Mind is Rambling

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A day in the life of a "normal" teenager.

Submitted: September 04, 2013

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Submitted: September 04, 2013

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I wake to the offensive sound of an alarm clock. How dare you upset my most sacred sleep? But I find no more comfort in sleep than anything else. Sleep, like any good thing, always ends. And these good things always end in disappointment. Sleep is a vehicle from one disappointment to another. But I must have more, the act is addicting. Now that I’m really awake, it’s time to begin my day. First, hop in the shower. I could spend all day in the shower but then it would seem like I’m participating in a certain activity. Moving on. Next, brush my teeth. I know, I know. Shouldn't I be eating breakfast first? I can't even approach being able to hold down food in the morning. And brushing my teeth makes me feel better for some reason. Something about being clean just gives me energy. Who knows? There's probably some study, or ten, explaining why. But it doesn't matter. It makes me feel good. I go to look at the clock. I had my alarm set for 6:23, but that extended for about 20 minutes. I’m always picking odd minutes to wake up to. Something comforting about that, but like anything I haven't the slightest clue as to why. It's still early, 7:15. I get dressed, jeans from yesterday, grey t-shirt with a short sleeve button down with a plaid design over it. My favorite outfit, paired with aviators and converse high tops. I’m just so damn cool, you know, and I have to look the part. I grab my phone, wallet, and keys I finally make the trip downstairs. I ask myself the same question I do every day as I descend. Who are these people? I don't know them, they don't know me. Or so I'd like to think. They probably know me better than anyone else. But I wouldn't be a stereotype if I didn't feign disinterest in those around me, barring my \"friends\". I pretend to eat an orange. I’m always pretending to eat something in the morning. A bagel, yogurt, some sort of toast. I eat half of it and walk outside and throw up in the neighbor’s yard, then start chewing a couple pieces of gum. I've yet to get caught which must be some miracle and I must remember to thank my patron saint of vomiting in secrecy. Throwing up in the morning is another comfort. I like consistency, even if it's purging my body regularly of some unknown. Off to school. To be honest, I enjoy my nondescript high school in my non-descript town. As I previously mentioned, consistency comfort me. The mundane of the pointless work is a blessing. From who, I don’t know. I’d have to thank whatever Chinese elite who created the first university. I think that’s where it all started. Who knows? The first university might has well have been in America. America might as well be the birthplace of everything. We sure as hell won’t give credit to anyone else. Those thoughts were enough to get me to the parking lot. I swear to god if someone’s in my spot I'm going to do absolutely nothing. It happens too often for me to care at all. Although I do wish the parking lot attendant would does his job a sight better? Why does he get taxpayer money to sit in a box with a heater or fan, season depending, and his microwave and TV dinner? I'd love that job. He does literally nothing. Although by the time I can get a job robots or clones or something will have taken them from us. Cars, if there are still cars, will just teleport to the right spot or get destroyed, who knows. Guess I'll have to get in the robot/clone making business like the rest of these shmucks. Damn. I walk into school. It's just like home except these people have absolutely no clue who I am. I pride myself in making as little contact with my peers as possible. I am too good for them, far superior. Or I am too afraid to find out otherwise. Someday I'll talk to somebody. Really talk to somebody, not just a quiver of a \"sorry\" or \"excuse me\". No. Real conversations about real things like the job market or baked potatoes. I like mine with sour cream and a little bit of chives. I hold the door for, like, 17 people. Four of them said thank you. One actually looked at me. Well isn't that something. A teenager actually displaying good manners. Next we'll see one saying 'well' instead of 'good'. I’m actually impressed. This might give me enough hope to get me through the day. School goes by as slowly as ever. I spend most of it thinking about the girl I'll never talk to but still obsess over for a minimum of two months. But don't you worry, after those two plus months I'll settle on a girl whom I have no interest in but date because of social pressures. It’s how things go. I think there are no high school sweethearts. What are the chances you find the person you love the most in the world out of about 1000 people? Notice how I say people right wing conservatives. Gay marriage is a good thing, mind you. But in the same breath I don't believe in soul mates. I think there are people who are very compatible with you, but you're not meant to be. How, out of seven billion plus people could you find the one person you're meant to be with? Unless there is a god and it decides for you. What would be really cool would be having half of a heart shaped pendant and then another person has the other half and that pendant draws you closer to that person (saw this in a TV show or movie or something). Like the aforementioned god, however, this does not exist and we are forced to be in relationships that we have no business being in. Thinking about this girl and soul mates got me through school pretty well. I have no idea what any teachers said at all, like it matters. Time for my favorite part of the day. The mall. Oh, how I love the mall. The epitome of a capitalistic economy. I don't go to the mall to shop. Heavens no. I go to the mall to observe. People watching is an underappreciated hobby. Human beings are so interesting. Not because they do interesting things but because of their normal actions, or what is considered normal. There's something about a pack of teenage girls with shopping bags from Pink and Forever 21 sponsored by pressuring guys who make them think they need to dress like modern day concubines and their parents money that intrigues me. Note that some girls like dressing this way, and that's fine if it is of their own admission I think it's hilarious when kids say they're rich. Your parents are. You've got about as much control over your money as the president does with our country’s. That’s enough of the mall; I'm getting all worked up. Back home. It's late, nearly 12. The time where I do most of my serious thinking. Time to try and distract myself, watch some Weeds or Breaking Bad or something on Netflix. I'll think about texting that girl but I probably won’t. She's so much better than me. That’s why I’m so afraid of her. I know I have problems, but I do nothing about them. I'm kind of a piece of shit, if you haven't noticed. Why would she ever talk to me let alone like me or date me. I'll probably end up killing myself at some point and why should anyone, especially her, have to deal with that? No. I'd rather temporarily escape from it all. I'd rather be asleep, and never wake up. I'd rather have the bridge between today's disappointment and tomorrow's permanently closed off.


© Copyright 2018 Ryan Haas. All rights reserved.

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