Today I realized you could map out the next eighteen years of your life
based on your previous eighteen years. Yeah, it was my birthday today, welcome cruel mechanical adulthood, I am your newest victim. It was a good day for the most part, I had a slice of storebought cake, mom wasn’t too miserable today, it was just a typical day, we didn’t fight, an accomplishment. That’s my birthday gift, I guess. Either way it was one of those, I got up, got bored, then lonely, then distressed, want suicide type of days.
It started this morning, mom cleaned the dishes, told me she was going to be out, and left the house to myself again, oh boy. It’s Sunday, the slowest, brain-numbing, longest day of the week. So I did my daily routine of lying on the couch, turning on the television, and zoning out to the brain-killing programming of American Media. On the television today was a man ranting about Jesus Christ and preaching about everyone’s meaning in life. I didn’t want to hear it, and I didn’t care enough to change the channel, so I drowned out the television with my iPod. I was mostly hoping to get a “Happy Birthday” call from my friends. But those things are always so fake and fickle. The last time I was with anyone of my friends was probably a year or two ago. Don’t really know what happened, but that’s life, people talk then don’t talk, then move on. I think I got bored of them, or maybe they couldn’t bear me anymore, whatever the reason, all of them became friendly faces to say “Hi” to in the hallways, whatever. Billie Holiday came on in my iPod. I started to picture my past life. I was probably some mopey barfly at those cigarette smoke congested blues bars during the 50’s. “Give me an Old-Fashioned on the rocks” I’d say to the bartender, listening to whatever somber song is being belched out by the saxophonist in the corner. “Here’s this today, tomorrow, and everyday like this,” then let the drink scorch down my throat. I’d try to drown out my sorrows to my old-fashioned and the song would eventually engulf the room as much as the smoke. I’d look around and notice I’m the only one there. “Just as well,” I’d think to myself. Tip the bartender, then stagger out the door. I’m very old-fashioned. The song then ended on my iPod. I was sick of moping around anyway. So I got up and turned off the television. Enough of Jesus-man and his holy understand about how I should live the rest of my life.
I fancied a drive, just to clear my head. Drove to the nearest mini-mart and picked up a pack of cigarettes, didn’t care for brand or effect. Six dollars about. My wallet’s thinning out faster than a bulimic. I lit two cigarettes in my mouth and started to smoke. I abhor the taste and smell of tobacco. I forgot why I even smoke. I guess something to pass the time, gives me some remedial activity to do, even for a short amount of time. No one calls or does anything anymore anyway. My cigarettes were already done.
I parked in some parking lot for a local park. Sat on the roof of my car, and smoked two more cigarettes. I was watching people enjoy the park. It was a breezy Spring day, recovering from cabin fever I guess. It’s a calming thing to do, people-watching, it beats bird-watching by a long shot. Everyone’s always happy at parks. Doesn’t make much sense since half the time these same people wear miserable expressions and are dead on a usual basis. I’ll admit I’m lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. I’m pretty dead myself anyway, I don’t think I could even pretend to be as alive as these people are pretending to. Even in parks, I’m dead. Being here in this park, made me think of Nora. She met me here in this same park once. We sat in some park bench, and she was practically smoking through a whole pack. She was saying about stuff that bugged her and how anti-depressants fail, stuff I could care less about. She told me what keeps her from dying nowadays are those suicide hotlines. She was pretty when she was said this. She’s only attractive when she’s pathetic. I got tired of the park, the falsehood of the happiness in these places aggravate me. Either way, I was done with my cigarettes again.
I drove to the nearest Barnes and Noble. Libraries are filled with zombies, besides I enjoy the commercial comfort of American consumerism. I mean where else can you get an over-rated book and a trademarked drink and be part of picturesque corporate America? I smoked two more cigarettes. I was determined this finish this pack. Surgeon General’s warning, this shit gives you lung cancer. Well, I pray that decay and cancer are better lovers than life is or anything else on Earth. I can’t seem to gain any pleasure from anything else. But how could I judge someone’s performance, I was never really in a relationship anyway, so what the hell do I know, right? I actually ended up reading some book about sex and coupling in the science section anyway. Nosy passerby’s probably thought I was a pervert. It’s as if they never heard nor discussed the goddamned topic themselves, as if it was some new taboo that no one ever took part in. Whatever, I read it to pass time anyway. People are funny. I mean they can have sex, but to discuss it is some heinous crime. I mean I’m not justifying the weirdo’s that talk about it nonstop, but still. The book made me think of Nora again. I guess I should’ve been in some relationship with her, I mean she used to call me a lot. Missed chances, I’m chockfull of them. But she would’ve bored me to tears anyway. People have a tendency for that, or she probably would’ve got sick of me, people have quite the knack for that too. I was done with the book. I don’t understand how people are so entertained by sex. It’s boring, and involves too much energy. I left the store.
It was night, the last remaining streams of daylight washed away and vanished into the darkness. I put two cigarettes in my mouth, then pulled them back out and threw them out with my remaining pack of cigarettes. I really do abhor the taste and smell of cigarettes and tobacco. I had nothing to do, so I went to the bridge. The daytime mountains were replaced with a sea of shimmering city lights. A cold wind tortured me during my enjoyment with the serenade of the cityscape. I was alone. Here, was where I mapped out the next eighteen years of my life. It’s going to be a lonely eighteen years, an idiot could figure as much. I wish someone would call me, but who would want to? I owe nothing to anyone and no one owes me anything. I didn’t have a regular everyday companion of sorts in any shape or form. I peered down to the river to watch the social nightlife glimmer in distorted reflections in the ripples. I was a fish out of water. I didn’t belong here, there, anywhere. I peered down more closely to the river below, and it seemed completely cold and dark. I figure a fish like me belongs in a body of water, so I’d jump down and swim to sea. Find the school of fish I belonged to, I guess. I entertained the idea for a long time.
I wanted to die. I really wanted to die, but yet I didn’t. I’m a paradox. I was reminded of those hotlines Nora would call and thought I should give it a try, what do I have to lose anyway, Nora liked them, right? I need a purpose in life, even if it’s artificially produced by people who don’t even give a damn about me really. So I called and prayed that I wouldn’t get Jesus-man on the other line, and he would incessantly preach to me about what “God” had planned out on me, and how I would rot in fire and brimstone for an eternity just because I killed myself. The moment the call was picked up, I did something I haven’t done since I was a kid, I broke down crying. I don’t even remember what was said by either of us, but it did keep my feet glued to the concrete sidewalk I was standing on. It was good enough to prevent me from jumping whatever it was. After that vibrant fiasco, I decided to go home, it was cold anyway. It was still going to a lonely eighteen years for me, nothing drastic would happen to change that at all. I was okay with it though. In the long run, I’d have someone to talk to when I go overboard again, just a phone call away. It didn’t really matter if I never saw the person on the other line, I think I prefer it that way anyway. That’s all anyone really needs I guess. All you need is a friendly voice when you decide to go swimming alone.