“Where’s your story to go? Little one, why don’t you love? Why don’t you live?”
“Because it’s hard…”, she whispered from lips numbed by sleep. She dreamt of a hand gently caressing her forehead, feeling neither maternal or paternal in nature.
“Hard?”, the hand paused. Her brow furrowed and her limbs stirred under the sheets, she did not want the hand to stop and let the ease it brought slip away.
Continuing its long gentle strokes across her brow, the slender frame spoke again.
“I suppose, yes, things such as that are hard.”
Blue tinted lips pursed in thought, it paused.
“You, my dear , are to smart for your own good. Sadly, this is what hinders you.”
The pale hand stopped its course across the girls brow and descended to the side of her face and rested there. Only a thumb gently sweeping across her cheek brought her comfort in the midst of her slumber now.
“Some events will occur without prompt others wait for you to set them in motion, such is the world.”
As she woke the next morning she was troubled by the remaining wisps of the nights dream. Vaguely recollecting the feeling of two hands cupping the sides of her face with a pair of warm lips resting gently upon her own. Her only thought on the matter being,
“I really need to stop eating before I go to bed.”
As she walked up steps to the lonely little apartment she cursed the idea the longing that held her thoughts in sway. How could she prep for her future when all she could do is think about what the future could be? In her head she romanticized the lonely intelligent young woman trope and could nothing but hope her life would be brightened by some deus ex machina. Thinking about the future helped her escape form the present but was counter productive in every way possible. She was self sabotaging herself and was fully aware of it, but couldn’t figure out how to escape the damning hell cycle that was perpetuated by herself.
Dropping her bag by the door, she stepped on the heel of her shoe to peel her foot from inside and wobbled to the other foot as she fought for balance. The black scourge on the carpet opened its mouth and all but meowed at her. She had adopted the cat weeks ago and dubbed her Maggie. In the pound she had been sweet, loving, and SILENT. As soon as they got home the cat meowed just to hear herself talk and sounded like she smoked three packs a day. The sweet and loving part was a constant, but was not reciprocated when she pawed her people in the face at three o’clock in the morning just for the attention.
“How’s it going Magsters?” She received a guttural meow in response.
“I see you’ve cut down on the packs. It’ll do a world of good to your lungs.” She commented as she scratched under the cat’s chin. Laying down next to the cat on the beige carpet she mused about life in general.
“Everything that’s not human has it easy. All they have to think about surviving or just being and not thinking. Buddha had it right, just do your own thing and cut all worldly connection and just focus on being and less thinking. Maybe I should quit everything and become a monk in the Himalayas.” Rolling over on to her stomach she sighed. Spending her off days trapped in a creamy beige box was tiring. The day would speed by in a matter of minutes while she binged watched episodes of Gilmore Girls. She knew it was a depressing way to go about life and felt bitterly jealous every time she saw her best friend doing things with her life. Clara was everything that she was not. Clara was a tall, red headed, blue eyed, amazon woman with a will of steel that goes to a para military school, majored in international business, took nineteen units a semester, worked two jobs, made deans list, and had a Viking of a boyfriend. It was easy to feel insignificant in relation to her.
Deciding, in her few moments of better judgment, not to wrap herself into a cocoon of sadness she got up and made her way to the bathroom to take a hot shower.