Eleven Fifteen
Saturday August 13, 2005 - 12:01AM EDT
I was on my way back from dropping something off at my parents house. I was very close to home when I passed a bar. It had what looked like an outdoor deck bar. The deck was bathed in an inviting blue neon light. It was hot as balls outside but it looked enjoyable. Like the loud oppressive music of some bars was kept indoors while outdoors all you could hear was the mumur of the people and clinking of glasses. I wanted to stop and have a drink or three. But I couldn't, I just couldn't. I had no reason not to, it seemed so relaxing. The thought of finishing the night by throwing a couple back in the pale blue neon light on the deck would have pleased me. Not even the stifiling heat could've ruined the enjoyment. But I didn't stop. Fear, always afraid. Of what, I don't know. Every once in a while its takes a day off, but today it was there. I just couldn't stop. So I went home.
As I closed the door behind me and took the key out of the lock I was greeted by darkness and the incessent dripping of the broken faucet in the kitchen. The empty house I live in where unless the TV is on all you hear is the blowing air from the AC or a fan. I went to the kitchen and tried to stop the dripping, but I couldn't. All three clocks in the kitchen read 11:15. Those clocks are never the same, someone must have changed them. Maybe it was me, I don't remeber. I turned off the kitchen light and walked in darkness upstairs to the bathroom. Did my usual nightly ritual or brushing teeth, removing contacts, washing face and went to my room.
TV is not on, won't turn it on either. So here I am recording worthless thoughts in a meaningless blog. Still afraid, still thinking about the pale blue light of the deck bar. Still wanting to feel the heavy hand of alcohol rest on my shoulder, easing my mind, if only for a little while. The only light in the room is from the laptop screen, the only sound is of the fan desperately trying the circulate the AC air from the solitary vent my the room. There is another sound. I hear crickets outside, barely audible but they are there. Fear's hand in what rests on my shoulders tonight. Fear of what, I don't know. Its always there, constantly reminding me of its presence. It doesn't go away. I want to do something about it. But there in nothing. Each day isn't new. Everyday is the same. I keep hoping that tomorrow will bring something new, something different, something great. It never does, but I still wait. Unsure whether my efforts or lack there of have any effect. Fear still tags along, I'm unable to seperate myself from it. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. Tomorrow I'll wake up and everything will start all over again.