Thursday 7:50pm

Sitting with one leg sprawled on the dirty clothes decorating my bed while the other hangs off the edge in submission to gravity, I marinate in the mediocrity of my 20s.

I ride the bus every day in my business casual ironed top and steam pressed slacks hoping to create some meaning to this drab existence.

Never did I ever think that at 22 I’d be getting up at 5:45 every morning to be a phone slave trapped behind a cubicle while the sun mocked my robot like department response.

This is life at the moment.

I thought that by this time I’d be traveling in some foreign country making food with the locals and taking pictures shirt free atop of the most beautiful mountain, or maybe even attending frequent protests with my unshaven lover that had been vegan his whole life and promised to show me the world…

….but here I sit…. plain and simple.

Like the great songwriter once said, “There’s gotta be more to life. Sittin’ round thinkin’ there must be more to life to satisfy me”..

… am I satisfied?

Am I content with office banter and packed lunch? Early mornings and uneventful nights? Fake smiles and forced laughter?

What the fuck kind of success story is this?

Where are the paint splattered jeans and warm rooftop nights smothered with unkempt hair and middle fingers to the sky?

Where are the open condom packets thrown over white sheets on waterbed?

Where is the excitement? The danger. The unplanned movie night with friends that scream “fuck pasties” as their nipples stare boldly at starlit sky.

Where are the stories?

Every morning when I take the bus, I peak my head from behind my book to examine the other passengers, trying to read into their classified storylines.

What did the sapphire ring on their pinky finger tell about their love of self? How long did it take him to decide to start a revolution by dyeing his hair bright pink? What made that little boy look up to his mother like she owned the world?

….and how does this one moment of me interpreting the shape of their eyes, the curve in their smiles, and the stories sketched into their fingerprints effect my journey?

How did they change me today?

How did I change them?

 

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