So I'm putting my portfolio together and Im sortve thinking :O 75% of my projects I just did to say they were done and now I've FUCKED myself over. (I'm almost certain I'm not alone on this.) And so I've been reflecting on this course throughout the year and I've realized that this is one of the few courses where I think what I as the student is more important than what the class gets out of me. In the sense of Normal English, the most important thing was that by April the course got a formal literate essay comparing two books, it doesn't matter that I learned an appreciate for Shakespeare or that I felt sympathy for the Joads who had lost everything in Grapes of Wrath, all that mattered was that I got the goddamn essay outline in and got a half decent mark on it.)
Now I supose every class I should have the attitude that I do with normal english... maybe not... but I supose if I had taken this class and thought, I'm going to write the best goddamn poem I've ever wrotten, and crap. Not like "Oh shit.... poem's due... *writes a half assed one*" I'd be in a much better position now.
Which actually reminds me of a conversation I had a couple weeks ago, to protect identities I'm going to refer to the fellow as Mitch.
Mitch: can't wait until next year, writers craft and Studies in Lit.
Me: You might not be able to take both, traditionally they happen at the same time.
Mitch: In that case I'll take WC next year and Studies in Lit my 5th year.
Me: If you're taking a 5th year you might as well take Studies in Lit next year.. you know how they always say to become a better writer you should read, read, read and analyze and reflect.
Mitch: Yeah, but I'm a pretty good writer now, I mean I won the laws of life essay contest.
Me: yeah but I mean you will probably do much better in WC after having a year to study and analyze literature, I mean I wish I wouldv'e done that.
Mitch: Maybe the course was a little heavy and hard for you, but like I said I won the LAWS OF LIFE ESSAY CONTEST I think I can handle it.
Me: Oh it isn't that I can't handle it, it's just that I would've been a stronger writer, in my opinion if I had studied more.
Mitch: Well, I do read now and I did win the laws of life essay contest so I think I'm as strong of writer as I'll ever be.
Me: STFU! No one cares that you won the goddamn laws of life essay contest, I won the freakign childrens lit category of the english awards but you dont hear me adding it to every sentance! *shoots in the shoulder* FUCKING TAKE STUDIES IN LIT B4 WRITIERS CRAFT, ITS THE MOST FUCKING LOGICAL COURSE OF ACTION AND IF YOU DON'T THE NEXT BULLET WILL GO THROUGH YOUR HEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! :@ :@ :@ :@ :@ :@
Ok... so the last part didn't happen but that conversation Mitch really was annoying me, because he mentioned that he did infact win the laws of life essay contest, and that he didn't see my point that it may not affect his mark much in the course but it would greatly effect what he takes from WC if he took studies in lit first. Not that I regret taking WC this year, but sometimes I wonder....
perhaps incorrectly, but I'm sure I'm right. I always am.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
irrelevant blog.
I apologize for reverting back and not posting any legimate english type things but I haven't blogged in a while and I feel compelled to, but on the other hand I have not felt inspired to work on my story and unless I feel the burning desire of creativities flame from inside me my writing ends up turning out bad... I mean I wrote a paragraph for it and I'm like this is sooo dull and boring.... I think that is what seperates good from bad.
Good writing will remain compelling even when the situation is not some burning over the top moment of intrigue.... which makes me think of one of the most profound (and perhaps incorrect thing) I've heard reccently. "Plot is merely the device used to get themes across in writing." or in other words plot is neglible. Also this quotation wasn't from some ENG prof @ university land... it was actually said to me by a friend (who is taking Studies in Lit, granted).
Another interesting thing I heard about plot reccently was by George Elliot Clarke, who we were fortunate enough to have visit our school reccently... what he said was perhaps a cliche about writing but he said that all stories have already been told but what makes the stories come alive again is how you tell them and the characters you put in them.
He was a very remarkable reader, when he got going he was so into his words you couldn't help but stay focused on him and feel what he was feeling.
This also is a bit off topic, but I do feel a sort of need to include this too: there is a kitten near my bus stop who was hit and is now dead. He is not bloodied (to the best of my sight, I haven't taken a good look at him) so it just looks like he is lying there- innocently sleeping. I find it so sad that babies need to grow up in a world full of harm.
Good writing will remain compelling even when the situation is not some burning over the top moment of intrigue.... which makes me think of one of the most profound (and perhaps incorrect thing) I've heard reccently. "Plot is merely the device used to get themes across in writing." or in other words plot is neglible. Also this quotation wasn't from some ENG prof @ university land... it was actually said to me by a friend (who is taking Studies in Lit, granted).
Another interesting thing I heard about plot reccently was by George Elliot Clarke, who we were fortunate enough to have visit our school reccently... what he said was perhaps a cliche about writing but he said that all stories have already been told but what makes the stories come alive again is how you tell them and the characters you put in them.
He was a very remarkable reader, when he got going he was so into his words you couldn't help but stay focused on him and feel what he was feeling.
This also is a bit off topic, but I do feel a sort of need to include this too: there is a kitten near my bus stop who was hit and is now dead. He is not bloodied (to the best of my sight, I haven't taken a good look at him) so it just looks like he is lying there- innocently sleeping. I find it so sad that babies need to grow up in a world full of harm.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Chemistry
May 10th, 2007
Dear Chemistry,
I first met you two years ago however several differences we had kept us apart. It is not until recently that I have gotten to really know you and all your wonders; but there is something I must tell you. I'm leaving you, I've never liked you and infact I've hated you for so long. I thought I could use you and your position of power in life, but you are so boring, the time we've spent together- the early mornings, the late night rendezvous, the weekend we spent entirely together. All the time, I've hated you. You are so complex, I feel like we can't relate, you're like a mystery I cannot solve. Nor do I want to. I never wanted to be with you, and I'm leaving you
-Sincerely Traci
May 11th, 2007
Chemistry,
I apologize for the letter I sent you. I sent that out of anger and disgust. But I do need you, and I should hope we will soon get along because I will be spending much more time together in the future and that one day I will understand your rules and your manic fits of rage.
-Warmly Traci
Dear Chemistry,
I first met you two years ago however several differences we had kept us apart. It is not until recently that I have gotten to really know you and all your wonders; but there is something I must tell you. I'm leaving you, I've never liked you and infact I've hated you for so long. I thought I could use you and your position of power in life, but you are so boring, the time we've spent together- the early mornings, the late night rendezvous, the weekend we spent entirely together. All the time, I've hated you. You are so complex, I feel like we can't relate, you're like a mystery I cannot solve. Nor do I want to. I never wanted to be with you, and I'm leaving you
-Sincerely Traci
May 11th, 2007
Chemistry,
I apologize for the letter I sent you. I sent that out of anger and disgust. But I do need you, and I should hope we will soon get along because I will be spending much more time together in the future and that one day I will understand your rules and your manic fits of rage.
-Warmly Traci
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Wildlife In Baden
A small black squirrel
crosses the road:
Hopping; not walking.
He appears as a transverse wave.
I feel a typical sense of
distance and indifference.
A mother duck is walking,
her babies along the train tracks.
I'd like to hold them,
protect them,
tell them all will be all right.
But you have to let birds fly.
crosses the road:
Hopping; not walking.
He appears as a transverse wave.
I feel a typical sense of
distance and indifference.
A mother duck is walking,
her babies along the train tracks.
I'd like to hold them,
protect them,
tell them all will be all right.
But you have to let birds fly.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Doll Parts: Part 2
This is continued from part 1 which was 2 blogs ago.
I continued my day, sat at my desk: sometimes working; sometimes pretending to work but mostly not even bothering to try. Time ticked by and it was eventually time to go home.
Home. When I returned home, I put my now clean sheets into the dryer. I then flipped my mattress, grabbed my pillow and crashed on the bed. Today had worn me out so much, I just wanted to lie down, to sleep, to dream, to no longer be here. Then tears began to stream down my face, my much hated alternative. I had completely crashed, no warmth, no comfort for me tonight.
I think I loved her, and I'm sure she loved me. No, wait, I mean I know I loved her. Why am I even thinking this, there is no argument of whether we loved each other. We were married, we were together for sixteen, no.... seventeen years, and in that time there had to have been good times, joyful, tender loving moments. Then how come all I can remember are the I was unfaithful or the times I was short-tempered with her. I loved her so much, but I couldn't express it. Still, it couldn't have been that bad for her, why would she have stayed? Who am I kidding, I'm a horrible person and I must've made her life miserable. She was a saint, an angel for putting up with me for as long as she did. She was too good for me, too good for this world. I never should have allowed her to get close to me. I needed her love, but I didn't deserve it so she was taken away from me. I just wish she wasn't the one who had to suffer my abuse, that she didn't have to pay the ultimate price for loving one so undeserving.
My angel no longer hides. She stands before me; her innocent beauty untouched by time. She no longer smiles at me, just gazing, leering down at the pathetic creature I've become.
Please take me with you.
She shakes her head and looks at me disapprovingly and then vanishes. She leaves me again. Please don't leave, I can't do this without you.
Again I wake up to the blaring sound of an alarm, I get up and go to work. My week continues this way, I continue to live my life. I go to work, sometimes there on time, mostly not. Nothing of interest, just waiting. Waiting for Saturday.
Then Saturday comes and I didn't care, or at least I did not want to care. But I just keep thinking about all that has happened in the past few years and I feel so sick that I can hardly stand. Just seeing anyone else, anyone but her just doesn't feel right. I take a quick drink to calm my nerves, then look at the clock. Quarter to six.
Just fifteen minutes. I just need to get through fifteen minutes, if I can get through this then the worst will have passed. I begin to pace in my front corridor; how could I betray you like this? Forgive me, please. Not for my actions but for my intent.
My angel creeps from the shadows- watching me, judging me. She has this hurt angered look in her eyes. Please don't be too mad with me, please you must understand. I didn't want this! My angel, disgusted with me leaves. Fine! Go, I never loved you anyway. I don't need you.
Joseph's car pulled up to my drive way at that instant, and time stood still. I could hear my heart beating in my chest and throughout my entire entity. Go away, just please drive away and never come back. Come back, my darling angel come back and make them go away.
Honk, honk. The sound of the car horn taunts me like the allure of the sirens; filling me with fear and wonder. I slowly reach for my door's handle. I twist it and my heart stops. I pull the door open and I stand at my doorway, standing at the half way point.
I take a deep breath, “Don't worry this will soon be over and Joe will be able to be proud of himself or whatever for doing what he thinks is in my best interest.”
I continued my day, sat at my desk: sometimes working; sometimes pretending to work but mostly not even bothering to try. Time ticked by and it was eventually time to go home.
Home. When I returned home, I put my now clean sheets into the dryer. I then flipped my mattress, grabbed my pillow and crashed on the bed. Today had worn me out so much, I just wanted to lie down, to sleep, to dream, to no longer be here. Then tears began to stream down my face, my much hated alternative. I had completely crashed, no warmth, no comfort for me tonight.
I think I loved her, and I'm sure she loved me. No, wait, I mean I know I loved her. Why am I even thinking this, there is no argument of whether we loved each other. We were married, we were together for sixteen, no.... seventeen years, and in that time there had to have been good times, joyful, tender loving moments. Then how come all I can remember are the I was unfaithful or the times I was short-tempered with her. I loved her so much, but I couldn't express it. Still, it couldn't have been that bad for her, why would she have stayed? Who am I kidding, I'm a horrible person and I must've made her life miserable. She was a saint, an angel for putting up with me for as long as she did. She was too good for me, too good for this world. I never should have allowed her to get close to me. I needed her love, but I didn't deserve it so she was taken away from me. I just wish she wasn't the one who had to suffer my abuse, that she didn't have to pay the ultimate price for loving one so undeserving.
My angel no longer hides. She stands before me; her innocent beauty untouched by time. She no longer smiles at me, just gazing, leering down at the pathetic creature I've become.
Please take me with you.
She shakes her head and looks at me disapprovingly and then vanishes. She leaves me again. Please don't leave, I can't do this without you.
Again I wake up to the blaring sound of an alarm, I get up and go to work. My week continues this way, I continue to live my life. I go to work, sometimes there on time, mostly not. Nothing of interest, just waiting. Waiting for Saturday.
Then Saturday comes and I didn't care, or at least I did not want to care. But I just keep thinking about all that has happened in the past few years and I feel so sick that I can hardly stand. Just seeing anyone else, anyone but her just doesn't feel right. I take a quick drink to calm my nerves, then look at the clock. Quarter to six.
Just fifteen minutes. I just need to get through fifteen minutes, if I can get through this then the worst will have passed. I begin to pace in my front corridor; how could I betray you like this? Forgive me, please. Not for my actions but for my intent.
My angel creeps from the shadows- watching me, judging me. She has this hurt angered look in her eyes. Please don't be too mad with me, please you must understand. I didn't want this! My angel, disgusted with me leaves. Fine! Go, I never loved you anyway. I don't need you.
Joseph's car pulled up to my drive way at that instant, and time stood still. I could hear my heart beating in my chest and throughout my entire entity. Go away, just please drive away and never come back. Come back, my darling angel come back and make them go away.
Honk, honk. The sound of the car horn taunts me like the allure of the sirens; filling me with fear and wonder. I slowly reach for my door's handle. I twist it and my heart stops. I pull the door open and I stand at my doorway, standing at the half way point.
I take a deep breath, “Don't worry this will soon be over and Joe will be able to be proud of himself or whatever for doing what he thinks is in my best interest.”
Monday, April 30, 2007
Beginings of a Script
Ok, I said I would focus on my darned story for the rest of the year and only blog the story so I'd get it done but I lied. That's because I had this really sweet idea for a script that pins an antihero and a tragic hero against eachother. I don't think I was really able to keep that theme consistant or atleast strong but I do feel it's interlacedness does come somwhat across.
FYI: This is a first draft I typed up like half an hour ago and it doesn't end. Or that is to say I haven't typed up the ending.
The play begins with two characters on stage. Their setting can be interpreted as something tangible, like they're stuck on an elevator or something more metaphysical. Melissa is you're 'have it all' highschool student who is actively involved with any social event she can be a part of. Setarcos is really dressed down and grungy, no make-up or evidence of much time spent putting herself together. Also fight the any urges you may have to picture her as a goth because a part of her character is that she places no effort on clothing while people who dress in goth style logically (and to the best of my knowledge) focus a lot of their image. Kapeesh?
Melissa : I guess we're stuck here just you and me, eh?
Setarcos: Yeah... seems so.
Melissa: Looks like we aren't going anywhere. But hey at least-
Setarcos: Look, I don't really care.
Melissa: Oh ok... hmm, I know! if you were on a deserted island and you could only bring three things with you, what would you bring?
Setarcos: uhhh...Pardon?
Melissa: Haven't you ever played that game? If you were stuck on a dessert island what would you bring with you? It's supposed to be representative of the three most important things in your life, and it can be quite a riot. And I of course figured given the circumstances it would be a nice way to pass the time.
Setarcos: I'd bring a cellphone and call someone and tell them to get my ass of this friggin' island.
Melissa: Come now, you arn't even trying. If we're both stuck like this we may as well make the best of it.
Setarcos: Fine. I would bring... my guitar, naturally. Some water, and my cat.
Melissa: You're cat?
Setarcos: yeah my cat. You know four paws, says meow. Always there when you need them..
Melissa: Aww that's sweet. I have a kitty of my own, I love her she is sooo cute. You know what I'd like to bring, I'd my planner, because even though I would no longer be in the real world, I'd like to keep a small part of it. I'd also like to bring my bible with me, not just for the theological reasons but because it has a lot of sentimental value to it too, got it from my daddy. And, hmmm... I think I would bring with me... well I supose I'd bring a knife. Just to help if I needed to cut down some branches for some fire wood or shelter.
Setarcos: Well, you certainly do fit the mold. A schedule that keeps your life busy and meaningful, a family who adores their little scholar and clearly you have some religion in your life. Not to mention daddy's little girl is logical too, but tell me, where would you keep your knife? Hm? In those nice little panties of yours? No one- or no boy would ever look in there, not after you fucked every guy in school...
Melissa: ...cut that out...
Setarcos: including my boyfriend...
Melissa: ...You're being rude...
Setarcos: No one would want you now-
Melissa: now let me explain...
Setarcos: You'd know that if you weren't too busy living your goddamn white picket fence dream. Now how would daddy fell if he found out that you're as fake as all the rest of them? All smiles and rainbows on the outside but with an ugly tumor formed underneath, cheapening everything in this world.
Melissa: Listen! I'm trying the best I can to be a good person. You know, there is more to me than just student activities and parties-
Setracos: there's sleeping around-
Melissa: Shut up!
Setracos: Oh this cat has claws...
Melissa: I'm serious. Now you listen to me! It's my turn to speak. I wasn't always like this. I was once a nice, decent enough person. Then one day a bunch of your kind've people forced me into a locker, kicking and screaming, I was stuck in there for nearly an entire period. Yeah, sure of course the teachers saw, how could they not? They didn't care, I was no one back then. They must've figured I would toughen up from the experience and you know what? I did. I'm someone now, with friends, activities and more then you'll ever have. I had everything, everything but my revenge. Then I got that, the first day you walked into bio class with you black hair, black sweater, black skirt and black boots I knew you were one of them and I would finally get my revenge. Not on actual culprits, but it was just as well. Then when I found out who you were dating, my revenge became as easy as....
Setracos: ...judging someone you know nothing about? I don't know who you think “my people”are but I haven't ever had a social life. I have never been with any crowd. When I come into a class with you the first thing you think of what crowd I logically will fit into to. You know what, this is what my social life really is, working, doing homework and taking care of my mother who is too drunk to even know who I am most of the time. And you, prissy little bitch, dare tell me who I am! Beneath that make-up you're as ugly as any one else, how many faces would I need to go through to find the real you? I could destroy you. Just one good hit and you'd be on the ground, from there you'd quickly find your demise. Or I'd find it for you.
Melissa: Oh like I'd be scared so easily.
Melissa: I think this has gone far enough. I suppose I have been a bit harsh on you, but I suppose this is just a learning experience and part of growing up. I just hope you won't hold any ahrsh feelings towards me.
Setarcos: whatever.
Melissa
FYI: This is a first draft I typed up like half an hour ago and it doesn't end. Or that is to say I haven't typed up the ending.
The play begins with two characters on stage. Their setting can be interpreted as something tangible, like they're stuck on an elevator or something more metaphysical. Melissa is you're 'have it all' highschool student who is actively involved with any social event she can be a part of. Setarcos is really dressed down and grungy, no make-up or evidence of much time spent putting herself together. Also fight the any urges you may have to picture her as a goth because a part of her character is that she places no effort on clothing while people who dress in goth style logically (and to the best of my knowledge) focus a lot of their image. Kapeesh?
Melissa : I guess we're stuck here just you and me, eh?
Setarcos: Yeah... seems so.
Melissa: Looks like we aren't going anywhere. But hey at least-
Setarcos: Look, I don't really care.
Melissa: Oh ok... hmm, I know! if you were on a deserted island and you could only bring three things with you, what would you bring?
Setarcos: uhhh...Pardon?
Melissa: Haven't you ever played that game? If you were stuck on a dessert island what would you bring with you? It's supposed to be representative of the three most important things in your life, and it can be quite a riot. And I of course figured given the circumstances it would be a nice way to pass the time.
Setarcos: I'd bring a cellphone and call someone and tell them to get my ass of this friggin' island.
Melissa: Come now, you arn't even trying. If we're both stuck like this we may as well make the best of it.
Setarcos: Fine. I would bring... my guitar, naturally. Some water, and my cat.
Melissa: You're cat?
Setarcos: yeah my cat. You know four paws, says meow. Always there when you need them..
Melissa: Aww that's sweet. I have a kitty of my own, I love her she is sooo cute. You know what I'd like to bring, I'd my planner, because even though I would no longer be in the real world, I'd like to keep a small part of it. I'd also like to bring my bible with me, not just for the theological reasons but because it has a lot of sentimental value to it too, got it from my daddy. And, hmmm... I think I would bring with me... well I supose I'd bring a knife. Just to help if I needed to cut down some branches for some fire wood or shelter.
Setarcos: Well, you certainly do fit the mold. A schedule that keeps your life busy and meaningful, a family who adores their little scholar and clearly you have some religion in your life. Not to mention daddy's little girl is logical too, but tell me, where would you keep your knife? Hm? In those nice little panties of yours? No one- or no boy would ever look in there, not after you fucked every guy in school...
Melissa: ...cut that out...
Setarcos: including my boyfriend...
Melissa: ...You're being rude...
Setarcos: No one would want you now-
Melissa: now let me explain...
Setarcos: You'd know that if you weren't too busy living your goddamn white picket fence dream. Now how would daddy fell if he found out that you're as fake as all the rest of them? All smiles and rainbows on the outside but with an ugly tumor formed underneath, cheapening everything in this world.
Melissa: Listen! I'm trying the best I can to be a good person. You know, there is more to me than just student activities and parties-
Setracos: there's sleeping around-
Melissa: Shut up!
Setracos: Oh this cat has claws...
Melissa: I'm serious. Now you listen to me! It's my turn to speak. I wasn't always like this. I was once a nice, decent enough person. Then one day a bunch of your kind've people forced me into a locker, kicking and screaming, I was stuck in there for nearly an entire period. Yeah, sure of course the teachers saw, how could they not? They didn't care, I was no one back then. They must've figured I would toughen up from the experience and you know what? I did. I'm someone now, with friends, activities and more then you'll ever have. I had everything, everything but my revenge. Then I got that, the first day you walked into bio class with you black hair, black sweater, black skirt and black boots I knew you were one of them and I would finally get my revenge. Not on actual culprits, but it was just as well. Then when I found out who you were dating, my revenge became as easy as....
Setracos: ...judging someone you know nothing about? I don't know who you think “my people”are but I haven't ever had a social life. I have never been with any crowd. When I come into a class with you the first thing you think of what crowd I logically will fit into to. You know what, this is what my social life really is, working, doing homework and taking care of my mother who is too drunk to even know who I am most of the time. And you, prissy little bitch, dare tell me who I am! Beneath that make-up you're as ugly as any one else, how many faces would I need to go through to find the real you? I could destroy you. Just one good hit and you'd be on the ground, from there you'd quickly find your demise. Or I'd find it for you.
Melissa: Oh like I'd be scared so easily.
Melissa: I think this has gone far enough. I suppose I have been a bit harsh on you, but I suppose this is just a learning experience and part of growing up. I just hope you won't hold any ahrsh feelings towards me.
Setarcos: whatever.
Melissa
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Doll Parts: Part 1
I've decided I am going to dedicate the rest of my blogs this year (or a good deal of them) to writing the rough draft of a story. I figured I have this obligatory blog i have to do so I might as well put it to better use than reflecting on events in my life. Also this section will be larger than those to come because this is the cumulation of many months of undedicated effort. Also this is just a rough draft...
It had nearly been three years since I had last seen their faces, three years since my wife and child were killed in some freak car accident. Eh, you know Alena, my daughter would've entered her first year of high school just a few months ago. But I guess not every story ends with a “happily ever after.”
Some maniac decided decided to test the limits of his mortality by downing a bottle of gin then getting behind the wheel of a 1987 Honda Civic. There was hardly anything left to them as their still bodies were scraped from the pavement. It's quite remarkable how fragile people are created and yet it's remarkably tragic that they had to be created so fragile.
Their image from when I saw them in the morgue burns so magnificently in my head it casts a shadow over any other memory I may have had of them. They were laying completely still, strewn across a steel bed. Not a breath to be taken nor a word to be spoken.
Presently, I take a swig from a gin bottle that had been comfortably sat on a nightstand beside my bed, inviting me, tempting me. Quite ironic when you think of it, the one drink that has caused me so much pain is the only thing there is to get me through this never-ending loneliness.
Then I see her, my angel, my green eyed angel smiling down at me with her auburn curls hanging over her face. She will forever be beautiful in this moment. Then, smiling at me adoringly, her image takes a turn, it mutates into the disgusting creature, so beautiful, now twitching in death agony. What have I done? But why play such a game on me? Why appear so ugly. It's your fault, your fault! But please, I can't stay mad at you, as long as you remain in my company for a while. Please stay with me! I can't handle this alone. You can take care of me and I will protect you so this will never happen again, just please stay with me for awhile. Just a word, I can't stand this perpetual silence. I need to hear from you. Please.
Then I suppose this is our parting for now. We will meet again, I just hope you will stay with me.
I continue with my bottle, each shot down brings me one step closer to my euphoria, my nirvana. It may not be the most ideal way to spend my evenings but I prefer it over the alternatives I've had since. I soon find myself completely blacked-out. Here is peace, however artificial it may be.
I'm awakened several hours later to a blaring alarm clock, it enters through one ear and resonates in my skull for seemingly an eternity. As my head continues to pound, I realize that my lower half had become soaked in urine sometime during the night.
I turn off the alarm and strip my bed of the sheets. Then I head for the washroom where I strip myself down and shower.
“If you can make it through today, everything will be all right,” I know its complete and utter bullshit, but in spite of it, I still find those words comforting.
Water hits my face as I shower. It feels warm and comforting as it rushes passed my body and for a short while I forget everything. The only thing my brain is thinking at this moment it the here and now – the warmth surrounding every inch of my body, trickling down my spine, the steam that the hot water creates as it enters into my sinuses and welcomes me to the new day. The warmth, the safety. It never lasts, after only a few minutes I'm brushed back out into the harsh reality of a cold brisk day.
I dry off and get dressed. I check myself in the mirror, I hate what I see. The once well fitted suit now comically hangs off of my limbs. I am nothing, merely a ghost of a man that I used to be. I hate you.
I rub my fingers over my eyes and swallow hard, “just make it through the day and everything will be all right, just make it through the day and everything will be all right, just make it through the day...” sometimes the words do nothing to comfort me at all.
After a brief commute to work, I show up late I show up late with the gin still strong on my breath. Late to work, as usual. Not like they care, I could disappear for a week and they wouldn't care, they wouldn't even notice. They've treated me different since the accident, they've treated me differently.
Once their powerful boss, when I walked in a room a demanded attention and respect, now they just treat me like a charity case, like I'm some sort of lost soul. Lost soul? Perhaps- more likely a lost cause. I walk past some co-workers who look at me with piteous eyes, but I know as soon as I'm passed they'll continue with their nonchalant gossip.
“Hey Richard,” my friend Joseph greets me with open arm.
I accept his embrace but I make no attempt to return the affection.
“Listen,” he begins, “I know this last while really hasn't been easy on you.”
I look at him blankly and mutter, “you don't say.”
He begins to look as he realizes he's dug himself into a nice little hole. Why hasn't he realized yet that I don't want his charity, “well just my wife and I were going out this Saturday at seven and she thought it would be fun if she brought along a friend. So I was thinking if you didn't have any other plans then perhaps you would want to come along?”
I just stare coldly at him. How could he do this to me, what would make him think I wanted this? I stood silently, my gaze growing increasingly cold.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he began, “just my wife has this idea... that everyone should have someone... and no one should be alone.”
“I'm not alone,” I say, signally towards the a half empty bottle in my coat pocket.
Pretending not to hear me he continued, “and she was just thinking that it would be good for the two of you to have a fun night together. I mean, well just nevermind. Pretend like it never happened. I feel like such a jerk for even asking. Just pretend it never happened.”
I do sometimes pretend it never happened, in fact. I really do try, but the fact is it did happen and my imagination is wearing thin; and there is not enough imagination in all of the fairy tales we're told growing up to change the facts.
Joseph by now was practically shaking. Poor bastard. He was afraid, but it isn't like he didn't deserve it. He and his wife, in fact had never had a conversation like what he was saying, in fact his wife didn't say anything. How did I know? Simply put, she hated me. If she would have her way, Joseph would never see me other than professionally again. Then, why was he offering me this. What could his angle be? I had to find out.
“All right, pick me up at six. But this girl, what is she like?” I asked. I didn't really care, I just wanted to know.
He chuckled nervously and told me I would have to wait until saturday night to find out.
It had nearly been three years since I had last seen their faces, three years since my wife and child were killed in some freak car accident. Eh, you know Alena, my daughter would've entered her first year of high school just a few months ago. But I guess not every story ends with a “happily ever after.”
Some maniac decided decided to test the limits of his mortality by downing a bottle of gin then getting behind the wheel of a 1987 Honda Civic. There was hardly anything left to them as their still bodies were scraped from the pavement. It's quite remarkable how fragile people are created and yet it's remarkably tragic that they had to be created so fragile.
Their image from when I saw them in the morgue burns so magnificently in my head it casts a shadow over any other memory I may have had of them. They were laying completely still, strewn across a steel bed. Not a breath to be taken nor a word to be spoken.
Presently, I take a swig from a gin bottle that had been comfortably sat on a nightstand beside my bed, inviting me, tempting me. Quite ironic when you think of it, the one drink that has caused me so much pain is the only thing there is to get me through this never-ending loneliness.
Then I see her, my angel, my green eyed angel smiling down at me with her auburn curls hanging over her face. She will forever be beautiful in this moment. Then, smiling at me adoringly, her image takes a turn, it mutates into the disgusting creature, so beautiful, now twitching in death agony. What have I done? But why play such a game on me? Why appear so ugly. It's your fault, your fault! But please, I can't stay mad at you, as long as you remain in my company for a while. Please stay with me! I can't handle this alone. You can take care of me and I will protect you so this will never happen again, just please stay with me for awhile. Just a word, I can't stand this perpetual silence. I need to hear from you. Please.
Then I suppose this is our parting for now. We will meet again, I just hope you will stay with me.
I continue with my bottle, each shot down brings me one step closer to my euphoria, my nirvana. It may not be the most ideal way to spend my evenings but I prefer it over the alternatives I've had since. I soon find myself completely blacked-out. Here is peace, however artificial it may be.
I'm awakened several hours later to a blaring alarm clock, it enters through one ear and resonates in my skull for seemingly an eternity. As my head continues to pound, I realize that my lower half had become soaked in urine sometime during the night.
I turn off the alarm and strip my bed of the sheets. Then I head for the washroom where I strip myself down and shower.
“If you can make it through today, everything will be all right,” I know its complete and utter bullshit, but in spite of it, I still find those words comforting.
Water hits my face as I shower. It feels warm and comforting as it rushes passed my body and for a short while I forget everything. The only thing my brain is thinking at this moment it the here and now – the warmth surrounding every inch of my body, trickling down my spine, the steam that the hot water creates as it enters into my sinuses and welcomes me to the new day. The warmth, the safety. It never lasts, after only a few minutes I'm brushed back out into the harsh reality of a cold brisk day.
I dry off and get dressed. I check myself in the mirror, I hate what I see. The once well fitted suit now comically hangs off of my limbs. I am nothing, merely a ghost of a man that I used to be. I hate you.
I rub my fingers over my eyes and swallow hard, “just make it through the day and everything will be all right, just make it through the day and everything will be all right, just make it through the day...” sometimes the words do nothing to comfort me at all.
After a brief commute to work, I show up late I show up late with the gin still strong on my breath. Late to work, as usual. Not like they care, I could disappear for a week and they wouldn't care, they wouldn't even notice. They've treated me different since the accident, they've treated me differently.
Once their powerful boss, when I walked in a room a demanded attention and respect, now they just treat me like a charity case, like I'm some sort of lost soul. Lost soul? Perhaps- more likely a lost cause. I walk past some co-workers who look at me with piteous eyes, but I know as soon as I'm passed they'll continue with their nonchalant gossip.
“Hey Richard,” my friend Joseph greets me with open arm.
I accept his embrace but I make no attempt to return the affection.
“Listen,” he begins, “I know this last while really hasn't been easy on you.”
I look at him blankly and mutter, “you don't say.”
He begins to look as he realizes he's dug himself into a nice little hole. Why hasn't he realized yet that I don't want his charity, “well just my wife and I were going out this Saturday at seven and she thought it would be fun if she brought along a friend. So I was thinking if you didn't have any other plans then perhaps you would want to come along?”
I just stare coldly at him. How could he do this to me, what would make him think I wanted this? I stood silently, my gaze growing increasingly cold.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he began, “just my wife has this idea... that everyone should have someone... and no one should be alone.”
“I'm not alone,” I say, signally towards the a half empty bottle in my coat pocket.
Pretending not to hear me he continued, “and she was just thinking that it would be good for the two of you to have a fun night together. I mean, well just nevermind. Pretend like it never happened. I feel like such a jerk for even asking. Just pretend it never happened.”
I do sometimes pretend it never happened, in fact. I really do try, but the fact is it did happen and my imagination is wearing thin; and there is not enough imagination in all of the fairy tales we're told growing up to change the facts.
Joseph by now was practically shaking. Poor bastard. He was afraid, but it isn't like he didn't deserve it. He and his wife, in fact had never had a conversation like what he was saying, in fact his wife didn't say anything. How did I know? Simply put, she hated me. If she would have her way, Joseph would never see me other than professionally again. Then, why was he offering me this. What could his angle be? I had to find out.
“All right, pick me up at six. But this girl, what is she like?” I asked. I didn't really care, I just wanted to know.
He chuckled nervously and told me I would have to wait until saturday night to find out.
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