Every morning I wake, stumble to kitchen to make the coffee, sit on the couch and wait for it to brew. Thumbing through the news, the same one-sided opinionated propaganda clutters my eyes. Most mornings I wonder if Apple is choosing the content it wants me to read. I keep thumbing, mainly reading headlines and rarely the articles. The coffee stops brewing, up I get with a sigh and a slump, put the slippers on and move to the coffee pot. Artificial creamer, sugar, black as night coffee turning to a mocha colored perfection. I sip to check its perfection, it’s a little bitter, nothing is ever perfect. Back to the couch, sitting in the middle cuz the worn down cushions on the ends lump up my back. Back to thumbing. You would think after all the years I have under my thumb from scrolling it would be cut, lean and muscular.
From the news I move to the Facebook, it’s only been 7 hours through the middle of the night but somehow the content has changed. On occasion I look to the dates of the posts, 3 days old, 5 days old. Someone real smart knows how to keep me engaged with old pointless news. Facebook gets old quick, I thumb for another 5 minutes, 5 minutes I’ll never get back, 5 minutes that has been wasted on my attempt to circumvent my thoughts and the quiet of my apartment. On to Instagram, pictures of nothing really. Some friends, sunsets and glamour shots of #vanlife of which are all to fake. Reality rarely exists on Insta, concocted perspectives we make of it all. Everyone’s life is so mystical and adventurous and mine is filled with… Sipping my coffee unconsciously; moving on to Bumble and Tinder and Match and the swiping starts, what else is there to do at 5:45 in the morning. These sights being just as fake as the #vanlife photos and over filtered selfies of Insta. I move on.
It’s now close to 6 and time to dress and freshen my face. Socks, shorts, shirt and to the bathroom I head. I look at myself in the mirror and see the gray on my 3 o’clock shadow, quickly opening the cabinet, wondering if I really look as old as I do. Apply the toothpaste to the toothbrush, special extra fluoride toothpaste cuz my jibs are brittle from lack of care. Close the medicine cabinet to see myself in the mirror once again. As the toothbrush hums along I look for new sunspots, remind myself I need to trim my eyebrows, thinking how the fuck do they grow so fast. Spit and rinse and get to washing my face. Water down my whiteboy afro, wondering how the fuck strait hair can stick up so high. Lotion the elbows, every time I do I think of Samantha. She had soft elbows. Sunscreen the face, double up on the ears, still looking in the mirror and the ritual that just ensued has lifted my downtrodden face some. I turn off the light and head to the living room. It’s time to make lunch.
Oh how the excitement builds.
Pull out the bread, mayo, mustard, bologna, sliced cheese. A Greek yogurt, the cottage cheese and commence to fixing. It’s the same every day, lay down a paper towel, Dave’s Killer bread cuz it only has 12 carbs per slice, spread the mayo, a generous amount of mustard, two slices of bologna with the cheese between them. I buy all different sorts of cheese but couldn’t tell the difference between them in a blind taste test. Sandwich into a baggy, spoon the cottage cheese into a small piece of tuber wear. Salt and pepper on the cottage cheese. Get the cooler from atop the fridge, ice pack, cottage cheese, yogurt and an apple in the bottom with the sandwich on a tray resting above it all. Two bottles of water even though I only drink ½ of one. Set it up nicely on the counter and put my pocket stuff in front of the cooler. A knife, keys, work phone and earbuds.
It’s now 6:30 and back to the couch I go, feet up on the table, boots waiting to be installed onto said feet. Back to the thumb action. Swipe, swipe, up, up, up – reading the same mind-numbing news feed. Look to the computer, think of spending the day writing, skipping work and just being free. Reality kicks in and it’s almost time to leave for work. Do I meditate? Hmmm, sit still and try to be with my breath… I put my boots on, grab my lunch and pocket items off the counter, shut off the lights and head down the stairs. Every morning it’s the same routine, I might miss each segment by 5 minutes here and there but that’s not often.
It’s the ritual that makes someone want to blow their fucking head off. I think I might have died, forgotten that I died and I am now in hell. Yes, I think that is it. God is looking down at me from his lofty position snickering at the way I try to bleed my spirituality to show my devotion and he is knowing full well it is all for nothing. I jump through hoops like a little chihuahua in a side show circus, where the clowns smell of old sour whiskey and woman have their lips caked with bright red lipstick. It’s like my childhood all over again. Drunk and disorderly parents and grandmothers wanting their kiss’.
This is my life, the doldrums of my existence. The feverish race I run in my heart as I melt along the streets of SLO in’a half built getaway vehicle. Spending all hours of the day chasing money and buying my happiness through other peoples smiles. Wondering how one person could be so confused as to where they are in life. As to where they should be in life. As to how to survive the mental fucking of one’s self. Be here now and all will be well. I’m try’n to get beyond the here and now, to a greater plain of existence. The here and now is filled with scattered dreams, broken promises and the faint laughter of god.
Boy can I relate to this one in nearly every aspect. Reading this reminds me that I am not alone. That all the thoughts that come to my mind on a daily basis are probably very similar to most people that actually contemplate life rather than just exist without thought. All this being said, is this it? Is it always going to be this way? That is the question I ponder most. How do I change things to not feel this way?