I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

I force myself out of bed this morning, like any other morning, for a new sort of unwillingness has found its way to me today. Against all of my will, I accept I have to work on Easter Sunday, and go about my weekend-morning rituals: Crawl from couch to shower; clean myself to expectations; get out of shower; proceed to comb over hair and apply deodorant to my endlessly damp pits. Dress in the same black corduroys I’ve worn every weekend for the past five months; I look in the mirror, and hope today will go over well. Brush and floss teeth, and fight back the urge nicotine still has on me to this day. Then, off I go to cook some omelets at the deli. I didn’t imagine anyone would show, seeing as most every restaurant in town would be closed today, and everyone should have a place to go, a place to be. Nope. Not Rex Carroll of the Auburn Deli. Not Taylor Murley of Nowhere.

I can tell by the time I walk through the deli’s door today would be at an almost stand-still. I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of my morning. I bided my time by sweeping and stacking dishes when there was no food to be served as though it needed to be done more than once. As long as I’m on the clock, I’ll earn the money I make.

I find solace in nothing as my eyes scan the kitchen scenery; nothing but the thought of making my minimum-wage income keeps the false enthusiasm from spilling out my nose just as a feather-weight hanging on the corner ropes’ nose would bleed when it forced to compromise to the relentless beating from his opponent. Only, my opponent was reality; not tangible, but always bereft and hard-hitting with his blows, demoralizing me with every hook he threw. Minutes seemed to have slowed to the excruciating rates of hours as I found less and less things to keep me busy. Sir Carroll then relieves his dishwasher and I from his service three hours early; not by the kindness of his heart, but the taunted pull of his “employee expenses”. I’m happy to some extent to have such a nice afternoon at my disposal, but when it comes to money, something I am tight and in need for, I find it hard to see my self lose any given hours.

The weather outside of the deli is pleasantly inviting. Going in to work, skies of gray was all I saw. When I stepped through the glass-paned door to my temporary freedoms of the out doors (not to be confused with nature, as the downtown Auburn scenery is anything but the aforementioned), the sun welcomed me, and I to him. I felt as though I would be in-time to accompany my adopted family to their Easter festivities. I was soon to find different circumstances in place for me. Pulling into my drive way, I found no Saturn hatch-back to be found, but the other two cars in their rightful places, snugged next to one-another in the smoke-screen of a garage, reeking of the not-so-fathomable amount of cigarettes consumed at a weekly basis.

Well, lo and behold, I am stranded here without an option of attempting to see my family, as though they would care whether or not I was to show my face. At least then I could try to think I was being the bigger person in trying to go out of my way for their selfish wants. When do I hear from them? Any of them? Second to never. I guess I can’t figure out why two cars going the opposite ways cannot be harmonious on a one-way street. Perhaps I should imitate their efforts, and see when they come around and ask why I’m not trying. Then, I will have at least heard from them.

So now, I sit alone on a bed I cannot call mine, and fester in my own frustrations, trying to understand why I feel so much frustration. Not just for today, but for everything.

Nowadays, I can’t seem to grasp any comprehension. I can’t seem to understand why things are the way they are. I have so much misunderstanding for everyone, for everything.

I can’t seem to understand myself anymore.