lovely day to be sure

Dec 8, 2008

Going out for a drink because it’s so damn nice out for a December day. You got off work too early again. Figure, what the hell. Who needs these fancy things money can buy? You pay for your drafty rooms, sweep the scuffed floor with a cheap broom, eat simple food made in your tiny kitchen, and you’re mostly content. There are things more important than an extra nine dollars everyday. . . sure. And after these hours with people you would never spend ten minutes with you are so threadbare, you need a reward. Pants are changed into a second-hand skirt that is falling apart at the seams, the sauce-splattered shoes with holes are changed out for two year old boots. Pull on a nice black sweater, this was owned once before as well, but you sure can’t tell. Walking outside with the sun in your eyes, graffiti on the walls and leaves crumbling in the gutters, you try to keep your heels from getting caught in the cracks of the brick-worked streets. This a just a life you live, three blocks away from your childhood home, thinking your thoughts and reading your stories between lying in bed with someone you love and cooking for strangers. So you deserve a nice cool glass of amber liquid to celebrate what is probably the last nice day before the robins come back. A short drive. You squeeze your lemon and watch the tangy acid seep it’s way down the glass. The place is full of people you will never get to know. So many hands you will never hold, lips that will never be kissed, beards and glasses and toes so foreign. I can’t help but create narcissistic monologues for these people, a poor excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. This is no respite. You got to watch the sun set and the night stealthily caress the asphalt, but there is just so much left that you will never experience. You wish for a good book, or a thoughtful tale. Something with, not a moral, but some sort of lesson, something that will make sense of the dreariness of everyday disappointments. But you know that it will all be okay, it always turns out that way. Even the worst of things fade into a tasteless monotony, and this is not bad. Uncomfortable most of the time, yes, but you have your lonely celebrations and sweet caresses to look forward to. You have your cigarettes and your beer, your soft bed and bound sheets, you have food and love and life and health. Every moment may not be a dream, but every moment is yours, no matter where you are stuck. At least these are the words to repeat when you stare about yourself, with these eyes in your head that you can only see in a mirror. A second glass drained, and my bladder is feeling strained.

Lovely day to be sure, with wind in my hair and snow in the forecast.

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