Feedback is appreciated.
Nowadays, I don’t know whether I’m feeling anything or just convincing myself that I am.
“I can’t believe you like that song. It’s so annoying!” I’m walking down whatever street, nearing the corner of who-gives-a-fuck avenue, discussing Third Eye Blind’s song “Semi-Charmed Life”. Claire is incredulous to my reverence for the tune.
“When put in the right context, it’s an amazing song. You have to hear other songs by the band, they’re nothing like Semi-Charmed.” I counter.
“So?” Is Kayla’s easy response.
I saw my favourite band, The Melvins a few days ago and it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. At least, that’s what I told myself. Honestly, when I saw the concert, the only reason I was blown away by it was because I knew I should be. It didn’t actually feel fantastic or anything.
I’m talking about one thing and thinking about something completely different. Whether that’s normal, I don’t know. It’s just the way I’ve always been.
“So, the song has that really catchy guitar riff that people dismiss as corny, but it’s actually nothing like the bands other songs. The lyrics of the song, which people pretty much gloss over are about being addicted to Crystal Meth. The song sounds the way it does to demonstrate the catchy and addictive nature of the drug. Hell, even the music corresponds with the lyrics and the emotions conveyed therein, verse for verse.” I’m pretty much rehashing an argument I’ve used many times before. Not many people have the same appreciation for this song as I do.
“You’re reading too much into it. There’s no way they meant to do that.”
I shrug as we continue walking.
“Better to overestimate something than to underestimate it.” I say as we get nearer to my house. Kayla glances at me as if I’ve said something profound.
“You have a way with words, ya know?” A compliment I’m used to, and thus can reject effectively before it reaches my mind which is still way off wherever this conversation is going.
“I hope so.” I reply dismissively. Really, I love receiving compliments regarding my writing. Thing is, if I get too many it will raise my confidence. That’s the last thing I need. The higher my spirits soar, the further they will fall when my work is shot down by publishers and editors and whomever else is bound to appraise my work with a deprecating eye.
What’s going through my mind now is how much I’d enjoy a joint. Again, enjoy is a subjective term. I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed smoking weed. Fact is, I don’t know why I continue to smoke it. Most times I get stoned I just lay around, barely able to move, dwelling on how I should be writing, yet not having the energy to do so. The reason I smoke, I guess, is because it’s different. Whether it’s a good different or bad different, I don’t know. For some reason I just feel the need to escape sobriety and have a new feeling every now and then. Also on my mind is how much I’d like to kiss, or date, or fuck Kayla. Though, she’s a friend, which means that it will probably never happen. What this means is I’m doomed to longing for her at night with my dick in my hand, whilst being constantly jealous when seeing her around any other guys.
Welcome to overthinking. When your mind works this hard, you never have a moment to yourself.
Maybe the reason I want a joint so badly is because I realise I’m going to be alone with Kayla at my house soon and I require some kind of numbing agent to hold off my longing for her, just so I can make it through the period without going insane.
“I don’t know if I dug that move, actually.” I answer some comment made by Kayla. Honestly, I wasn’t even aware she was talking. Is it weird that I can be completely absorbed in my own mind, yet am also listening to what is being said around me?
The front door to my house is approaching us quickly as Kayla continues talking and I suppose I’m listening. As I respond to her remarks with no idea what I’m saying nor what it means, I push a key into the hole and open the door. Right now, I’m fantasizing that Kayla will take off her clothes or throw me down onto my bed or plant a kiss on me or whatever.
Truth is, if most people knew what I was thinking about them while they were around, they’d either hate me or be afraid of me. That’s why I don’t communicate my thoughts. Just to preserve my popularity.
That’s why I write. Just to preserve my sanity.
And as Kayla exposes her breasts in my mind, she sits down in reality. And I get some pot and go to roll a joint. Hopefully this will take my thoughts away.
Feedback is appreciated.
