I spend my days hoping there was a good reason for getting dressed. Some days, when I’m feeling particularly put upon, I grant myself the privilege of doing nothing; just sitting in my pajamas, my hair greasy, confined only to my bedroom until I wake the next day and try again. Those days it’s like I don’t even exist. The world is without my participation.
Today I went to the library and read a magazine. Like Norman Bowker’s games of pickup basketball in Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, I just need something to fill time.
I drive around aimlessly, taking the long route to Target or the grocery store, the window cracked so the air can whip at my face, singing with the radio, just driving and hoping I’ll find something to justify my time.
I’ve been feeling very anxious. I’m shaky and introverted. My thoughts churn about so much I can’t appreciate my surroundings, can’t live in the here and now. My mother tries to talk to me but I’m just not there. My body looks and responds but my mind is elsewhere.
I think about big things. I work out conclusions to the inconclusive like death, the soul, love, what it takes to look in the mirror and say “you’re doing alright.” I determine that these things are beyond logic and the most I can do is be aware of them and let my life do the rest. But still I continue thinking.
I think about the way things change; best friends that you don’t have anything in common with anymore, the way a family disjoints, how love gets old like a good song played out on the radio, or the way I feel like my soul is shivering inside me, chattering against my bones for days until eventually it just stops for no good reason. Maybe I saw a good movie, read a good book, or heard a new song I like. I had a drink and a nice laugh with some buddies? A pretty girl looked at me the right way? Or perhaps, one morning I just woke up and the world was a little kinder to me. As if someone decided I could use a break.
Sometimes I feel like I’m crazy and that being locked away has its perks. I won’t need to worry about finding a job that I hate, paying for groceries, finding a girl; I won’t have to look at a person and wonder about them and have them wonder about me. But again, I conclude that this is no escape and that you could lock me away but you can’t keep me out. I’m here. I might as well try to make something of it.