The Conversation

Does it bother you that I talk to you, er, here? (shifts a bit to the left, scratches right eye, settles hands down to crossed legs) I mean, it doesn’t, does it, I mean, trivial things such as this don’t really bother you?

Er, so, it’s not like I forget you when I get on to living my life. I just, well, things have a way of consuming people, me, as I’m only human, and the world demands a lot from me which I have to endure so as not to be branded as a dysfunctional member of society. I’m babbling, am I? Hahaha. Sometimes I think I’m so silly, I’m so different out there and in here, I’m such a liar.

(reaches, turns on faucet, the sound of water trickling) It’s such a blur out there. A crazy montage of scenes, exotically interesting or gravely bland, sometimes even tragic, forced upon me. The one who’s out there, at times, don’t even seem like me at all – maybe in appearance or form or manner, but not really me. (reaches, turns faucet knob to another some 45 degrees to the right, the sound of pouring water bouncing off the walls)

And sometimes, in a very frustrating, aggravating attack of temperament, I shout “THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT TO DO IN LIFE!!!” As loud as I could, deep inside me. The distressing volume trembles against my every organ, especially against my heart, or should I say hypothalamus, to be technically correct. People forget that emotions do not thrive in the heart, but the brain! I’m one of those people, I confess. It’s hard to believe, though, because reconciling the inclinations of reason and emotion is much too difficult. Nevertheless, I go to my day job, painting across my lips a plastic smile and an energetic voice, momentarily turning off that one part of my brain telling me, in an annoyingly persistent voice with conviction – THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT TO DO IN LIFE!!! (water still pouring, the sounds lingering from the walls to the ears, walls to the ears, walls to the ears…)

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful it, it sustains me. (feels a droplet of water smoothing its way down the spine, shifts a very unnoticeable bit) Not luxurious, but just about enough. Not that I’ve really cared much about money, but apparently the world does give a lot of shit (sorry about that) about it and unless you got some in your pocket, you might as well be dead. I may be wrong, tell me this is not how you pictured it – wanted it – to be, but that’s how I see it. And a lot of times, it gets me down, because really, what is money but dirty pieces of paper and metal?

I’m so distressed right now, you have no idea. (water pours violently, splashing against the floor tiles, I put my palm to it to disturb the flow and it feels good against the skin) But yes, of course, you have an idea. You know exactly how I feel, eh, don’t you? Yes, you understand, you of all, how the ache in my chest starts to swell, robbing me of breath, bringing forth to my eyes stupid marks of sadness, which is why I’m talking to you right now when I can just enjoy this private time of solitude while I soak myself up in suds, yearning to be cleaned of this dirt, this taintedness, of this misery.

(brings body to fetal position, forehead down on the knees)

(splash, splash) I’m sooo frustrated! It’s like I don’t even have a say in my life. I can’t do what I want to do because I can’t afford to do it. I can’t afford to do a thing that won’t give me money because the world demands money from me. Those damned dirty scraps of metal and paper! And this world, I tell you they’re cheating everyone, the big people are cheating everyone out of their own money… I’m giving myself two more years before I finally join the damned wagon of people who believe that money indeed does make the world go round.

Where is a space for the yearnings of the heart? (splash, splash)

I used to believe in fairytales, y’know. Not in the literal sense though. I just choose to believe that we can make our lives exactly how we want it to be, that we can choose to be happy. But life always gets in the way. Life always finds a way to fuck us up when things are going good, hell, even when we’re at wits end.

Scumbag brain only thinks about the truest essence of life when it’s dark, when there’s nobody else, when there’s no need to pretend that we’re actually contented with the world.

Forgive my crude words, I’m sorry – I really am, even when it doesn’t matter to you (trivial, you’ll say, or does it?) – I tend to get caught up in my emotions especially at times like this. When it’s dark. And I’m alone. Here. With you.

Now, I’ve wasted too much water, I didn’t even realize… (turns the faucet knob until it tightens to heart’s content.)

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