Diet

Thursday:


This diet of stress and loneliness fails me in the same way that I don't live up to the expectations of the diet I've started at least ten times over this year alone. The computer screen peers into my soul through my bloodshot, half closed windows, and all it sees is shining white light. The brilliant shine of a star in its last moments of life.



Friday:


I watched the veil of droplets fly past me, not 5 centimetres from the end of my nose, and make little ripples in the thin layer that covered the grey concrete. The roof I was under was leaking anyway. Well here's to bracing yourself for the rain, only to step out and find it's not that bad. The semi-dry spot under the stairs seemed an appropriate midway point, as I waited for my phone to tell me that someone loved me and wanted to take me home. A miniature Niagara Falls rushed through the space between the stairs and the main building. It poured over the moss filled cracks between the crimson bricks. A smile faintly danced across my cold, dusty, unloved lips. I figured someone had to turn up soon, so I left the little piece of paradise and went to wait in the rain.



Saturday:


The walk to the train station after work in the cold, watching the swirling sea of black unfurl above my head and in every direction as far as I could see,  was the perfect ending for my day. Just as I got to the station, so did my bus which I knew I would have missed at my usual stop. I ran to the door, and the bus driver just sat there, wistfully staring out the spotted window, as I peered in, shivering, until he saw me standing there with my wallet in hand. Bus drivers are never very nice to me, but this man seemed to take pity. The walk to my house is up-hill most of the way. There was a piece of plant on the ground that was cruelly twisted and distorted into the shape of a vicious insect. It lay soggy on the concrete as the cars drove past, uncaring. Feeling cold and damp inside I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's, wishing my ending would be something like hers. But I never really did like cats as much as dogs. And that just might be my problem.



Sunday:


There's nothing quite like the feeling of warm, fluffy, fuzziness in your head when you wake from a long sleep, and from the balmy rays shining through a crack in the curtains discerning that it's afternoon already. Letting myself drift, treading water in the waves of consciousness that come and go. And there's nothing like the prospect of a new day to try and get this right, and sleeping your way through half of it.



Monday:


A strong wind blew like a force field around the car that I sat in, curled up into a little ball, just like a child. Gazing at two clouds that looked like snails, making their way slowly across the world. And I realised, that snails don't really go anywhere. Yet, I was so enthralled, until they began to be beaten out of shape, and moulded into new, white forms. Even though I was half asleep and my body seemed to be considering hibernation, I felt the loss of my two kindred spirits like a blow to the head, which would have knocked me out of character just like the winds of change which blew the innocent, aimless snails



Tuesday:


The electrifying chords sent lightning through the air, and my skin tingled. I sung though the falling, weaving, rising notes, and the sound we made pulled my soul along behind it and made every hair on my body stand on end. Our last chord was cut off with a shiver down my spine. And for the first time in a long time, I knew I was truly alive. A mournful, terror-filled piece of a ship lost at sea, like a witch doctor, conjuring a boat in the dead of night, with shadows lurking and eerie lilac light glowing softly. Lost forever in the middle of a desolate ocean. A young woman with brown waves suspiciously like mine, flowing down her tingling spine, peers over the bow into the murky purple depths, her grey eyes shining and her violet dress hanging close and damp around her shivering, pale skin, as strange gusts of wind gently blow, carrying the ship further from home.



Wednesday:


I hate 'last's. They show me all the clichés I despise; time is slipping away, beauty is fleeting, and the good things never last. Things I always knew to be true, but that I never really understood or appreciated until now.



Thursday:


I was wearing my red shoes today, and all I wanted to do was click my heels and go home. But I don't know where Kansas is anymore.