The pale, vanilla splashed walls reminded the man of a place he had been before, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to place where or what made him feel reminiscent about the achromatic design of the room around him. The floors on which his feet rested gave back a slight reflection when he glanced down into it; the wax that had likely been applied to it last night was starting to give the man a headache from the malodorous fumes rising from the floor tile. The room felt cold. Not necessarily cold in temperature, for climate of the room was endurable, but rather the pleasantness of the room seemed to be lacking. This too reminded the man of something from long ago.
"D-d-d-did you s-s-s-see what happened this morning to Marcus?"
"Shut up, Chase."
"The g-g-g-g-guards really g-g-g-gave it to him t-t-t-t-this time."
The stuttering man licked his lips as he spoke. His arms were crossed at his chest, not to signify a sense of authority or power, but rather to keep himself from likely losing control over his limbs. The stuttering man was short in stature; his face was worn and strained, and showed advanced stages of aging. He couldn't have been more than 25 years of age, but his face was quite deceptive of this fact and made him look much older. His eyes shifted from one side of the pale room to the other as he finished his story.
"Yeah, D-d-d-d-don told me what happened. He said that M-M-M-M-Marcus asked for a piece of toast at breakfast right, b-b-b-but when he got his toast he started complainin’ that it was b-b-b-burnt. So he went up to the s-s-s-s-server and s-s-s-s-s-started complainin' bout his toast, and then started yellin' or whatever about it, and the next thing ya know he's gettin' his ass b-b-b-b-b-b-b-beat."
The stuttering man looked behind him after he finished speaking likely to check and see if any of the wards had overheard him telling the story. The stuttering man's wrinkled face seemed to accent the fear in his eyes.
"D-d-d-did you hear what I said, Al?"
The man's face was of cold indifference. He hadn't glanced at the stuttering man at all during their conversation. His gaze was fixed upon a lone clock that ticked silently in the corner of the room. The man's appearance was considerably more pleasant to look upon, and he looked half the age compared to his stuttering counterpart. The man sat upright in the semi-plastic folding chair, his back straight, hands upon his lap, giving off a sense of vigor and eminence. The man did not respond to the question.
"Al, w-w-w-why do you always do this to m-m-m-m-me Al? W-w-w-why do you act like you don't h-h-h-h-h-hear me sometimes, Al?"
"... Chase, didn't I tell you to shut the hell up?"
"C'mon Al, I thought you'd just w-w-want to know what happened. T-t-t-that's all Al. T-t-t-that's all."
"Stop. Just sit down."
The man's gaze did not fail to break as he callously ordered Chase. The stuttering man removed his arms from against his chest and began rubbing the cheeks of his face with both hands in a clockwise manner. He continued to do this for a few moments, and then stopped as he sat down in a chair parallel from the other man. Chase brought his hands back down from his face and crossed his arms once again. He then began to look from one side of the room to the other, his eyes darting from each living person in the room to the next in a frantic search to make sure that he recognized each person within the bone white walls. The stuttering man then began to rock back and forth uneasily, causing his bony elbows to knock against the back of the seat. The sound emanating from the creaking chair seemed to saturate the walls of the alabaster room. As Chase continued to rock in his seat, for the first time since the stuttering man had entered the room, the man broke his gaze from the mounted clock and gave a bitter look to Chase. The stuttering man seemed to shrink into his seat, and quickly stopped his incessant swaying.
The man turned his cold, hard stare away from Chase, and began to refocus his attention back upon the ticking of the wall clock. Reaching behind him and digging his hand into his left pocket, the man pulled out an ebony colored plastic comb. The man then began to run the comb through his hair in a right-to-left motion. As the man brushed his hair he quickly glanced down to the floor beneath him, and caught a slight glimpse of his appearance; his ashy brown colored hair which he had now parted to the side was being reflected back to him in the way of a distorted like image. The man peered at his image and stopped what he was doing for a moment. His arm fell to his side as if it had been paralyzed by some unseen force. He sat silently for a moment, and peered down into the contorted portrait that lay before him. Many thoughts ran through his mind, as well memories from long ago, most of which he could hardly remember. Others seemed to be nothing more than dreams that once existed, but were now all but lost.
“Say Al, w-w-w-why is it that you keep on lookin’ at that clock?”
The man’s head slowly turned away from the floor, and returned to face the direction of the clock once again. The man answered in a frigid, emotionless tone, and he made sure not to turn to Chase as he spoke.
“…Well whatcha waitin’ for, Al?”
“Something. Someone to be exact.”
“Well w-w-w-who is it, Al? Who’s it you’re w-w-w-waitin’ for?”
“I’ve already told you. You know who I am waiting for.”
“Aww, d-d-d-dammit Al, you knows I’m no good with rememberin’stuff. Does this have to do w-w-w-with you being the special person that you are?”
“W-w-w-w-well then… I think I understands now.”
An eternity seemed to past before either men spoke again. Chase had started to shift in his seat slightly, and began to watch some of the other people that were also in the room. Chase licked his lips, and gave a quick glance over at the man to see if he had moved from his statuesque state. The man ignored Chase’s glance, and refrained from moving his eyes. The stuttering man then quickly averted his attention away from his friend, and opened his mouth to speak. His arms and hands which had been resting at his side for most of their conversation were now placed into his lap. Chase’s eyes darted from corner to corner of the hoary room, until finally they became focused upon the floor just slightly above where his feet rested.
The man did not answer.
“… Yes, Chase.”
“I was w-w-w-wonderin’, if maybe, just maybe you could, ya know…”
“If you c-c-c-could maybe tell me the whole story again, since ya know, I w-w-w-w-won’t be seein’ yas anymore really.”
The man’s eyes turned away from the clock. He slumped back into the plastic folding chair and pushed back against the floor with both of his heels causing the feet of the chair to rise slightly up. As the man replied, his eyes met the table in front of them.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea Chase.”
Chase frowned and removed his hands from his lap. He made a motion as if he were about to stand up from his seat, but a further response from the man stopped him cold.
“… I’m afraid if I tell you again, it will only confuse you.”
The stuttering man shook his head violently.
“N-n-n-n-n-n-no Al, you w-w-w-w-won’t confuse me. I’m a smart guy, Al, honest. Y-y-y-y-ou know me Al, you can t-t-t-trust me.”
Silence filled the space between the two once again. The man sighed long and hard. He exhaled from his nostrils and breathed in deeply from his mouth, letting the warm air fill the very inside of his lungs. The air smelled funny, and to the man it seemed to even have a peculiar taste, if that were even possible for air to have a taste, the man thought to himself. The man continued to sit in silence, and chose neither to move nor speak. Chase squirmed in his seat, awaiting an answer from his elder.
“… If I tell you, will you still agree to go through with the plan?”
A look of exhilaration came over Chase’s face.
“Y-y-y-yes! Of course! Y-y-y-you know me Al. I’ll just sit here and listen, then I’ll do w-w-w-whatever it is you want, Al. Y-y-y-you can trust me, Al.”
The man leaned forward causing the front legs of the chair which had been previously suspended in mid air to touch down upon the floor. The legs hit with a crunching sound, and skidded slightly against the ground. The man then looked down for a moment, and caught yet another glimpse of himself in the waxed floor. Then, for the first time during both men’s colloquy, the man turned and looked Chase right in the eyes.
“…My name is not ‘Al’… It is Aldred Caldwell de Montfort. I was born in Leicester, England in the year of our Lord 1643. I was a distant relative to the 6th Earl of Leicester, Simon de Montfort, and as such I am of noble birth. I fought with him at the Battle of Evesham where he was famously slain by the army of Prince Edward. During the battle I felt a moment of cowardice, and instead of staying and dying a courageous death like my lord and cousin, I instead fled and hid like a peasant. Many years passed and knowing that I could not show my face again amongst my brethren, I instead lived amongst the poor and needy, tilling the land and working with my hands to sustain myself, trying to live an honest life to pay for the sins I had committed. Then one day while I was working the land, I saw a beautiful girl from afar. I later inquired of this woman, and shortly afterward she became my wife. The two of us lived in peace and happiness, or at least as much as a couple could during those times, however as time moved on, I began to notice something. I noticed that as I grew older, my face did not seem to show it. My wife, who had been considerably younger than I when I had first met her, now looked much older than myself. Even the children that we had together were beginning to look older than I. Time passed on as it always does, and before I knew it I was burying my wife. Then my children. Then my children’s children.”
The man stopped speaking for a moment, as if he were trying to bring to remembrance so many different things that happened so long ago. The man cleared his throat, and the sound seemed to echo throughout the ivory room. Mesmerized by the man’s words, Chase sat in a tranquil, sedated like state.
“… Since then I’ve been married thirty seven different times, have raised hundreds of children, and have had to bury every single one of them. I’ve fought in 16 different wars, two of them a ‘World War’, as well as countless battles. I’ve seen more men die than I care to recall, and I’ve killed more men than I’d like to take credit for. I’ve seen cities destroyed, towns rebuilt, and entire countries started a new including this one. I’ve lived more of a life than a thousand men put together, and yet all I wish is to sleep an eternal slumber like all of those before me… I don’t know why I have been chosen to endure this curse, perhaps it is because of my fearfulness so long ago. Perhaps it is because of my bloodshed upon the battlefield. Or perhaps it is simply a result of the sins of all those who came before me. Only God Himself knows. Regardless however, I am but alone in this dreadful walk that I have been irrevocably damned with. The only ally I have or have ever known is but the constant tick tock of time herself, and even then she has been nothing more than a cruel tyrant.”
The man glanced away from Chase. His words fell hard upon his own ears. Telling his story was the last thing he wanted to do for it meant reliving so many things that he had wished would stay forgotten. Chase started to try to speak, but the man cut him off.
“… I’ve been in this place for thirteen years. ‘Doctors’, therapists, shrinks, and other kinds of people have studied, questioned, and pricked me with God knows what. That’s why in exactly three minutes and nineteen seconds my time here will come to an end… and you Chase, are going to help me.”
The stuttering man jumped from his seat. He looked both startled, yet eager to help. He knew what he must do. He had been rehearsing the plan for the past eight months. Every night before he went to bed he went over his lines, remembering exactly what to say, when to say it, and then what to do after he delivered it. Chase walked over to where the man was seated and gave him a nervous smile; he then anxiously began to wring his hands together and took a step forward. With his back to the man, Chase spoke in a quiet tone that the man had to strain just to understand what had been said.
“I’m gonna m-m-m-m-iss ya, Al.”
The man gave a slight nod; his face remained emotionless, however. Chase began to walk. His steps were small and clumsy as beads of sweat began to run down the side of his ruddy cheeks. He could feel the perspiration at the bottom of his neckline, and he swallowed hard as he approached two men sitting down at a table. The men were playing a board game that Chase did not recognized, although the pieces from the game were made up of two different colors, black and white. Chase stood awkwardly in front of the two men whom neither seemed to notice that he was there. Looking behind him, he caught sight of the man and waited for his signal.
As the clock’s hands reached both the three and the nine, the man knew that it was now time. For the past thirteen years, the man had been making mental notes of precisely where every personnel was at during any given time. For example, on Fridays at 9:35 A.M. the man knew that both door guards at the east wing left their posts for exactly five minutes so that they were able to walk to the cafeteria and obtain their weekly coffee. He also knew that every Saturday at precisely 6 P.M., the head of psych ward B would receive an anonymous female visitor into his room. And today, the man knew that at exactly 3:45 P.M. inside the white room, the door guard leaves his post for precisely three minutes to walk down the hallway into the staff lounge area to pick up today’s paper, and then walk back down the hallway to return to his post.
The man thought to himself for a moment, and spoke silently to himself.
As the man spoke, a simple thought entered his mind. The next three minutes although seemingly trivial when compared to the length of the man’s life, will in fact decide his future. The man dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered his mind, and began to try and focus on the task at hand. He glanced over at the guard who was now beginning to stand to his feet, and the man could begin to feel his heart beat grow faster. The man looked over at Chase and nodded towards him. The plan was underway.
"… so then I'm standin' there in the line right, and I look over and the freakin' sign says 'Express lane: only 7 items or less per person', and the lady in front of me, I kid you not, had at least 30 plus items in her cart. Now this lady she's what I would call, uhh, how do I put this in such a way that I don't sound like a jerk… she was rather… obtuse. Yeah. Obtuse. That's a good word. She could definitely stand to miss a few meals. God, people like that make me sick, 'ya know? Go outside, go for a walk, a run, something. Is it really that hard to lose a few pounds for Chrissake? Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. So I'm standin' there right, and I look at the sign again, then I look back at the lady's cart, and I begin to get that old feeling that you and I talked about. Immediately I can feel my heart begin to pick up a few beats, and I feel my face getting all hot and whatever. I clenched my fists or whatever, and started to do my counting. 'One', I said. 'Two, three,' and so on and so forth until I got to 'bout thirty. After doin' that, I began to feel a bit better, but then some schmuck behind me, who for all I could tell was some kinda fag or somethin', started mutterin' something under his breath, real quiet like. So I turned back to look at the fag, and – "
"Homosexual. I think the preferred vernacular is homosexual."
"Yeah, that's what I said wasn't it? Anyway…Where was I? Now see what you gone and made me do?"
"You were referencing the homosexual man saying something to you, if I recall."
"Ah yeah, that's right. So yeah, anyway, the fag – err homosexual as you call 'em, said something that I couldn't quite make out, but I was able to get the gist of it or whatever. Dude said somethin' like, 'When will people learn to read signs'. I think that's what he said. Don't really remember for sure, but I'm pretty sure that's close to it. Anyway, I figured the guy was talking about the 'express lane only' sign, so I looked back at 'em and replied, 'Yeah, tell me about it.' Now for some reason or another which I am not privy to, who knows, maybe the guy had some fight with his boyfriend the night before or somethin', my little comment seemed to really sort of set this queen off. The dude repeated what he had said to me, only this time in a much more louder and stern voice. You woulda thought I was some kinda war general who was rallying his troops before a war. So the gay guy makes this comment loud enough so everyone around him can hear him right, and before I can say anything or make a remark, all the other people who are standin' in line behind the queen begin chiming in with him. 'Yeah' they say, 'Only 7 items per customer!' some other lady says, 'Move to a different line!' and so on and so forth. So at this time the checkout kid, who for all I know looks like he just fell out of his mother's uterus last week is really starting to piss himself. As I stood there and looked at him, I began to see the fear in his eyes, and the real dilemma that seemed to be plaguing him. On one hand, he had an angry mob who wanted him to make the fat lady move to a different lane or they were gonna end up crucifying him. On the other hand, he obviously looked like he was lacking the balls to ask some lady if she would kindly put all fifteen hundred of her items back into her cart and move to a different lane. So the kid looks over at me, as if in some desperate plea for help, knowing that I am the only other person in line who hasn't demanded that he asked the lady to move, as well as being the only person that still hasn't lost their mind."
"So then what happened?"
"Well, what did you do? You were obviously placed in a difficult situation."
"Well what would you have done? I mean you're the shrink and all."
"… I think I would have moved to a different lane. That way you aren't complying with the 'mob', but you also aren't agreeing with the lady who was clearly breaking the store's rules."
"Ha! That's funny. Sometimes doc, you've gotta picked sides. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, with being behind the desk and all. Anyway, guess I oughta finish the story. So I was standin' there right, and there must have been a million different thoughts in my head. At first I was pretty sure the crazy grocery store mob made up of soccer moms and gay guys were right. I mean the lane did have a seven item limit right? But then I couldn't really justify havin' 'em all gang up on that one lady like that, you know? I mean maybe it wasn't her fault she was so fat. Maybe she was born like that or somethin'. Maybe she couldn't read either. The way I saw it, both sides were in the wrong, and I really wasn't sure what to do. But what happened next really just sorta pissed the hell outta me. Through his rallying and protesting that the fat lady moved to a different lane, the gay guy must've noticed that I wasn't exactly chiming in with the rest of the mob. 'Hey,' the guy said to me, 'Why aren't you shouting with us? You want her to move right? After all, you're the one that started all of this!' I nearly lost it after the dude said that. But I bit my tongue, and asked him what he meant by stating that I started it. The gay guy replied by telling me that if it wasn't for me he wouldn't have gotten all riled up. He said that he actually wasn't speaking to me when he muttered somethin' about people not reading signs, but since I answered him or whatever, he then took upon himself to lead the crusade against the fat woman. As if I'm some sort of revolutionary that helped inspire this certifiable moron to go on his campaign of stupidity! I got that old feeling again, and I tried to do my counting, but it wasn't helping. 'One.' I said. 'Move her, get her out of here!' the mob cried. 'Two.' I said. 'Only 7 items to a line lady!' the mob cried. 'Three.' I said. 'Say something, you're the reason we are here! You're the reason we started this in the first place! Tell her! Move that fat whore!' the gay guy screamed. 'Fo... uhh… Five… no.. wait…' Suddenly, I couldn't remember what came after three. I couldn't move, man. Couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I tried my breathing technique. Inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly. The mob kept yelling and yelling. I was just standin' there, tryin' to remember what in the hell came after the number three! My face was getting hotter and hotter, I clenched my fists and looked over at the gay guy. 'Tell her! Tell her it's seven items or less! Tell her!'"
"Then what happened?"
"Well what the hell do you think happened? I blasted that gay dude right in his face. I made a fist, pulled my arm back, and stepped into the punch with everything I had. My fist ended up catchin' him right on his jaw, and without a second's notice he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. 'The next person that tells the lady to move it is gonna end up just like this guy!' I shouted to the mob… And that's about it I guess. The crazed shoppers suddenly became much more nicer all of a sudden, the lady checked out and left, and the gay guy called the cops on me, which you already know how that went down."
"So you ended up giving into your anger after all."
"Yeah, but you said it yourself, I was in a tough spot."
"Yes, I did say that, but I also said that you had options. You could have chosen to not get involved. Remember what we talked about in one of our prior sessions? If you don't learn to master your anger, it will eventually become your master."
"I hear what you're sayin' doc, but there's gotta be a point in a person's life when all that guru stuff goes right out the window, and a man's gotta do what he thinks his best and right."
"… I think this is a good place for us to stop for today. I think next week we can talk some more on what is and isn't the 'right' thing. On your way out don't forget to schedule for next week with Charice, and also feel free to leave the check with her for today's session."
In short, as of late I have just simply been going through the motions of life.
When I think about this, my mind can't help but to drift to the movie "The Big Lebowski." In this film, the main protagonist The Dude (aka, Jeff Bridges) has numerous encounters with a group of German Nihilists. When the Nihilists eventually catch up with The Dude, Bridges asks them who they are, and they reply by telling him that they believe in nothing. What The Dude says next, is something I still find funny to this day: "That must be exhausting."
Somehow I think this quote seems applicable in some way, shape, or form. Because even though I haven't really felt like doing anything (and truth be told, I haven't really done a thing outside of work and school), I've been feeling super tired everyday. So maybe The Dude is right in that sense. Maybe feeling indifferent all the time really does end up leaving a person feeling exhausted.
But the problem is it's more than just feeling indifferent at times. Lately, I've been having a near impossible time when it even comes to making decisions. I don't know if it's because I simply do not have a preference in most cases, or if it's that I've become too lazy to actually make a case for something, but in any account I am definitely finding it difficult to make even the most tiniest of choices.
Awhile back I can remember looking at the Guinness Book of Records and laughing at some of the various records that people held. At the time I thought some of those records seemed so dumb and pointless. I mean who really cares if you created the world's largest pocket knife,if you are the owner of more "do not disturb" signs than anyone else, or if you participated in the world's largest gathering of people dressed like Smurfs. But now when I think about it, all of this makes a bit more sense to me. It's likely that the people that hold these records will never really enjoy national fame other than having their name printed in some book that on average has over a thousand pages in it, but to the record holders it's something much more than that: to them, (in my opinion, anyway) the reason that they seemingly practiced day and night at whatever weird skill, trick, or task they were trying to achieve likely wasn't so they could have a 6 point font of their name written in some book somewhere, but rather it was a reason all the more nobler; it was because they had a passion for something.
Now maybe I am "romaticizing" this idea a bit too much here, but think about it for a second. If you spent an upwards of at least 15 to 20 minutes of your day, each and everyday just perfecting said skill or trick, and continued to do so until you were deemed the best in the world, at what point does that stop becoming a simple hobby/task and actually become that person's passion? Here, I'll give you a hint: when that person makes a conscious decision to say, "I am going to be the best at this, regardless of what people say, think, or do. I'm going to give it my all, and I am not going to quit, nor am I going to give in." I think it's at this point that the said person has gone from simply living out the rest of their existence in an ordinary, mundane way, and instead they have ascended to a higher plateau of humanity: the part of humanity that isn't just settling.
Okay, so for those of you sitting their and still not following what I am saying at all, let me try to simplify all of this for you: As human beings, we are given several choices throughout our lives, and in most cases we are also given different opportunities, some good, some bad. Ultimately however, it is up to us to decide what we do with these choices, as well as the opportunities that have been presented to us. So with that in mind, should we just simply continue going to our boring, mundane 9-5 jobs, so we can buy stupid pointless crap that we don't need, and so we can afford expensive unhealthy food that is really just going to end up killing us in the end? Do we return to our homes every night only to be zombified by our televisions, thus putting us in a vegetative state so that we are more willing to get up the next morning and repeat the whole process again until we are 65? Or for once, do we actually do something with our lives? Even if by some dumb chance that something happens to be trying to break the world record by seeing how many t-shirts we can put on before passing out from heat exhaustion.
So I guess I am saying all of this to say the following: if we are going to do something, why shouldn't we try our best at it? If we want to achieve something, why not go all out for it? And finally, if we really want to get the most out of our existence, why not show a little passion in the things that we do everyday? The more I think about it, the more I'm realizing this is probably what my problem has been all along. Somewhere along the line I lost some of my passion in the things that I used to take so seriously, and because of this it's affected my outlook on life. So in that sense, I think it's time I tried to find some of the things I've lost, and take back that pride I once had.
Listen my readers and I shall tell you a tale
Of adventure and mystique, not unlike the search for the Grail.
This quest that I speak of involves a great deed,
And a man capable of withstanding great evil and greed.
This man was a hero who wasn't quite a hero.
That's not to say that his works aren't remarkable enough to be noted by my biro,
On the contrary my dearest reader, this man was unlike most other,
He was abandoned at the age of nine by his whore of a mother.
An act, if I might say, is something truly awful,
This act no doubt, initially led our Hero to seek a life deemed unlawful.
But I shan't dwell upon these details, for they are quite boring.
Rather, my reader, I shall focus on the 'venture, so that you won't be left snoring.
Sometime our hero spent, righting his wrongs in a cell,
Fighting to survive, agonizing through what I can only imagine as utter hell.
But then O reader, on an ever fateful night,
Our Hero dreamed a dream of both darkness and light.
The Hero saw a truly profound and compelling vision,
This dream had left an impact on him, he now knew his true mission.
And what was this dream, you, reader, likely ponder?
Shall I tell you, or should I keep you in the dark, left to wander?
Although the idea is quite tempting, I fear I may lose you,
So then reader, I shall give in, and pay what is due.
The Hero's dream, it truly was a sight to behold!
And now finally, the secrets of the dream shall be told!
But first lovely reader, let me tell an abrupt allegory.
It is neither lewd, nor is it particularly gory.
Once there lived a maiden, fair as can be.
There also lived a knave, one of the bravest, he.
In a tall, tall, castle doth the maiden live,
And so then the knight journeyed to rescue her, and soon did he arrive.
And then… ah… umm… err… well my reader it does appear
That I have forgotten the rest of the story, I do fear.
At any rate, I suppose it does not matter.
So on then, enough with this futile chatter.
Let us then truly begin our story; like most epics it starts "in medias res"
Or to the layman, we begin in the middle phase.
As we finally join our Hero, his quest shall likely leave the reader wowed.
And my narration no doubt would likely make Keats, Shelley, and Byron quite proud.
So then dear reader, let your humble narrator begin,
It is time for this woven tale to finally take its spin.
This tale shall begin in the heights of sorrow and misérable.
And for those of you still wondering, are Hero's name doth be Bob.
Sir Bob as it may be, was sitting at his desk like any other day,
And that's where I shall begin to tell the tale, if I may.
I likey haiku
Do you likely this haiku?
YAY, FIVE SEVEN FIVE!
Get the bad, bad man
Gadaffi, that is his name
Genocide's his game
Boom, boom, goes the bombs
Dead, dead, is the enemy
Oh crap, wrong target!
French fries taste real good
So does a Big Mac with cheese
HURGGH! MY HEART'S FAILING
"Don't run with scissors
You may stab something you need."
"Nah, I will be fine."
Old Lady drivin' a car
Does not go fast, rides the brakes
I.... AM.... GONNA... KILL.... YOU!!!!
Let me get this straight,
You want me to work for free?
What a dumb idea.
Playing Street Fighter
I lose; throw my controller.
It breaks. "This game sucks!"
Sitting in this class
I contemplate suicide.
Rather die than be here.
Where's the bathroom at?
I find it and go inside.
Stall says, "OUT OF ORDER."
“Honey, can you pass me the milk?”
He muttered to me in-between indiscernible grunts and utterances. I smiled as I passed him the carton. He was turning forty-eight in May. I was going to be thirty-seven next week. It’s hard to believe that I had known this man since I was just barely an adult. He was examining the back of the cereal box and chuckling to himself in-between gulps as he read the cartoon that most fourth graders find immature and stupid. His laugh wasn’t that of a normal man’s laugh; my husband’s laugh was something on par with that of a hyena’s squeal. It truly was a stupid and pathetic laugh. I looked down at my watch and then looked back at him. For the first time all morning, he looked back at me and met my gaze and returned it with one of his own. He grinned widely at me, much in the same adoration and way he smiled at me on our first date.
He had such a stupid smile.
I politely returned the smile, only mine being purely out of pity. Only five more minutes and he would leave for work. Then I wouldn’t have to see him for another eight hours. My mind quickly began to race as I realized what day it was. It was Friday. That meant he would expect the two of us to go out tonight. I immediately began to think of excuses to use later in order to get out of having to endure a night of torture and pain with him. Perhaps I would tell him I was too tired, or perhaps I had suddenly gotten very ill while he was away at work. Yes. That could work. He would likely be stupid enough to believe that. In order to make it even more believable, I would begin developing my plan this very second. I opened my mouth to speak; to make a comment about how I currently wasn’t feeling well, but before I could say anything, he opened his big stupid mouth and stupid words began to flow freely from it.
“You know, it’s been awhile since we have gone to a nice place to eat. I was thinking that tonight after work, maybe you and I could go out to that Italian place that you like so much.”
The idea of enduring an hour-long dinner conversation with him was enough to make me want to kill myself. Once again I smiled faintly at him, and was about to reply when I then realized that he wasn’t done speaking.
“… Then afterwards maybe we can come back here, light some candles maybe have some wine… you know, just have a nice romantic night together.”
I had to nearly physically restrain myself from vomiting all over the kitchen table. Suddenly it all made so much sense. With him, it was never about a nice gesture, or doing something spontaneous because he cared, but rather it was always about sex. Everything was about sex with him. And the funny thing is, he was stupid enough to think he was going to get it later on tonight. As if buying me a nice dinner was enough to get me to put out. It’s as if he thought of me as some whore where all he has to do is wave some money around and I will come running. Little did he know that sex was the problem behind everything. If it wasn’t for his stupid problem we wouldn’t be in the situation we are now. I wouldn’t be sitting in this kitchen chair, alone with him, feeling useless as a woman, and even more useless as a person. Every time I look at his face I am reminded of the life we never had together, and I am just now realizing that the chance of life I could have once had is now gone forever. The doctor’s said his problem would just “fix” itself, but what do they know. They’re just as stupid as he is.
“Looks like I’m going to be late. Guess I’d better get going.”
He stood up from the table and placed his bowl and spoon in the sink. As usual, he forgot to wash it and instead left it for me to take care of later. As he began to walk towards the front door, he stopped for a moment and backtracked towards me. He then did something that caught me off guard. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, while whispering something directly into my ear.
“You’re the best. I love you.”
He then quickly turned around on his heel and proceeded to walk out the front door. The door slammed hard behind him, and I subsequently bolted and latched the door’s top lock. That very instant as I locked the front door, I had an epiphany. My husband loves me. My husband is still in love with me. In fact, he is so much in love with me that it can almost be called “stupid.”
My husband is a stupid, stupid man. And I am a stupid woman for allowing him to think that I love him back.
Recently I've been trying my best to follow up on the aptly named "DISASTER IN JAPAN". Typically I'm not one to follow the news, but it seems as of late everyone is more or less obsessed with finding out the latest death tolls and destruction numbers. Personally, I've really only been watching it for the photos and videos that have been taken as a result of the catastrophe. Now maybe you're sitting there and you are thinking to yourself, "Josh, why would you possibly want to see those videos and photos? What are you, some kind of morbid freak? It's like you have a thing for death!" And if by chance you actually happen to be currently thinking this, let me just answer you by saying this: No, I do not have a "thing for death", nor am I one to obsess over excessively morbid thoughts (although I do have them from time to time... but that's neither here nor there). Instead, I have been watching and finding these clips/pictures for a completely different reason. First let me tell you an actual story that happened to me just a few hours ago.
After deciding to skip my afternoon classes today on account of my Romantic Literature class being cancelled, I decided to head over to NYPD for a relaxing lunch (for those of you unfamiliar with what N.Y.P.D is I suggest visiting downtown Ypsilanti soon and checking it out, their deep dish pizza is quite amazing). Anyway, when I got there I noticed that an overhead television was displaying some of the more recent developments of the earthquake/tsunami. After ordering my food, I sat down next to the television and began eating while being simultaneously drawn to the horror that was on-display via the television. As I was nearly finished with my food, one of the workers came over and stood by the T.V. for a moment. I paid little attention to him until he spoke.
“It doesn’t seem real,” he said. The man was wearing a green shirt and blue jeans. His hair was about shoulder length, and he had a full beard. “My God, would you just look at that?” he went on, “It makes you feel so small… almost insignificant. I mean here we are safe in Michigan, in a little old pizza place, and half way across the world people are dying in the streets.”
For a moment I was speechless. Not solely because of the sheer frankness of the man’s words, but also because of the real truth that was behind them. I could only really reply with a simple, “Yeah. It’s pretty crazy.” After that the man nodded, and walked back in to the kitchen. For the next few minutes I sat there at the table, staring in bewilderment at the absolute chaos and destruction on the screen, with one sole thought in my mind: Human beings are indeed small, seemingly insignificant creatures.
There is something truly humbling about looking at the aftermath of what can only be described as an act of God. It truly makes you think for a moment just how fragile a human life is. Take for example the many Japanese that were killed during the initial earthquake. Almost no one had any real idea what was about to happen, and even less had an actual chance to react to the situation. One second everyone is going about their life like any other day, and a second later an entire village and more than half of its inhabitants are eradicated.
I think this is something that Americans in particular never really consider. Sure we read about “catastrophes” in the newspapers, and we hear about massacres in the news, but it seems we really never stop to consider that such an event can happen to us. I feel even now as I watch the news about Japan and how the death toll is now in the tens of thousands I can’t help but feel that I am still just as safe as ever right here in good old Michigan. But the truth is, none of us are ever truly “safe”. Anyone can expire without a moment’s notice; and unfortunately to the rest of the world, you will then just be another statistic in some book somewhere.
So I’ve said all that to say this: The next time you find yourself watching the news, and the reporter is spouting off the most recent death tolls as some new catastrophic event unfolds, and you think to yourself, “That’s how many people were killed? Well that’s not so bad”, stop and think again. Those “numbers” were human beings. No, they’re not just people from some other foreign country. They’re not terrorists, or Communists, or whatever type of people you want to call them; they were people, just like you and me. And finally, if you ever catch yourself thinking with this typical American mentality, remind yourself that it just as easily can be your name the reporter is reading from the list of the deceased.
Hmm... Looks like I went ahead and created yet another blog. I think this makes six... strange. I seem to have some absurd fetish with creating blogs, designing them, changing around all the settings to my liking, and then never posting on them ever again. In fact this whole little ordeal strangely reminds me of a Bruce Lee quote. In "Enter the Dragon", Bruce Lee is asked by a rival fighter what his fighting style is, to which Bruce replies,"I practice the art of fighting without fighting." For some time now, I have tried to decipher what this little quote might mean, and after much deliberation I think I have finally figured it out. Old Brucie was likely saying that he was capable of defeating opponents (or fighting them) without actually fighting. Okay. Wow. I am doing a terrible job of explaining this. Let me try again.
During the time of "Enter the Dragon"'s theatrical release, Lee was known as an expert martial artist, and in the movie "Enter the Dragon", he is revered by many of his fellow rival fighters. Thus, Bruce Lee gave off an aura so to speak, an aura or rather a reputation that instantly created fear and intimidation within his opponents. But it goes even further than this. By mastering the art of fighting without fighting, Lee also had to acknowledge within himself that he was one of the greatest fighters who had ever lived; that's not to say that he was cocky or arrogant, but rather that he was simply confident of his own abilities and skills. Thus, whenever he entered a battle, he went in with having the idea that he had already won because he was so sure of his skills; therefore he did not even need to fight, because in his mind he had already won the second he stepped into the arena.
Anyway, I feel this quote can be applied to my writing at times. Although I have failed to keep up with some of my past blogs at times, I still know that somewhere within me lies the skills and abilities to become a great writer. I am in fact quite confident of this. Thus, from this day forth, I am going to try and post SOMETHING of worth on this site on a semi-consistent basis. So I hope those of you that are reading this, will continue to check in from time to time to see what I have to say (or rather what I have to write)...