by beautiful liar » 1/1/2006, 1:00 am
A Midnight Post
...
A New Year: a new beginning. Or something. I feel inclined to make a statement along with every other fool who reads too much into a date. It's depressing - I'm exactly where I was this time last year. That's not to say nothing has changed; but the new year is the same as a birthday. You reflect on what you've done and come out disappointed. A thick warm drink fills my mouth. Trying to strip myself of awareness. It only semi-works. Could be the sad music swaying me; could be the repercussion of love. A year. More. I've loved him. From afar; from right next to him; he moves me, he stalls me. Time to forget.
I've moved away and back. Across a nation twice in a year. More. Four times. If planes don't count; once. I've seen new and distant lands crossing an ocean for the first time in my life. Seeing the home of my ancestors. The motherland. A green place; ancient and budding. It seems fresher than my home. Less raw. More like a vegetable garden than a slaughterhouse. But I was drawn back again and again with the promise of proximity.
This night feels like an ending. Today was my last day of employment with a big box retailer that degraded me; exorcized my energy as it ground me into dirt. It could have been worse; I don't regret going back. I needed the closure more than the money. To see the faces; to realize I had moved on. The place had changed. Become more hectic, more strained, more desperate, less friendly. So had I. More certain, more confident, more capable, more elitist. I was above it. The strain still told.
I splutter as I gulp my drink - too strong. Apple cider and whiskey. Resist smelling it and it tastes just like apples. I want to go apple picking; smell the autumn air and a wisp of my youth. Shiny, crunchy apples waiting to be twisted off the branch. I used to rip teeth out of my mouth the same way. Twist three hundred and sixty degrees and pull. Taste the blood gushing out of the hole and down my throat. Apple juice.
Bagpipes playing on my stereo. I wanted to watch the Santa Claus Parade. My friends were in a rush and wouldn't let me stop. Or maybe I didn't want to stop. I can't recall anymore. I wish we had stopped. A longing for lost youth? Naaaah. I'm not sorry we went by. It was right at the time.
Regress past the sadness and scars. Crystalized moments of happiness. Except, they aren't really there. I remember mistakes I made, punishments recieved. I know I was a happy child; but that's not what I remember. I remember tears, sadness, feeling stupid and inadequate. Not being able to make an adult understand me because I didn't have the tools of communication at my disposal. Anger at their condescending attitude: I didn't know that word either. I knew the feeling it created though. Frustration, embarassment. Hours on end laying in bed debating what I could have said to sound smarter. I still do that. Those moments pile up in my memory, crowding out feelings of achievement from when I did say the right thing. I can't escape the gnawing nostalgia, the prattlings of the past.
It seems no matter how busy I am, there is still plenty of time to feel bored and stagnant. Periods of excitement and discovery are shortlived. I feel neither old nor young; I feel timeless - drifting through history and literature I am never quite sure what it is like if I take a walk outside and move amongst the people living in the instances we find ourselves. I am always on the outside, observing events through the eyes of a different generation, generations I have no right to claim belongance to.
A New Year: a new ending. Not a chance to start anew; not a chance to change my life. I am stuck on the tracks I was born on, having invested time, money, blood, and happiness into them. Things I will never get back if I turn away. Things I need to earn back. A New Year: another meaningless night. I'll celebrate when, and if, I survive.