An Exerpt; Product of Creative Writing

Prose; circa September.

We are all so motherfucking cynical.

I think I’ve educated myself to the point of believing that being happy makes you weak and naïve. But how I wish I could be the blissful, ignorant, and beautiful daughter of Daisy Buchanan.

It’s natural to be drawn to the tragedy. It’s an extreme. We live our ordinary and rather un-notable lives, working hard to achieve our materialistic paradise but underneath our warm cashmere sweaters, or more likely, your high school hoodie, and at the core of our questionable being, our mortal souls dream of escapism.

So we obsess ourselves with those who are free and condemn them as unconventional hell cats spun out on their flavor of the week. While the “abusers” of this kind are getting high, and getting all the pleasure they can out of this incarnation, the rest of us lucklessly wish when the time on the clock reads 11:11 for this life to have meaning; as if there were a reason to slave ourselves to the same clocks we wish upon, instead of running as fast as we can from our eventual ill-fated and inevitable loss in the race against time.

The unattainable feeling of satisfaction forces us to settle for being content, and knowing this, our outlook is bleak. The sprinklings of hope which present themselves as stray glitter on the side of one’s face, or an apple that couldn’t possibly taste any better, are what keep us working nine to five, and thinking that watching a late night show on TV is better than a half-hour of sleeping though this life. But more, you’ll never taste all the flavors this world possesses, and what separates the two types of people here is who decides to gnash endlessly on forbidden fruit, and who are convinced that morals get you anywhere.

This has brought us to the fence. And you know its greener on the other side. Do something about that.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite. Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting. (Dr. Seuss)