In my house I notice the slight cracking of the leather couches, and the fading of the Oriental rug. Even my dog seems older since the last time I saw her two months ago. You forget that time doesn’t stop once you leave a place.
I feel empty and all I want is bacon. As if the sound of crackling meat can drown out the weighted thoughts in my brain. As if a greasy bite can coat the uneasiness I feel in my stomach.
The clock on the wall is so loud I feel my heart trying to match its rhythm.
I am tired, but want to stay awake because I am finally alone. I feel this house and its residents sucking the vividness I have built up over the past month. Brutal normality is what this place makes me feel. It's suffocating.
My parents think it’s weird that I make bacon at 12am because I like how it sounds. I think it’s weird that they watch five straight hours of primetime television, half of which they are snoring along to.
They are wonderful, caring people, but I can't help but think; is this where they thought their life would be when they were my age? I want excitement, desire, and creativity until the day that I die. Is this a flame that will eventually dwindle down to embers, or even worse ashes? What happens if the dreams you once had, become past hopes that no longer have any relevance in your life?
"To-day is not yesterday.-- We ourselves change.-- How then, can our works and thoughts, if they are always to be the fittest, continue always the same.--Change, indeed, is painful, yet ever needful; and if memory have its force and worth, so also has hope." *Carlyle
"Brutal normality"
ReplyDeleteBrilliant.