Sorrow is like an ache in my chest.
A black hole of emptiness inside me, stretching through to my fingertips and toes.
Loss clouds my eyes, dulling my senses till there is nothing left.
The bass echoes through my limbs as I twirl in an room full of empty people.
Bodies jostling, shining with sweat, as I try and feel something.
This is why we are here.
To feel something else, something we can’t give ourselves.
It’s an empty love but love nonetheless.
Lights flash, garishly illuminating our swaying bodies, our blank eyes reflecting red, blue, and yellow.
Reaching up towards an empty ceiling, we crow with toxic excitement.
The drums beat with our hearts, taking away our inhibitions.
This is what we want.
This is why we are here.
We are lost but we are together.
Believing in premonitions is like telling someone the weather man is actually a psychic.
I know that the weather man is just a regular John, reading off a teleprompter, because that’s how life works.
Today though, I feel like I glimpsed a fragment of my future.
It felt like strong déjà vu, like catching sight of something through dirty glass.
You know it’s there but you can’t define the edges.
There is a warmly lit kitchen with chestnut benches that are littered with cooking tit-bits and unopened mail. It feels homey, with the warm smell of fresh coffee pervading the space.
The wide, flat tiles are cold again my bare feat and my sweater is itching my neck while I hurry into the kitchen. I look around for something, sorting through different papers on the bench.
Through a french-style window above the sink I can see the garden, leaves still rimmed with frost. Winter is just beginning, the sun would soon melt the ice and enhance the insistent greenness.
Suddenly, something clutches at my jeans, scrabbling to get my attention. A pudgy boy, bundled in clothes grins up at me, hands sticky with honey and crumbs.
Smiling warmly, I reach down and pick up a wriggly mass of happiness.
This is the scene that plays like a broken record, imprinted in my eyelids.
Whether it happens or not, it’s a nice feeling believing that someday your efforts will all be worth it.
Eagerly, I wait.
Squirming and fidgeting, thinking of how you’ll be or what you’ll look like.
It’s like something just out of your reach, a flash in the corner of your eye.
This feeling of trepidation and excitement.
Whether this is a dream or reality, I don’t mind.
This sweet torture caresses my mind, unconscious or awake.
You’ll hold my hand, smile at me gently, even berate me for my eagerness.
I know you’re coming but I can’t stand this waiting.
It might actually be killing me. My soul was torn in half when we were born.
Whether it was on the same day or years apart, we were meant for each other.
Like an old Greek myth, we will meet and we will become whole again.
My mysterious savior, I hope you’re searching for me because I am searching for you.
These mornings make me want to lie down again and never get back up.
It almost a kind of torture having this mysterious figure printed onto the inside of my eyelids, clouded in smoke.
A sweet torture that is forgotten but then in a moment it can take my breath away.
I never have enough time, ever. Even when I’m sitting down in my free time, I’m actually just counting down the minutes before something else has to be done.
While my life is hectic and there is always something new to add to the list, I lived for a month without a job or study and it was the epitome of wasted time.
Sometimes I naively think, “Wow, a holiday would be amazing right now. Sleeping in, not caring what tomorrow brings!”. Every time I think this, now I try to remember that one summer where I really didn’t have anything to do.
The days passed relatively slowly and surprisingly I was constantly looking for something to do. I was pining for a textbook or even a menial household task. My parents house never looked so good, trust me. Remembering this makes my busy days seem like more of a blessing than an infringement on my 8 hours of sleep (that I don’t get).
I still wish for the clock to stop or even just slow down so I that could fit in one more thing (like my gym membership, that’s going to waste). This isn’t going to happen, so I’m just going to continue being happy with what I’ve got.
Today is my one day to sit down and ‘study’ – meaning one of my last days to write an essay that is due in 48 hours. So, instead I gave in to one of my more secret loves; which is playing the piano, albeit haltingly.
I draw the blinds in our colleges’ small and cramped music room which has two standard upright piano’s. One of these piano’s is a shiny mahogany, has white keys and is surprisingly in tune. The other sits to its left and is battered dull brown and definitely has one or two keys missing.
I sit in the cramped space provided to us students by mysterious college overlords at the piano with gleaming white keys and slowly try to learn simple chords and sing hushed choruses with my iPhone substituting sheet music.
This is how I lost most of my day, carefully and quietly tapping out notes and to my delight finally completing a whole song. I could never see it as a waste of time but now I only have 40 hours till D-day but that’s ok. Making time for yourself is something no one should forget. It swamps your mind and alters your attitude towards the world.
Living life on the edge isn’t what I aim for. I aim for simple pleasures and maybe pushing a deadline or two.
Happy living! xx
My title is a pretty classic saying but while it describes the tediousness of retail work it doesn’t describe the everyday terror of my job becoming my future.
I work serving people and responding to their personal (and ridiculous) demands. It’s a job I didn’t imagine doing when I was a child. I definitely didn’t think; “While I study the intricacies of the human brain and behaviour, I will serve people sliced ham and be harassed by old women”.
Some of the other poor people who work with me probably once had bright ideas of becoming nurses or librarians, or other equally stereotypical jobs. Now they’re celebrating their thirtieth year of making sure the chicken doesn’t have one discoloured spot or that the ham looks especially shiny today.
I know that this is a job that needs to be filled but I can never stop myself thinking; “If this was my last day, my last couple of hours, I would kick myself for spending them here”.
Dreams don’t ever seem to turn out the way you want them to. Working hard towards your goals doesn’t always work either but I’m going to make sure it does for me.
This is the reality that I accept; I just wish little old women remembered their old school etiquette classes.