeing scent of becoming a self-made woman one day; earning my own money, owning my own place, driving my own car, of being a professional, of being powerful, self-sufficient, just like him, someday…
Written 2014/06/12, based on past