I think I'm going crazy. No, not locked away in a looney bin with a stray jacket, on that funny little pill that makes my shadow friends say goodbye. No, it's much worse. The mind numbing same routine, wake up, drive to my job (the traffic is always horrible), arrive barely on time, work 9-5, go home, eat, read, go to bed. The same routine everyday and the same slow eating madness that makes your mind unravel slowly like last months leftover spaghetti. In the metaphorical sense of course. At this point though I've hit what you might call a pothole. At this point I've all but lost my job. Actually I have lost it. I've lost my job. I stopped going so I could stare out the window and think about all the ways the world could end at any moment and it probably wouldn't mean a thing in relation to the universe. I don't think its strange. I have panic attacks every night at exactly 9:37 p.m and The only way I can relax is to walk to the Walmart down the street at 11:24 p.m and buy a 15.9 oz. bottle of the same brand of cheap tea every night. I used to think it would make me sleep better. It doesn't. The cashier knows my name and I know hers. It's Victoria. Such a beautiful name I think, old fashioned. She has a kid, Samuel, and her husband, Travis, left her a month ago when he found out she had another on the way; said he couldn't make that kind of commitment or responsibility. He didn't want to have to get a second job. Not that he was spending the money he made on anything but cigarettes and 5 dollar bottles of wine at the gas station anyways. He blamed her. Said,
"I didn't want my life to be this way" or something like that.
They're getting a divorce in three months. Her son is so cute and he's talented at soccer. He likes grape juice and drawing. Every night I wonder why I never had kids, and I remember that I never had anyone who loved me enough to try and make that dream come true. As I walk home I think about love and how strange it is. Once I get back I drop my coat on the back of the couch, unlock the back patio door, lean out on the railing and remind myself of all the reasons the world is wrong while counting how many planes fly over head. I wonder where they're going. I finish my tea and discard my bottle by throwing it in the giant blue recycle bin under my patio that always seems to be so empty. I never even knew it was there before all this. I shuffle to bed, not bothering to put on my pajamas because I've been wearing them all day, and concentrate hard as my muscles settle into the soft-hard mattress beneath my body. I stay as still as I can until every creaking bone or muscle in my body stops moving. I remind myself of all the ways how the world is good. There are about the same. I try to ignore the imaginary faces and figures that materialize themselves, knowing it's only a nasty trick my mind plays on me for thinking too hard. I think about the universe and how it works until I think too much and fall asleep. I dream about the life I wanted to have when I was a kid, but I'm in the perspective of my house pet. It ranges from dog to cat to bird or even hamster. This part is unrealistic. I would never own a pet bird or hamster. Every Tuesday and Thursday I work at the library. I like this because they both start with a T. It is my favorite letter. I spend the day stocking shelves and reorganizing untidied alphabetizing. This is how i make a living now. I like this much better because I get to make messes clean again. Having things tidy makes me feel in control and I like to use my brain. It keeps me centered. Also I get to check out books all I want. I've recently read a rather sad one about a father and his struggle to find a safe place for his family. I cried five times while reading it. Once in the back room, twice in the bathroom, once at home and once in the K-L section of the Adult Romance section. I like reading books. The way that the words are neatly spaced and placed in lines on the pages makes me feel more calm. Books always smell oddly of vanilla. I love this smell. It reminds me of my mother and the perfume she used to use. I loved how she smelled. It was always such a treat since she was away at work all the time. I used to hug her when she arrived home again and cling to her as she would tell me all about her trips before she left again. That smell is the only prominent memory I have of my mother. When I was 11 and three quarters she left on a trip to do reporting in a foreign country. She was gunned down by militia and killed. She was so brave and died doing what she loved. I want to die that way I suppose. Doing what I love. After the funeral I was given first pick of what I wanted of her things since I was the oldest of me and my sister. Dad was just going to get rid of them; he couldn't even sleep in the same room as he and her used to. I choose some of her suits and shoes, some old books, jewelry, and the bottle of her perfume. It's still laying in my bathroom , has been for years. I never spray it, only smell the top when I'm feeling too anxious. I've been smelling it a lot lately. I think my favorite thing to do is nothing. Just sit there and stare at the ceiling and think about everything. The secrets of the universe. Maybe it's all just a mid life crisis. Even though I'm really only in my late twenties. It seems like everyone is having those 'early mid life crises' lately. I guess we'll have to see.
