mind vomit
I want to drink wine and laugh.
Laugh at the world for trying to pretend that it's not falling apart.
Laugh at people for pretending to be important.
Laugh at myself for pretending that I'm...anything. Or anyone.
Instead I sit in somber silence
that sometimes turns
to weeping
Weeping for the broken pieces of the world
war
poverty
racism
hate
hate
hate.
The drinking softens the edges but sharpens the blow. My mind is in a comfortable haze, enough for words to flow. But not enough to comfort me. Not enough to make any of this okay when the buzz wears off.
I want to be okay. I want the world to be okay. I want the fires to stop burning. I want the big orange man to take his little finger off the big red button. I want my house back, the one I grew up in, the one that's empty and freshly painted and carpeted and waiting for someone else to move in while I sit in my apartment with all these new, unfamiliar things that are slowly, slowly starting to feel like a home, but not Home.
I want to be okay with the state of my mind. Guess I'll just drink about it.
No Monday in Life Doesn’t Change Much
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.
No Monday in life doesn't change much.
Just the number of days in the week.
There's still the weekday, the weekend, the regretting re-entering the weekday.
If there is no Monday, that does not mean that there won't be the shock or displeasure of going about your life on Tuesday.
No Monday changes the calendar.
It changes the days of the week that young children learn in early grades.
It transfers the hatred to Tuesday.
No Monday in life doesn't change much.