It doesn’t seem normal that the
one time I try to only think about what hurts, I can’t cry. I just
keep thinking that there’s no point, nothing I can do to change
anything. That seems like it should be a good thing, but it doesn’t
feel “good”. I don’t feel like I want to change anything, or go on
a quest, or take on a challenge to get myself going again. I just
feel empty. I threw around the word “apathy” a lot back when Amanda
and I were best friends. It was cool to be apathetic about life,
but I never really was. I always cared, even if it was just a
little. Right now I really do feel apathetic. I could keep going or
turn around or just stop. It wouldn’t change anything. Why bother?
I feel a little like Bartleby from that Melville story Miss R. made
us read. Suddenly responding, “I would prefer not to” to everything
makes a lot of sense.
I decide to keep going just because it’s the
easiest thing to do. I wish there was more traffic so I could get
upset about something, but the highway is almost empty. I wish it
would start snowing or my heater would give out – just something,
anything – so things would be different. Nothing happens. I keep
driving and nothing gets in my way or makes the drive unpleasant. I
call these my “stare at the wall” moods because if I were at home
I’d just sit and stare for awhile, trying to figure out what to do.
I haven’t had many of them recently because whenever I’d think
about what was going on in my life I’d cry. Being alone with my
thoughts has become a very dangerous pastime. Not as dangerous as
whatever was going on now, though. I can’t even say it’s a feeling
that makes me want to give up. It is like I already gave up and I
just haven’t realized yet. I try to ask myself what to do next, but
it’s like my mind just shrugs its hypothetical shoulders and makes
me go it alone.
“Turn left at next exit,” my GPS chirps at
me in its computerized impersonation of a human.
I guess I’ll go left at the next exit. There
doesn’t seem to be any better choice. It is scary to feel this
empty. I don’t like it. What if this feeling never goes away and
I’m like this forever? I can’t even over-think myself into a panic.
No matter what I do, nothing will change. I guess I’ll just have to
hope for an answer inside the next fortune cookie. I’m going to a
place called “China Wok”. According to the reviews it’s another one
of those hole-in-the-wall places at a strip mall. When I was making
my list of Chinese restaurants, it never occurred to me that going
to some of these places alone might be dangerous. Right now I can’t
bring myself to care, but any other day I would have really started
to panic.
My GPS doesn’t seem to be leading me down
any dark alleys yet, though. The streets are busy, and the few
houses I can see from the road don’t seem like the type to have
bodies buried under the floorboards (not that you can ever be quite
sure). I see the China Wok sign and turn into the parking lot. It’s
not the classiest place in the world, but it doesn’t look like I’ll
get hepatitis either. It’s right next to an out-of-business
Blockbuster and a tiny storefront that seems to be an insurance
agency (although I think I’d trust the Chinese food well before I’d
trust the insurance). It’s actually crowded when I walk in, but
I’ve finally found a place that lives up to my expectations. I can
hear Mandarin being shouted in the kitchen, and the people working
are not blond haired and blue-eyed. It also smells spectacular,
like crispy noodles and spicy sauces and all sorts of other edible
delicacies. I wish I’d waited just one more hour to eat, because I
can almost guarantee the food here will easily top Panda
Express.
“Can I get an order of beef fried rice, a
fortune cookie, and a large soda?”
The guy working behind the counter nods and
yells out what I assume is my order to the kitchen. I take my cup
and fill it from the
one time I try to only think about what hurts, I can’t cry. I just
keep thinking that there’s no point, nothing I can do to change
anything. That seems like it should be a good thing, but it doesn’t
feel “good”. I don’t feel like I want to change anything, or go on
a quest, or take on a challenge to get myself going again. I just
feel empty. I threw around the word “apathy” a lot back when Amanda
and I were best friends. It was cool to be apathetic about life,
but I never really was. I always cared, even if it was just a
little. Right now I really do feel apathetic. I could keep going or
turn around or just stop. It wouldn’t change anything. Why bother?
I feel a little like Bartleby from that Melville story Miss R. made
us read. Suddenly responding, “I would prefer not to” to everything
makes a lot of sense.
I decide to keep going just because it’s the
easiest thing to do. I wish there was more traffic so I could get
upset about something, but the highway is almost empty. I wish it
would start snowing or my heater would give out – just something,
anything – so things would be different. Nothing happens. I keep
driving and nothing gets in my way or makes the drive unpleasant. I
call these my “stare at the wall” moods because if I were at home
I’d just sit and stare for awhile, trying to figure out what to do.
I haven’t had many of them recently because whenever I’d think
about what was going on in my life I’d cry. Being alone with my
thoughts has become a very dangerous pastime. Not as dangerous as
whatever was going on now, though. I can’t even say it’s a feeling
that makes me want to give up. It is like I already gave up and I
just haven’t realized yet. I try to ask myself what to do next, but
it’s like my mind just shrugs its hypothetical shoulders and makes
me go it alone.
“Turn left at next exit,” my GPS chirps at
me in its computerized impersonation of a human.
I guess I’ll go left at the next exit. There
doesn’t seem to be any better choice. It is scary to feel this
empty. I don’t like it. What if this feeling never goes away and
I’m like this forever? I can’t even over-think myself into a panic.
No matter what I do, nothing will change. I guess I’ll just have to
hope for an answer inside the next fortune cookie. I’m going to a
place called “China Wok”. According to the reviews it’s another one
of those hole-in-the-wall places at a strip mall. When I was making
my list of Chinese restaurants, it never occurred to me that going
to some of these places alone might be dangerous. Right now I can’t
bring myself to care, but any other day I would have really started
to panic.
My GPS doesn’t seem to be leading me down
any dark alleys yet, though. The streets are busy, and the few
houses I can see from the road don’t seem like the type to have
bodies buried under the floorboards (not that you can ever be quite
sure). I see the China Wok sign and turn into the parking lot. It’s
not the classiest place in the world, but it doesn’t look like I’ll
get hepatitis either. It’s right next to an out-of-business
Blockbuster and a tiny storefront that seems to be an insurance
agency (although I think I’d trust the Chinese food well before I’d
trust the insurance). It’s actually crowded when I walk in, but
I’ve finally found a place that lives up to my expectations. I can
hear Mandarin being shouted in the kitchen, and the people working
are not blond haired and blue-eyed. It also smells spectacular,
like crispy noodles and spicy sauces and all sorts of other edible
delicacies. I wish I’d waited just one more hour to eat, because I
can almost guarantee the food here will easily top Panda
Express.
“Can I get an order of beef fried rice, a
fortune cookie, and a large soda?”
The guy working behind the counter nods and
yells out what I assume is my order to the kitchen. I take my cup
and fill it from the
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