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Sometimes it’s difficult to find a reason to hold on. A purpose to cling parasitically to this bland life and, like a small insect fixed to the underbelly, let other people guide me through life. Too many times have I broken down tearfully, my eyes welling up with regret and self-pity, and told myself “no more”. I’ve tried to be a stronger person, promised myself I will strive relentlessly to be someone else. A façade of mistruths build upon a solemn bed of delusion.
You see, truth be told, there isn’t anything particularly wrong with my life. I wasn’t beaten up as a child, I’m not the victim of a mugging or rape, and I’m not a starving pot-bellied child from Ghana. I live in a cityblock apartment, twenty-sixth floor, with my plasma widescreen television mounted tentatively above the fireplace, which houses a state of the art electric heating system. My neighbours are silently pleasant, but my life of solitude something becomes overwhelming. I sometimes think I would like a pet dog, perhaps a little Jack Russell, but the tenants committee have a strictly enforced “no pets” rule. I often think perhaps it is my purpose to be alone – it is how it has always been for me. As a child my parents, both New York art critics, left me in the care of a Nanny – who spent more time rifling through my father’s drawers and cupboards than she did looking after me. My adolescence was spent as an anti-social outcast who rarely spoke – and as I blossomed into adulthood I sit from 9am until 5pm in a 6 foot by 4 foot cubicle whittling away at a keyboard before driving home to my batchelor flat in my economy car and spend the night eating my microwave meal for one and often weeping for myself – wondering how I could break the circle of depression I was encased in.
I remember the first vision I had, it was a Tuesday night and I had just finished picking at my shepherds pie when I decided to wallow in my self pity by binge drinking. I opened a bottle of Chateau L’amitié Vin Blanc, something I was saving for when I had company. I laughed. Company was something I had never had; it was rather pathetic to assume I ever would. I splashed the vintage liquid into a large glass and gulped the night away. As one crummy T.V. gameshow melted into another I drifted into an awkward state of drunken paranoia. Whether I was awake or asleep when it happened I don’t quite know, but I remember vividly staring up from my comfy Italian sofa at a tall man with sullen tired eyes and blue cracked lips. He stared vacantly at me, decoding my stereotypical exterior, and spoke three cold words “Speak to her.”
I awoke in a cold sweat and jumped to my feet to check the apartment for the intruder, but after double-checking my catalogue-style rooms I found nobody. As usual. With the exception of the estate agent who guided me around the apartment with the assurance that “it would be perfect for a bachelor like yourself”, I was the only person who had ever set foot inside the apartment.
The next morning I awoke after a troubled nights sleep and made the usual mundane trip through a smoky city to a high-rise apartment block to work in the generic office, where I input statistics about various people, all of who are much more interesting than myself, and how they intend to repay their loans. Something I could never do is get myself into debt – I hate the feeling of owing something to someone. I like waking up knowing that I owe nobody anything – a clean slate with the world. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be reckless, to live life on the edge a little, perhaps to grasp life by the throat and live out my deepest fantasies – whatever they may be. I’ve always abided by the laws, not just federal laws but any laws. I’m frightened of being judged as a rule breaker – much as I judge others based on their misdeeds.
It was on that Wednesday morning I saw her – a pretty new intern with hazel eyes and mousy hair. She smiled awkwardly as she was guided around the office and introduced to people by Mr. Tethelwaite - my commander in chief. When she was ushered to my cubicle and Mr. Tethelwaite huskily quirked “Elisa, this is Mark – loans advisor” she smiled deeply at me, her eyes twinkled and it seemed to me, for just a fraction of a moment, that my life was complete. Before I could muster a “hello” or a “how are you” she was promptly moved on by Mr. Tethelwaite to meet Andy Sarkins from sales.
Usually during the long mundane days I would be a blank, devoted solely to my work, but today was different. All I could think of was her, Elisa. Her shy little smile. Her mousy locks. Her deep hazel eyes. I was swooning like a schoolchild.
When 5pm came I promptly packed my briefcase together, adorned my jacket from the back of my chair and made my way to the sub-terrain parking lot. As I opened my car door I heard a soft whimpering sound emanating from the car next to mine. I paced around the car to see my princess, Elisa, crumpled against the side of her car in tears. I forced confidence to my surface and managed a casual
“What’s wrong?”
Startled by my presence she jumped nervously and looked up at me, wiping the trickles of mascara from her cheeks.
“Um” she began, stuck for words. “M-My car key, it snapped” she held up the black base of a car key and the snapped metal stub, the rest of which was wedged inside her car door.
“I could give you a ride..” I suggested.
“Really?” a smile lit up her pretty face.
“Of course, I’m parked just over here”
She told me where she lived, to my amazement it was in the same apartment block as me. “Twenty-fifth floor” she told me. Right beneath me.
She invited me into her apartment, into her lonely life and I did the same to her. Knowing somebody has suffered the same as you is one thing, but finding sanctuary with another is entirely different. It’s better.
As hours melted into days and days melted into weeks we grew to learn a lot about each other. We opened ourselves up and told of our parallel lives of synonymous depression, loneliness and self-pity. At once my bachelor apartment became a home, a place of social affairs for a duet of lovers. It took until the age of 32 for my life to blossom into something I truly cherished, but once it did there was no going back.
Nowadays I am too busy to think about the past, about the sullen-eyed dark haired man who told me to talk to her, about my absence of love and constant self-pity. I spend my time tending to Dominic, the product of mine and Elisa’s affection, giving him plenty of love and attention – the kind I never had. I worry about life very little these day, I only hope that Dominic’s life blossoms sooner than mine did.
Thus ends my tale of woe and heartache with a fairytale ending of love and happiness. I would have included more drama, more tension – but, truth be told, I’m too happy.
---------------------------- ---------------------
Sometimes it’s difficult to find a reason to hold on. A purpose to cling parasitically to this bland life and, like a small insect fixed to the underbelly, let other people guide me through life. Too many times have I broken down tearfully, my eyes welling up with regret and self-pity, and told myself “no more”. I’ve tried to be a stronger person, promised myself I will strive relentlessly to be someone else. A façade of mistruths build upon a solemn bed of delusion.
You see, truth be told, there isn’t anything particularly wrong with my life. I wasn’t beaten up as a child, I’m not the victim of a mugging or rape, and I’m not a starving pot-bellied child from Ghana. I live in a cityblock apartment, twenty-sixth floor, with my plasma widescreen television mounted tentatively above the fireplace, which houses a state of the art electric heating system. My neighbours are silently pleasant, but my life of solitude something becomes overwhelming. I sometimes think I would like a pet dog, perhaps a little Jack Russell, but the tenants committee have a strictly enforced “no pets” rule. I often think perhaps it is my purpose to be alone – it is how it has always been for me. As a child my parents, both New York art critics, left me in the care of a Nanny – who spent more time rifling through my father’s drawers and cupboards than she did looking after me. My adolescence was spent as an anti-social outcast who rarely spoke – and as I blossomed into adulthood I sit from 9am until 5pm in a 6 foot by 4 foot cubicle whittling away at a keyboard before driving home to my batchelor flat in my economy car and spend the night eating my microwave meal for one and often weeping for myself – wondering how I could break the circle of depression I was encased in.
I remember the first vision I had, it was a Tuesday night and I had just finished picking at my shepherds pie when I decided to wallow in my self pity by binge drinking. I opened a bottle of Chateau L’amitié Vin Blanc, something I was saving for when I had company. I laughed. Company was something I had never had; it was rather pathetic to assume I ever would. I splashed the vintage liquid into a large glass and gulped the night away. As one crummy T.V. gameshow melted into another I drifted into an awkward state of drunken paranoia. Whether I was awake or asleep when it happened I don’t quite know, but I remember vividly staring up from my comfy Italian sofa at a tall man with sullen tired eyes and blue cracked lips. He stared vacantly at me, decoding my stereotypical exterior, and spoke three cold words “Speak to her.”
I awoke in a cold sweat and jumped to my feet to check the apartment for the intruder, but after double-checking my catalogue-style rooms I found nobody. As usual. With the exception of the estate agent who guided me around the apartment with the assurance that “it would be perfect for a bachelor like yourself”, I was the only person who had ever set foot inside the apartment.
The next morning I awoke after a troubled nights sleep and made the usual mundane trip through a smoky city to a high-rise apartment block to work in the generic office, where I input statistics about various people, all of who are much more interesting than myself, and how they intend to repay their loans. Something I could never do is get myself into debt – I hate the feeling of owing something to someone. I like waking up knowing that I owe nobody anything – a clean slate with the world. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be reckless, to live life on the edge a little, perhaps to grasp life by the throat and live out my deepest fantasies – whatever they may be. I’ve always abided by the laws, not just federal laws but any laws. I’m frightened of being judged as a rule breaker – much as I judge others based on their misdeeds.
It was on that Wednesday morning I saw her – a pretty new intern with hazel eyes and mousy hair. She smiled awkwardly as she was guided around the office and introduced to people by Mr. Tethelwaite - my commander in chief. When she was ushered to my cubicle and Mr. Tethelwaite huskily quirked “Elisa, this is Mark – loans advisor” she smiled deeply at me, her eyes twinkled and it seemed to me, for just a fraction of a moment, that my life was complete. Before I could muster a “hello” or a “how are you” she was promptly moved on by Mr. Tethelwaite to meet Andy Sarkins from sales.
Usually during the long mundane days I would be a blank, devoted solely to my work, but today was different. All I could think of was her, Elisa. Her shy little smile. Her mousy locks. Her deep hazel eyes. I was swooning like a schoolchild.
When 5pm came I promptly packed my briefcase together, adorned my jacket from the back of my chair and made my way to the sub-terrain parking lot. As I opened my car door I heard a soft whimpering sound emanating from the car next to mine. I paced around the car to see my princess, Elisa, crumpled against the side of her car in tears. I forced confidence to my surface and managed a casual
“What’s wrong?”
Startled by my presence she jumped nervously and looked up at me, wiping the trickles of mascara from her cheeks.
“Um” she began, stuck for words. “M-My car key, it snapped” she held up the black base of a car key and the snapped metal stub, the rest of which was wedged inside her car door.
“I could give you a ride..” I suggested.
“Really?” a smile lit up her pretty face.
“Of course, I’m parked just over here”
She told me where she lived, to my amazement it was in the same apartment block as me. “Twenty-fifth floor” she told me. Right beneath me.
She invited me into her apartment, into her lonely life and I did the same to her. Knowing somebody has suffered the same as you is one thing, but finding sanctuary with another is entirely different. It’s better.
As hours melted into days and days melted into weeks we grew to learn a lot about each other. We opened ourselves up and told of our parallel lives of synonymous depression, loneliness and self-pity. At once my bachelor apartment became a home, a place of social affairs for a duet of lovers. It took until the age of 32 for my life to blossom into something I truly cherished, but once it did there was no going back.
Nowadays I am too busy to think about the past, about the sullen-eyed dark haired man who told me to talk to her, about my absence of love and constant self-pity. I spend my time tending to Dominic, the product of mine and Elisa’s affection, giving him plenty of love and attention – the kind I never had. I worry about life very little these day, I only hope that Dominic’s life blossoms sooner than mine did.
Thus ends my tale of woe and heartache with a fairytale ending of love and happiness. I would have included more drama, more tension – but, truth be told, I’m too happy.
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Paradox: wrote:
> Remember to drawl your "so"'s like an american teenage girl
> called Shelly
Like?
...
ahem
> Remember to drawl your "so"'s like an american teenage girl
> called Shelly
Like?
...
ahem
Remember to drawl your "so"'s like an american teenage girl called Shelly
"Like I am SOOOOOOO not going to the mall"
"Like I am SOOOOOOO not going to the mall"
Yeah, good.
So never going to happen in anything closely resembling real life, but good nonetheless.
So never going to happen in anything closely resembling real life, but good nonetheless.
Strafio wrote:
> Wehey.
>
> Enlightenment part 2.
>
>
> Not quite as good as the philospher one, but that's hardly a put down
> now, it is? :-)
I wasnt as pleased with this one, but I got such good feedback from "a Phillosopher and his lady wife" that I decided to try another enlightenment piece, only from a different angle. I think the protagonist of this story is something a lot more people can relate to, but the moral is a bit skewed which I think makes it open to interpretation and as such less powerful.
> Wehey.
>
> Enlightenment part 2.
>
>
> Not quite as good as the philospher one, but that's hardly a put down
> now, it is? :-)
I wasnt as pleased with this one, but I got such good feedback from "a Phillosopher and his lady wife" that I decided to try another enlightenment piece, only from a different angle. I think the protagonist of this story is something a lot more people can relate to, but the moral is a bit skewed which I think makes it open to interpretation and as such less powerful.
English_Bloke wrote:
> I thought this was to be a post about how your breasts have grown. I'm
> quite disappointed.
Sorry.
But my B-cup warriors are doing fine, thanks.
> I thought this was to be a post about how your breasts have grown. I'm
> quite disappointed.
Sorry.
But my B-cup warriors are doing fine, thanks.
Wehey.
Enlightenment part 2.
Not quite as good as the philospher one, but that's hardly a put down now, it is? :-)
Enlightenment part 2.
Not quite as good as the philospher one, but that's hardly a put down now, it is? :-)
I thought this was to be a post about how your breasts have grown. I'm quite disappointed.
Have you got an MSN adress i could... Borrow?
And when are you going to do SPC 2 ?
But yeah, it was a great story.
And when are you going to do SPC 2 ?
But yeah, it was a great story.
Thanks, you filthy harlequins.
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