I have looked upon myself in the past week more than I had in a year. Lingering indoors has done nothing to me other than imbrue my clothes and pain my arms. Outdoor exercises as walking and jogging, on the other hand only makes me doubt what I already believe from reading health columns. I have chafed the entire area round my neck, and it has been as red as the darkest shades of crimson. It’s a 30/70 chance of feeling better. I don’t want to believe that I have completely given up. Day by day, I would easily recognize dinner to be breakfast; lunch to be dinner; breakfast to be snack. The cycle is repetitious and as vicious as the busiest breweries out of town. Even when things become completely unexciting, time still runs so quickly. I don’t even know when's the best time watch television anymore, or how to insert the schedule in my day for that matter. I am praying for May to dawn. I see it as a grace that will make me happy.
I actually really meant to write an ode. But I'm afraid my poem-writing ability has stopped working for me a long time since. It has departed. And frankly, I don’t believe I will ever get it back again. It’s a sad thing, yes: to lose something that mattered to you as a decadent child, and to end up coveting that very same thing as a teen. Here you are yearning and desiring for the whole world to see, just so you can have it back. This reminds me of a scene from Step Brothers, in which Dr. Doback revealed his childhood dream of wanting to become a dinosaur. It strikes me funny because that take is relevant to me now. I mean, how much would he have obtained had he not rested from it? In some such way, I have become familiar with that question at the back of my mind.
The heat has come down like a terrible plague. I have been rejecting it more than ever as well. I have actually been in so many escapades already, hoping to take a short walk down the street or up the street; depending on how much I wish to get inspired. I have seen this town grow before me, and it is a slow and steady growth that I get to be a part of. It’s not such a horrible thought, I guess. But it also isn’t very romantic when you think about it. This house feels bare and the entire street has turned a molten gray of cinders and waste. As of late, I have realized that this is a lazy town, and it has reminded me more of my childhood more than I thought it can ever do. As a child, I had often wondered how it would be like to be a little bigger and how great it would be to be my own man. Well I am almost fifteen now – seventeen days, six hours and fifty minutes to be exact. And honestly, reflecting upon those many, many walks I charged myself doesn’t exactly mean a thing anymore. It didn’t mean much after I had come home, it doesn’t mean anything now, and I am more than certain that tomorrow will speak of the same.
In the morning, cars are started; revving and ready. Tricycles blast at full velocity; a commuter would walk away with a solemn face; and garden hoses are opened in frenzy. At noon, the dogs lay asleep; the streets become quiet until the silence turns deafening; the sun leans down even more; workers have their lunch set; carenderias lay full. In the evening, the cars come back from a day’s repose at some random parking lot; tricycles eagerly search for one last passenger; commuters return with a friend or two; water declines and insects gnaw at the garden; cats beg for food; workers hog the karaoke; shops are closed as early as nine. The routine is so predictable; I can probably tell you what one of my neighbors will be doing right after watching the evening news!
I can now feel the summer temperature almost literally in my head, dancing; swaying. It is a sting that I’ve known before, but hadn’t felt for quite some time. Truly, it is an odd feeling being in a condition as such. Lunch feels five inches up my belly and my eyes have become more than lethargic from the incredible heat. These are the moments where I can’t help but feel lonesome and discomfited. No one knows. And the thought of this quietly sinks down uncomfortably, watching people writhe and wither out of defenselessness. Lying at home isn’t such a difficult thing for me to do. I’ve done it for the past fourteen years: every day, every month, every year. Only now, I can’t help but wonder why I feel a little slighted and a little ensnared; trapped. I don’t entirely don’t care. I actually have contemplated about summers past more than anyone I know. I think and I think and I think until I only start to wonder just how blue my heart has become. I have reached a nadir of my existence, yet I'm still here - in between the vital lines of being young and being old. I feel like an ode that is long forgotten. A poem with no more verses. An ability that has long gone. I want to get back, of course but I can’t, nor do I have the slightest idea how to. I doubt anyone would have recalled either way. And once I try, once I feel as though I have already won life's biggest accolades, another day dawns and I realize just how far happiness drives on.
I'm not Compeyson because he’s too stubborn; and I’m not Provis because he’s too batty. I am pissed and scared and and lonely and tired all at the same time. But I still have my senses in tact. In a while, I’d know that I love what I am doing; only I can’t sense that now. Everything will pass so soon. Happiness, though least likely, will come to me when I’m at my best. I know that. I just need a little breather and someone to prove me that. It’s a problem not having an inspiration, isn’t it? Well, it won’t be for so long. Never had I experienced getting sick on summer day up until this moment. Stay put, soldier. Even Pip got sick on his back.
It’s funny how I remember so much from the past and tend to forget the present. I have made this entry a recollection hub. It honestly feels like an arm dealt with great apoplexy. I don’t want to feign to make you see the obvious. But I certainly am not getting any younger. I am growing each day, but I’m afraid I’m learning less.
“You just need to rest.”
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