19th feb 2024
(the prompt was write a story beginning with "this was going to be a terrible day, one of those days when its best to just stay in bed because everything is going to turn out bad")
this was going to be a terrible day, one of those days when its best to just stay in bed because everything is going to turn out bad.
what a horrible thought to have so early in the morning, this could end up being a great day, i scold myself from inside my own head, yes definately, like yesterday or the day before that, sarcasm leaking from the voice in my head to reprimand yet another voice in my head.
'list the requirements for a bad day.' an old therapy exersize that, for some reason, stuck.
gloomy weather? no, sweet blue skies, candyfloss clouds, warm sun falling through the leaves high above. loud or unnerving surroundings? even less so, light green water laps the bank of a jarringly serene lake flowers waft around the waters edge bowing to meet the surface. around bad people? technically, i am around nobody, calm, alone, peaceful, seemingly, my own inner monolouge is proving to be todays biggest enemy.
today actually has the trappings of a great day, which means it is one of these days. worse than one of the gloomy grey days or days full of work, today is one of the days where i feel so, so bad for being so miserable, for wishing for a storm so i am forced inside and i have to rot in my own misery. slowly i stand up, walking toward the waters edge. the top layer of water is warm after being in the sun for so long, the lower layers are cool and dark. i push myself down.
light filters through a meter or so of water, lake plants grow only a few more meters down. here it is calm, and serene and peaceful. i find myself hating it all over again. floating upwards, i try to count all the reasons i have to be happy. all outweighed by the fact that i am miserable.
my body floats on the surface of the water, my mind is disjointed, forcing me back into a memory where i do not float alone, where next to melays a girl with a smile like sunshine and a laugh like alchohol, she is intoxicating.
"mandy."
she drags out the last letter, i hear it like she is there, all over again i dive deep under water praying the pressure crushes me or the water to fill my lungs. it is so very dark again.
"she would want you to be happy now."
would she?
"she loved you."
did she?
the voices come from all around and i want to inhale and drown them out, everyone telling me to be happy for her because she cannot. she would be better at this, at the moving on part, i am so good at the greiveing, the loss, the wallowing. i exhale and push back up
"no."
her voice plays in my head, an old memory from when i told her i couldnt live without her. so i will breathe fresh, hot, summer air, even if just to spite the girl, because i have to keep her memory and love alive. today is terrible without her and so will the rest of them be, but i will live them, because she told me to and it is rude to disrespect the dead.
my body floats atop the water again.
today was just a little less terrible.
anyways,
23rd jan 2024
but this is from like december i wanna say (13th november to be exact)
There is no wind. the salt is carried up to my nose in thick waves, no wind to blow it away. i slam the car door, old paint and rust crumble into my hand like ironic summer snowflakes. i swipe them away, turning to focus on the sea. the stone ledge burns and its sharp corners scrape my legs. i say nothing.
Almost i lie and say i see france, the shiny, salt coated swimmers paddling thier way across the channel, small sun-scorched children mimic french revolutions with sandcastles and cruel older brothers kick them over, revolution hungry seagulls swoop down chopping the heads off of chips. i remember the winters of gulls nesting far from the beach, where snow meets sand and the winter bite takes my mind away from the nausiatingly still day.
i remember winter, not too long ago, not long to come. violent whiplash between small giggles bubbling up from the beach and silent crunches of snow. grease lined smoke, thick smells and some gauge nostalgia always will break for crisp cold air, smoke rises from your mouth as you speak, i wish i could hear you speak, to ice capped waves, to salty snow, to frozen stone ledges where your clothes stick. you always hated summer and so i will in some Machiavellian remembrance of the person i used to know.
an alarm rings on my phone, the parking meter has run out. cold coins fall into the machine, ill have another hour. maybe ill plunge into the sea, swim as far as i can and stare back at the landscape of families and umbrellas, comedically oversized for the children underneath. an old church next to seemingly more rundown souvenir shops, the car i remember you driving in, the lampposts you tried to climb, the walls you spray painted. maybe ill go over to calais, join a family there with bright bathing suits and picnic baskets i can almost see now. its beautiful, the summer is beautiful.
anyways,