I felt unusually lonely that cold Tuesday morning. The wind was much colder than usual and bit my nose and cheeks until they went numb. The library's heat felt like stepping into a warm bathtub. My skin had turned a ghostly color, like a mixture of the grey of the library ceiling mixed with a sad watermark of purple.
I missed my daughter. I still hadn't gotten to see her except for pictures on the internet since Stefany had told me I couldn't see her until I had proof of being in some sort of treatment, and since I had no idea of how to obtain such proof considering it never came to mind in my therapy sessions, she hadn't budged. Aside from that, Stefany remained unreachable.
I'd landed a job. I remained on tip-toes walking around the swimming pool of emotion in which I'd once fallen in and almost drowned. While I missed seeing how long I could hold my breath, the cold, tile poolside seemed a much safer place for me to stay.
I'd be getting paid Friday, and my money would be going to rent and a phone bill. I'd be starting work Saturday. Saturday, being the 25th, marked the date I'd fill my last Adderall script until I went back to the doctor's office to obtain refills.
I'd stopped enjoying messaging people, because *blank*.
I stopped typing and sort of stared at the screen, feeling empty, but not like a person, devoid, but like a glass on a shelf in the cupboard, simply waiting, if you were to put a time-related connotation attachment beside it, but rather in limbo. My notification screen was full of reminders to 'call back 'whatstheirname' when you leave 'whatstheplace'. I continuously forgot to call them back.
Time crept by agonizingly slow. I missed my daughter but couldn't let myself linger on the feeling whatsoever. It was too dangerous to the minuscule progress I was making towards 'a life'. I played computer games and read books to pass the time. I couldn't be in school, I was pretty sure, but I considered applying for maybe a class next semester. I imagined, however, that I'd be unable to score a loan considering my latest attendance records.
I relied on the timer from the library computer to direct me to my next mission. Another interview at four, hopefully to land a second job. I thought about adding the workdays of the job I'd just acquired to my *I paused for a minute thinking of the word* calendar, but neglected to. For a moment I worried that I'd already lost the piece of paper with my schedule on it. It wouldn't be all that surprising, I'd walked six miles already in the strong, bitter winds and it could've easily fallen out while I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket to smoke. Down the street I watched SNL sketches on my phone to make myself laugh. I'd imagined the interview going smoothly, full of laughter, beginning to feel a sense of fellowship, but again to no surprise it went by slowly and awkwardly, feeling like I was filling in the blanks for someone who should've been there instead.
Having a strong imagination was what some considered a 'beautiful asset' while I explored its many flaws. Sometimes my intuitions made absolutely no sense in reality. Add a slight distortion to the vision compliments of not having glasses and you had yourself looking in places for something that had less than a 1% of actually being there.
Oh yeah, Bible study was tonight. My pack of cigarettes called my name from my backpack. I felt silly. I looked like an overweight high-school student who'd been stuffed in his clothes from middle school as I walked in the cold past Valley. I imagined a cop pulling me over for truancy, but it never happened. It never happened even when I was in high school, making up excuses to leave in crayon on sticky notes to excuse myself from class. I'd always grown euphoric as I relished the fact that it actually worked. "Orthodontist appointment at 1:30 PM, please excuse my...". You didn't even need to have braces.
Arnold Schwarzenegger looked valiant as he posed with furry forest friends on my phone's lock-screen.
My new manager warned me of calling out for 'birthday parties' and 'vacations' because they needed people who could actually work. I laughed in the back of my head and smiled during the interview thinking how funny it was to me that I, me, myself, might actually go to someone's birthday party or a vacation. Not me, I didn't do those sort of things. Maybe years ago, but now? Fat chance. I was more likely to make a multiple-day-trip to the hospital than do call-out for any sort of fun.
I battled with the idea to cut my time short on the computer to go outside for a cigarette. Twenty-minutes remained at my station and seventy were left before I'd leave for the interview unless I decided that I'd run back to the apartment to shower before hand. It was unlikely. My phone needed to charge and I wanted to eat but actually eating was a whole situation in itself.
I thought for a moment about going back through my blog to remind myself of memories I'd suppressed and foresaw myself cringing as I dove back into those emotions and ideas. Nope. Bad call. Am I trying to kill myself? Not today. Not tomorrow, not in the foreseeable future. Thoughts and responses had traveled as wisps past my forethought in the week prior but I neglected to address most of them.
I started getting sick of the computer game and thought about reading. I often thought about math, too, but the idea was too far fetched at the time. People read for fun as a common leisure activity, but executing math problems? Not so common. They didn't have a arithmetic emporium anywhere around, and I wasn't even sure if things like that existed except for on the internet or other educational websites. Most places existed to get rid of math, to get rid of the laborious process of solving a problem whether in one's head or on paper, not to enjoy it.
I thought warmly of the idea. I suppose it made sense for someone weird like me.
I missed my daughter. I still hadn't gotten to see her except for pictures on the internet since Stefany had told me I couldn't see her until I had proof of being in some sort of treatment, and since I had no idea of how to obtain such proof considering it never came to mind in my therapy sessions, she hadn't budged. Aside from that, Stefany remained unreachable.
I'd landed a job. I remained on tip-toes walking around the swimming pool of emotion in which I'd once fallen in and almost drowned. While I missed seeing how long I could hold my breath, the cold, tile poolside seemed a much safer place for me to stay.
I'd be getting paid Friday, and my money would be going to rent and a phone bill. I'd be starting work Saturday. Saturday, being the 25th, marked the date I'd fill my last Adderall script until I went back to the doctor's office to obtain refills.
I'd stopped enjoying messaging people, because *blank*.
I stopped typing and sort of stared at the screen, feeling empty, but not like a person, devoid, but like a glass on a shelf in the cupboard, simply waiting, if you were to put a time-related connotation attachment beside it, but rather in limbo. My notification screen was full of reminders to 'call back 'whatstheirname' when you leave 'whatstheplace'. I continuously forgot to call them back.
Time crept by agonizingly slow. I missed my daughter but couldn't let myself linger on the feeling whatsoever. It was too dangerous to the minuscule progress I was making towards 'a life'. I played computer games and read books to pass the time. I couldn't be in school, I was pretty sure, but I considered applying for maybe a class next semester. I imagined, however, that I'd be unable to score a loan considering my latest attendance records.
I relied on the timer from the library computer to direct me to my next mission. Another interview at four, hopefully to land a second job. I thought about adding the workdays of the job I'd just acquired to my *I paused for a minute thinking of the word* calendar, but neglected to. For a moment I worried that I'd already lost the piece of paper with my schedule on it. It wouldn't be all that surprising, I'd walked six miles already in the strong, bitter winds and it could've easily fallen out while I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket to smoke. Down the street I watched SNL sketches on my phone to make myself laugh. I'd imagined the interview going smoothly, full of laughter, beginning to feel a sense of fellowship, but again to no surprise it went by slowly and awkwardly, feeling like I was filling in the blanks for someone who should've been there instead.
Having a strong imagination was what some considered a 'beautiful asset' while I explored its many flaws. Sometimes my intuitions made absolutely no sense in reality. Add a slight distortion to the vision compliments of not having glasses and you had yourself looking in places for something that had less than a 1% of actually being there.
Oh yeah, Bible study was tonight. My pack of cigarettes called my name from my backpack. I felt silly. I looked like an overweight high-school student who'd been stuffed in his clothes from middle school as I walked in the cold past Valley. I imagined a cop pulling me over for truancy, but it never happened. It never happened even when I was in high school, making up excuses to leave in crayon on sticky notes to excuse myself from class. I'd always grown euphoric as I relished the fact that it actually worked. "Orthodontist appointment at 1:30 PM, please excuse my...". You didn't even need to have braces.
Arnold Schwarzenegger looked valiant as he posed with furry forest friends on my phone's lock-screen.
My new manager warned me of calling out for 'birthday parties' and 'vacations' because they needed people who could actually work. I laughed in the back of my head and smiled during the interview thinking how funny it was to me that I, me, myself, might actually go to someone's birthday party or a vacation. Not me, I didn't do those sort of things. Maybe years ago, but now? Fat chance. I was more likely to make a multiple-day-trip to the hospital than do call-out for any sort of fun.
I battled with the idea to cut my time short on the computer to go outside for a cigarette. Twenty-minutes remained at my station and seventy were left before I'd leave for the interview unless I decided that I'd run back to the apartment to shower before hand. It was unlikely. My phone needed to charge and I wanted to eat but actually eating was a whole situation in itself.
I thought for a moment about going back through my blog to remind myself of memories I'd suppressed and foresaw myself cringing as I dove back into those emotions and ideas. Nope. Bad call. Am I trying to kill myself? Not today. Not tomorrow, not in the foreseeable future. Thoughts and responses had traveled as wisps past my forethought in the week prior but I neglected to address most of them.
I started getting sick of the computer game and thought about reading. I often thought about math, too, but the idea was too far fetched at the time. People read for fun as a common leisure activity, but executing math problems? Not so common. They didn't have a arithmetic emporium anywhere around, and I wasn't even sure if things like that existed except for on the internet or other educational websites. Most places existed to get rid of math, to get rid of the laborious process of solving a problem whether in one's head or on paper, not to enjoy it.
I thought warmly of the idea. I suppose it made sense for someone weird like me.
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