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| I'm back with more depressing bullshit by mrs. johnson 04/14/2003, 1:51am PDT | ||||
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| I feel ok. People ask me how I feel and I reply, “okâ€. They say I don’t have any feelings, but I have one. The feeling of ok. You know that feeling when you aren’t quite happy or quite sad, and you don’t quite care? That’s the feeling of ok. I feel ok all the time. I guess it’s boring, but at least I don’t have to feel bad. When I was a child, I spent a lot of time alone. I don’t remember why. I read a lot of books. Books taught me that human emotions can be molded with nothing but pieces of paper and ink, so I learned how to write things that made me feel a certain way. I wasn’t good enough to write things that made others feel how I wanted them to, but that’s ok. After a while, I didn’t need to write anymore to feel a certain way. I could do it just by thinking about it. Then, one day, I forgot how to do it completely. And I was feeling ok. So here I am. I’m emotionally stuck. I wish I had gotten stuck on supreme happiness. But this is ok too.
My name is Frank. I live in an apartment between the suburbs and the city. My neighborhood doesn’t have the quiet of the suburbs nor the excitement of the city. My apartment is a shit hole, but I don’t really care. I am currently between jobs. I have a degree in bioengineering but nobody is searching for that field because it was rendered obsolete about a month after I got my degree in 2004. For the past three years, I have been working as a computer programming. I taught it myself, but I hate it. I was let go from my old job because business was down so they couldn’t afford to keep me, and I wasn’t very sociable. I spend my days listening to music in my room because it almost makes me feel something. I also spend my days driving around. Today is a Thursday. It is sunny outside, and everybody I can see from my apartment window seems happy. Sunshine is not a common thing for this part of the country. That’s ok with me, I guess. I am going to the store to buy groceries as there is almost no food left in the house outside of mustard and apple vinegar. I take the stairs downstairs because I am too impatient to wait for the elevator. I live six floors up and it takes me about fifty seconds to walk to the first floor. While I walk I try to come up with something to think about. I fail. This is a usual occurrence. Lately, I have been having trouble finding something to think about. I am fine with my belief system and don’t really have any questions that aren’t answered. The world holds no mystery for me because my life has been very ordinary. I walk to my car and get inside. The car is sort of run down, but it gets me where I want to go most of the time. I hear music behind me and I turn around. There, a homeless man is playing a harmonica with skill. I walk towards him and deposit a dollar into the hat that is sitting on the ground. His name is Sam. He is here every other day. I give him a dollar every time I see him. He smiles at me behind the harmonica and continues to play. I don’t know why I give him money. I stay for another minute to listen to the harmonica. I look up into the cloudless sky and observe the minute changes in shade from place to place. I wonder if that’s a trick or if the sky is actually not all the same exact color. No answer comes, but I’m sure that research will reveal the truth, so I forget about it. Suddenly, I remember my favorite childhood show. It was a cartoon with a charismatic hero with a mysterious past. At the end of the show, his past comes back to him and kills him, leaving his partner alone. As a child, this upset me, and I want to be upset now as well, but I can’t do it. I still feel ok. I forget this memory and walk back to my car. I get in and start driving. After a few blocks, someone runs a red light and hits me. Nobody is seriously hurt, but my car is totaled. After the police take down the report and my car is towed, I walk back home. I give the homeless man another dollar stand in front of him. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the sky is getting slightly darker. The homeless man stops playing, picks up his hat and leaves. I remain standing on the corner, not thinking about anything. The wind is running through my hair and I breathe in the air. People are walking back and forth in front of me, and I look into the eyes of each one of them. I do not know how this is possible, but their eyes reflect their thoughts and emotions. Maybe it has something to do with the arrangement of the eyelid. This woman looks sad and that boy looks excited. I do not see anyone who feels like I do. One girl stops in front of me. She looks to be close in age to me. She asks me why I am standing here and I tell her that I don’t know. She tells me that I look like someone she used to know. Then she leaves. I continue to stand. I try to find some significance in what has happened to me today, but I can’t. I try to care and I try to go after the girl to talk to her, but I feel too lethargic to move. The sun descends over the buildings and I continue to stand. When darkness completely envelops the streets, I take the elevator back to my apartment. I walk inside and listen. Silence greets me. My bed is unmade and my refrigerator is still empty. A brief glimmer of hunger emerges, but leaves quickly. It is only seven pm, but I get into bed, and close my eyes. I know that I won’t sleep for a while, but that’s ok. There is nothing else to do. I try to find something to think about, but I fail again. But that’s ok. Somewhere in the back of my head, a xylophone begins to play. I can hear it perfectly. It sounds like heaven. the mrs. |
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I'm back with more depressing bullshit by 04/14/2003, 1:51am PDT  Quiet of the Suburbs??? by 04/14/2003, 11:34am PDT The suburb I live in is pretty quiet. I walk around at 4 am and not a soul. NT by 04/14/2003, 7:27pm PDT I can do it too. by 04/14/2003, 12:38pm PDT A little shakey in parts by 04/14/2003, 4:04pm PDT Re: A little shakey in parts by 04/14/2003, 7:59pm PDT |
