I sit on the toilet seat, taking a shit while brushing my teeth, thinking about the day my dreams and I would meet. I want them to come so bad. I’m glad that I have a job but I’m not satisfied yet because it’s not exactly where I want to be. I want to write. I want to write something seamlessly, letting words flow, letting my emotions go, letting all of it happen all at once because I’m afraid of the day I grow senile and old. I’m afraid of the day my potential will wane and my desire begins to fold. My worry comes not in sums, but in multiples.
I run and I get dehydrated so I drink water, but I don’t bother to stop. The water spills all over my face, dripping out of my mouth, and half of it drops to the floor. Haste makes waste, but I need to get to the mountaintop as soon as possible. The water is now all over my face and all over the place, which is only good if this was a Carl’s Jr. commercial.
Life feels like a constant struggle where I’m trying to juggle reality of a job and the dreams I have for writing. I’m writing, I’m jotting, I’m listing, I’m thinking, I’m stroking down pages and pages of notes. Back and forth I scan my notes for a measure, a rhyme and I’m searching for a line that would blow the reader away.
I’m multitasking so much that my mind turns into a split screen. My eyes see double and I find myself double fisting when one drink is merely enough. The tastes of food mix together because I’ve been shoving it down my throat too fast, and this satisfies my hunger but not my palate. Salads and beef, noodles and cheese, sausages and whipped cream. Back to my eyes, the split screen has become the eyes of a fly, with thousands of screens.
We were designed symmetrically, with 2 hands and 2 eyes and 5 fingers on each hand. Everything comes twice. Every stroke of the pen takes me closer to coming again. I understand that after the release I’m brought back flaccidly from my high. Still, I want to try, I want to ride; I still want to see how high I can go before I do a barrel roll and nosedive.
I sample books voraciously. I sample books voraciously because I don’t have the patience to read one whole complete block of writing from one writer and one writer alone because my mind is wondering what else I could be reading, so I jump from one book to another. I’m like a cat trying to chase a red dot, always pouncing but never capable of grasping, holding, seizing anything.
I’m like a guy choking a rubber chicken and screaming at him…Why isn’t anything happening!?
Life is rushed, life is fast, and I’m making life come at me way too rapidly. I know that if life is to be enjoyed, I’m supposed to let it come naturally.
But this is what life feels like in the 20s.