It was the morning of the funeral. She had laid out her best black dress, sensible heels, and dark tights. All dug from the recesses of her closet, because she never wore black. Not for no reason, anyway.
I get the same responses from just about everyone when I tell them I went to school in San Diego:
“That’s so far! Did you miss your family?”
“That’s so far! Did you hate your family?”
“Why did you come back?”
Rick stubbed out his cigarette, the flaky ash making a dark hole in the makeshift foil ashtray. The glass of whiskey on the table was sweating, leaving a ring mark that Evie would have flipped her lid about in the past. Back when she cared about things like that.
People say hell is endless. They say it’s our worst nightmare, the face of our darkness. But whatever it is, however it is, I say hell is empty, and all the devils are here.
There’s an age for all of us when innocence dies. It’s sad, it’s dark, but it’s a fact.
Disclaimer: I started this post an hour ago until I found the picture above and fell into a deep, dark rabbit hole of sleep deprivation and cyclical insomnia.
I mentioned the phrase “cyclical insomnia” today, only 58% sure it was a real thing. Spoiler: it is real. My particular brand is usually triggered by anxiety, which I suppose can be applied to my current EOTD–that is, the feeling of restlessness that struck around 11 PM and lasted until…I’ll let you know.
We all have that friend.
Let’s be honest–that friend was probably us, at some point (or still).
I’ve decided to try a new tack here, which is to narcissistically post about my own emotions on a daily basis depending which one is currently holding dominance at the time of typing.
What I want to happen: I will develop some insightful or thought-provoking prose centered around a general theme and gain some kind of clarity by the time I hit “Publish.”
What will actually happen: I will get home from work and whine for a few hours to a non-existent group of readers about my current, probably negative, state of mind.