My Future... heh

What do you do with a B.A. in English
What is my life going to be?
Four years of college and plenty of knowledge
Have earned me this useless degree
I can’t pay the bills yet
'Cause I have no skills yet
The world is a big scary place
But somehow I can’t shake
The feeling I might make
A difference, to the human race.
- Avenue Q

Promises

No raindrops
from these windows to the soul.

Addison at Midnight

It was the middle of summer and I was shivering. Shivering and sweating on this hot and humid night. I closed my eyes tightly and curled up into a ball in an attempt to tame the involuntary tremors passing through me but it hurt too much so I stretched myself out under the sheets. But that hurt too. I rolled over in agony and annoyance, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position but every move I made seemed to hurt a different part of my body.

All I wanted to do was sleep. I knew what would calm me down and eventually bring me sleep but I wouldn’t get it here. No, definitely not here.

My eyes drifted open and I sat up, knowing that I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Or any night soon for that matter. I surveyed the room I was in through damp eyes and tried to ignore the shaking running through my limbs and the pinpricks of pain stabbing my head. The moon outside dimly lit the room but even that was too bright for me right now. The bare walls challenged me to a staring contest and I obliged them but the swaying shadow from the tree outside was too distracting so I blinked, losing the contest just like I was losing the fight with myself.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out everything but it seemed to do the reverse. When I opened my eyes again, the room seemed brighter than before, the shadows cast appeared sharper and the rustling from the tree outside seemed to cut straight through the fuzziness and pain in my head. I played with the hem of my shirt, rolling it up and then unrolling it; back and forth.

The red digital numbers on the clock blinked one a.m. exactly and I sighed. The night seemed to stretch on forever. My focus wandered around the room in search for something to do and landed on a book by the bed I was sitting on. I picked it up and flipped it over to read the back. Apparently it was about a lady who tries to kill herself and ends up in hospital where she has to come to terms with herself or something equally as miserable. I considered reading it but dealing with my own issues was tiring enough and I really didn’t want to have to bother with hers so I put it back down.

I turned to the clock again and realised that only a minute had passed. 1.01 a.m. I could hear the numbers mocking me and how alone I was in this room; in this place. Haha, they laughed, haha. I glared threateningly at the numbers, daring the clock to ridicule me further and it did when it blinked to the next minute.

There was a single abstract painting hanging on one of the walls. The people in charge had said that it was for “relaxation” purposes but the more I tried to focus on it, the more the lines and colours seemed to melt into one big haze, forming a new picture. This new painting reminded me of one my mother had hanging in her home and my insides twisted. I didn’t want to think about home; I didn’t have one anymore. Not since they had sent me here.

I felt like screaming, pulling out my hair, yanking my limbs off; anything that would distract me from the cramps taking over my body, the throb and fog in my head and the hunger in my stomach. Food. Food was what I needed. I thought about going to the cafeteria that was opened twenty-four hours for patients to grab something to eat but the mere thought of having to move my jaw and use my teeth caused my muscles to seize up and pain to shoot to the middle of my head.

My stomach lurched and I doubled over, stretching my tense muscles into a position that felt even more painful than I thought possible. I heard a feral sounding growl and fear gripped me until I realised that it was originating from me. I could just imagine the way I looked right now – my hair matted to my damp forehead, rocking back and forth on this hard, foreign bed, face contorted in pain and desperation evident in my eyes. I hated this current weak state I was in. I hadn’t eaten in almost twelve hours but I knew that a meal wasn’t what I really needed, or wanted rather, to quell the hunger in me.

I rubbed my nose and it felt strange – hollow and bigger than I remembered. I hadn’t noticed before how itchy or uncomfortable my nose was and rubbing it just triggered it to flare up so I clawed away at it.

A sudden movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and panic seized every muscle in me. My head shot up and an intense pain attacked my head, neck and back. I thought I was going to throw up. I looked around but there was no one else in the room besides me. Something moved again and I realised that it was only the tree outside. I let out a bitter scoff at my paranoia. Damn that tree and damn this state I was in.

I sniffed and scratched my nose again.

unedited Coffee

The warm aroma fills my nose
like the afternoon sun on my back
after a cold morning,
like a bear hug in a sad situation,
a surprise gift on an ordinary occasion
or a hot shower after a long, freezing day.
It spreads through my body like
hot tea filling my stomach, like weightlessness,
like a call from home in an empty,
lonely city. It's like a scarf
against the chill, a familiar
laugh of someone loved,
a thick blanket around me in front
of the TV.
Like seeing a baby's first smile,
like endless nights out with best friends,
like coming home after a long time away,
like curling up in front of a fireplace alone
in the middle of winter with a cup of coffee,
the warm aroma filling my nose.

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We had to do an exercise today in Creative Writing modelled off Michael Ondaatje's poem 'Sweet Like A Crow' about a specific noise, smell or taste that we'd experienced. This was what I came up with, done in about half an hour. I was sleepy and I hadn't had a coffee in a while.

And so begins

the drabbles of my overactive imagination.
The url is that at the moment because I didn't want anyone else to have it. I'm not sure if I'll keep it but I can always change it later. I was inspired by Whitley. I just got home from his goodbye tour and it was a great gig. I think he's better live than he is on the album, kudos to you kid. But damn you for moving to England and leaving us behind. I shall be sans-Whitley for at least two years. What will I ever do? On the bright side, Yellowcard are back together and I am immensely happy.

But I digress. So really, I started this blog as a place to post my creative writing pieces. Seeing as I'm getting back into writing again and that I'll actually have to be finishing my pieces (thanks, Creative Writing unit. No, really, thanks. It's been too long since I last wrote something that wasn't a rant), I thought I'd find somewhere I could post them. Since I already have a couple of other blogs, what's another one, hey?

So the first story-post probably won't be up for a while but I just wanted to get the ball rolling.
Enjoy.