Reflection

The smoke spiraled before my eyes, a thin, curling, gray snake writhing in the air. Light trickled through a glass of water on the desk, next to my computer. The glass sparkled and shunned the light off toward my eyes and I blinked. The bass on the speakers pumped and penetrated my body in an almost startling way. A voice uttered from afar some nonsensical babble and I turned toward the source, his lips still moving to form some meaningless drivel I couldn’t interpret. I tried to speak but something held my jaw shut. The bass still pumped. I could see myself...my perfume sat next to the computer and bent my face in a most peculiar way. It also gave it a rather blue hue. Odd. The window also captured a rather dark face. The eyes were dark and penetrating. Glaring. The mouth curled into an angry frown. A look of defiance.1

My fingers are cold. Inspiration comes to me through words and audial stimuli and I feel that my path is right, despite the cacophonous crowd over there trying to turn the screws. I think now I can just decide for myself...do what I want to do...stop asking for advice and just get it done.2

It’s rough to constantly be denied happiness. People wonder why I am negative? I search for positives in my life, seek out happiness actively. Why just yesterday I was marveling at the beautiful, warm[-er] weather, breathing in the fertile air without coughing out cold, harsh air... I’ve been chilling quietly, doing my own thing, minding my own business, ashin, drinkin and out of nowhere my peaceful world is broken by a bitch boss who came so close to firing me that I had to quit (a job I still loved), the loss of one of the best roommates ever and the introduction to three of the worst, a rapidly declining bank account figure, and general bullshit.3

I really would just rather stay out of everyone’s hair and do my own thing. I would be less of a fucking misanthrope and maybe a bit more understanding of others’.4

Alas...my fantasy of lying on a dark floor writing to a dripping candle stuffed into a tequila bottle and drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey is coming closer than I ever thought!5

joy?6

not the starving, poor, "I’m fucked" college drop-out joy, but joy for writing and doing my own thing and still having money for El’s and liquor. Go figure.7

Some how the warm weather will make everything better.8

It better.9

It fucking better, god damn it!10

Until then, I’ll continue guzzling down and smoking all the money left in my bank account, thank you.