I want to write comedy right now, but the awkward juxtaposition of my creative desires and how I feel right now is inhibitive to such a task. Perhaps a medium can be reached. I hope you like dark humor, because that is what happens when you mix the revelation that the purity of your childhood was compromised because your mother was addicted to sex…and comedy. On second thought, perhaps we won’t go down that route. I’m tired and need to my AP Chemistry homework, but I have also committed to writing every night. I shall try a purely free form format. See where it goes. If you become confused, it’s because so am I. It’s two fifteen in the morning, and I may end up pulling an all-nighter. We’re in the long haul. Together.
I remember the last time I stayed up all through the night, and well into the next day. I ended up having hallucinations. It was around eight at night, and I recall it being dark outside. I’m not entirely sure if there is any significance to be mined from this, but I just recall the darkness. It was at a point where I was feeling floaty, and nausea was abundant. I set my alarm for school, and went relatively straight to bed (the phrase I often use to describe this degree of weariness is “sh*t faced tired“). It was at this point that the book I was reading in English class started to haunt me. A Separate Peace had finally broken me, after numerous attempts (I found it quite terrible).
I recall being awoken by Brinker, the classy business like character. He told me that Finny wanted to fight me, and that Gene supported him. I knew that I wasn’t dreaming because I recall seeing my usual bedroom surroundings around me perfectly, except for the intertwining streets and tunnels. I knocked my alarm clock off of my bed to make absolutely sure. The veracity of my memory was verified later. The alarm clock was on the ground, about five feet away from me.
I was quite disturbed that the ever lovable Finny had a beef with me and questioned Brinker why this might be. He didn’t give me a proper answer, deciding it best to grunt and point towards one of the tunnels leading to the town square that had replaced my bike. You must understand, my room had depth at this point. Looking, I saw a whole gang of clichéd ‘forties punskters heading my way. I grew quite disturbed at this point. I had not moved an inch, and was sitting there looking at my quilt all befuddled. What was I to do? I shifted a little, and looked up again. As it happened to be, things would to turn out alright. There would be no rumble tonight, for now they were crouch lunging at each other haphazardly in inscrutable, mystical intervals. The entourage of cool were all bending down then leaping at each other, reaching heights of five feet or more into the air. This did not garner much entertainment from me, because as accepting as I was with the turn of events, I was still tired. I told Brinker to go away and rolled over, falling asleep promptly. To this day, I wonder what this says about me.
No comments:
Post a Comment