Day by Day

Chapter 17- Better said

Things in life can get kind of grey. They aren't always black and white.

 Black is the absence of color, and white is the combination of all colors. Or maybe I heard the other way around. Maybe white is the absence of color, and black is the combination of all colors. Maybe not.  Maybe I'm wrong on both counts.

The colors are the only visible light that humans can see. Colors are pretty, but I usually go back to black and white. Televisions used to be black and white. Newspapers can be black and white. Words on a page are black and white.

They call black and white televisions black and white, but not much of them is really black and white. A lot of it is grey. Most of it is grey.

Grey is the in between of black and white, the mixture of the two. If black paint and white paint are put together, you get grey paint. Black is dark; white is light. Grey is both.

 I always thought the reason why things, like TVs and newspapers, are supposed to be black and white but are mostly grey is because life is kind of grey. Black is perfect in its blackness. White is perfect in its whiteness. Grey is neither.

Life isn't perfect; it's like grey. Pencil lead, I mean pencil graphite is grey. A picture of grey. Grey is said to be depressing; I say it is how you make it. There are many hues of the color; they are what you choose them to be. Life isn't defined; it isn't exact like black and white. It's grey. That's just how it is.

****

Good morning. Good morning to you.

Is the morning good or is good the morning? I don't know. Most of my mornings lead to disappointment. I always get off to a bad start first thing when I wake up; I wake up to find out the good dream I had was only a dream.

It's not fair that the sun can always shine like it's always happy. Is it truly happy?

The morning means I have to get up and live my day like I did yesterday as well. It disappoints. Work is disappointing. I work hard, yet it's just hard.

Typing used to be hard for me, but as I do it more, I get better. Skills are handy when they are needed. I type faster and faster so that my mind cannot focus on anything but it. Who cares if these documents are stupid. At least they distract me from yesterday.

I type faster than I should. Done. How many ever to go. Let's print off this document and move on to the next.

The printer makes a whirring sound then spits out a paper; I snatch it up to quickly check over. It may be that I was going too fast for my paper has tons of mistakes on it. I hate mistakes and rightly so. They take forever to fix. Well, not quite forever but close enough.

The worst thing about mistakes is that they have to be fixed. Can't leave a mistake mistaken.

There are several things that I hate. I hate that hot dog packages are so hard to open. I hate that I can't have a hot dog. I hate that my ipod died and I have to listen to the radio. I hate that the sun is shining so brightly through my window.

So maybe I'm tense. Tense and stressed. Like everything else, it's Jason's fault. I didn't want to see him. If I never saw him again in my lifetime, it would still be too soon. Seeing him, well it's a memory now. I can forget memories; I should forget memories.

I torn my paper with all the uncorrected mistakes couple times to put it in the shredder. "Did you just rip a piece of paper in half? You owe me half a cent now."

I jumped. It's like I'm always scared these days. I'm scared of who might be the next person to walk through the door. Sorry for ripping the paper; my bad. I would never apologize to a rude personal assistant. There's no point in apologizing when we all know it'll just be docked from my pay.