My favorite thing in the world to do when I wake up feeling weird is to blast Veruca Salt's Loneliness is Worse through the house on eleven and wait for someone to notice.
It's not so much passive-aggressive as it is a bellowing, plaintive cry for help. It's a beautiful bridge in the middle, too. The only sad part are the drums, honestly. Geez. A little more on the hi hats, would you? Christ. That's how I play drums and I can only play a little. I play bass too. And violin, piano and french horn. Harmonica. And give me a set of bagpipes or an accordion and I can hold my damn own, truth be told. I have all sorts of gifts. The problem is, none of them are useful.
Salt is always followed by Twenty One Pilots Trees song. That song reverberates through the house like a ray of God-light, shining into every corner until the beams force out everything dark. It's beautiful. But boy, do they hate these mornings, because it's a boots-on-the-ground type of day and they've atrophied into human man-sloths, content to watch fifteen hours of television or read endlessly. Everyone has a screen. Everyone is a zombie now. Maybe we do have a virus. Maybe this is the end.
May is calling. So much in that month. I really want to go shopping. I want to go to restaurants. I want to walk on the big beaches. I want to celebrate birthdays without chains and life without restrictions and every morning now I wake up bursting out of my skin and then spend the morning stuffing everything back inside just to function.
If this is the end though, I'm not afraid. I know that they're going to let go of my hands and I'm going to go flying across the rainbow bridge as fast as my legs can carry me into Jake's arms like a dog and he's going to be so happy to see me but sad that it was so soon and I didn't get to experience my full life. He's going to blame all of us and not even remember how much of a hypocrite he was, not even finishing his thirties. It's hard to believe in real life he never aged but in my dreams he continues to do it steadily and regularly.
I shouldn't listen to Trees before breakfast. Because loneliness is worse. In the end this irony is my most formidable enemy and I can't seem to win.
It's not so much passive-aggressive as it is a bellowing, plaintive cry for help. It's a beautiful bridge in the middle, too. The only sad part are the drums, honestly. Geez. A little more on the hi hats, would you? Christ. That's how I play drums and I can only play a little. I play bass too. And violin, piano and french horn. Harmonica. And give me a set of bagpipes or an accordion and I can hold my damn own, truth be told. I have all sorts of gifts. The problem is, none of them are useful.
Salt is always followed by Twenty One Pilots Trees song. That song reverberates through the house like a ray of God-light, shining into every corner until the beams force out everything dark. It's beautiful. But boy, do they hate these mornings, because it's a boots-on-the-ground type of day and they've atrophied into human man-sloths, content to watch fifteen hours of television or read endlessly. Everyone has a screen. Everyone is a zombie now. Maybe we do have a virus. Maybe this is the end.
May is calling. So much in that month. I really want to go shopping. I want to go to restaurants. I want to walk on the big beaches. I want to celebrate birthdays without chains and life without restrictions and every morning now I wake up bursting out of my skin and then spend the morning stuffing everything back inside just to function.
If this is the end though, I'm not afraid. I know that they're going to let go of my hands and I'm going to go flying across the rainbow bridge as fast as my legs can carry me into Jake's arms like a dog and he's going to be so happy to see me but sad that it was so soon and I didn't get to experience my full life. He's going to blame all of us and not even remember how much of a hypocrite he was, not even finishing his thirties. It's hard to believe in real life he never aged but in my dreams he continues to do it steadily and regularly.
I shouldn't listen to Trees before breakfast. Because loneliness is worse. In the end this irony is my most formidable enemy and I can't seem to win.