When you wake and don’t know for what reason. You wake out of bed, and more or less fall out of it, onto all fours, the weight of the world on your shoulders pulling you deep down. That’s every morning. I tell myself that the next day will be different, and I hope that it will be, but it never is.
Every week is the last week of this distress, but a last, it never is quite the case. I feel like a over charged battery, overheating about to explode, on anyone, for any reason, like it was fate. I don’t try to avoid it, the thought of it being so, as I jam a toothbrush coated with paste against my cheek, and then my mouth, the trail and error of life.
The oatmeal is the same, simple, gotten to the point of tastelessness. I used to like it as a kid, it was actually my favorite, but that didn’t make much difference now, there was no constellation. Strapping on my tie, I grab my laptop and direct myself to the door, not much excitement lies on the other side, not much excitement lies within either.
I forgot coffee, darn, it’ll have to be on the way. I forgot to shave, darn, it’ll have to be on break. “Whatever,” I say, I turn the lock on the deadbolt. It’s raining, and windy, but it smells like fresh wet roses, the upwind from the patio of the neighbor Ms. Elise a house down, I’m happy shes not awake, I’m happy I don’t have to pretend to be happy. Whenever family calls they expect such.
I’m happy, I’m not happy, an oxymoron.
“Oh, well.” I say. All’s well that ends well, and in the end I came a ways from where I started. My car door opens upward and I stoop down and step in, the engine hums like a enraged bear. I sigh, as I pull to drive. My only problem so far at this point is:
I still haven’t learned to enjoy it.
P: Bekah Russom