A New Month

It is 6 in the morning. There is some sort of snoop dogg joke that fits in here, but it's not worth it. 

There are friends on a couch, maybe the angriest man I know, and this woman who wants nothing but to take care of him. I admire them both, for different reasons, and some of the same. 

There is this other man sleeping in a chair that used to be his. But he owes another guy money so it sits more than a hundred miles away. He used to nurse in this chair. Now he snores every twenty minutes. 

There is a birthday boy, officially joked about being a man now. And there is the woman he spends most of his time with. She is crying. Apparently things aren't the way they are supposed to be. 

I don't care. 

I sit on a chair without a back. The sun is rising outside. I can't sleep. I don't want to. I've spent hours waiting for fights to break out. For things to happen that someone regrets for seconds. For things we, myself included, blow up to be better, more interesting, more exciting, more important then they actually are. 

And that is my life. 

When you write, or blog, if you will, for so many years you forget that the only things that make you different are the words describing what happens. I'm loud. I'm obnoxious. If you know me you know what I did last night. 

But sometimes I want to be quiet. I don't want to be the couple in the other room. I don't want to be the guy with the emo heart exploding. I don't want to cry in public. 

Because it's hard to be on the otherside of that door. It's hard to sit on this chair and hear walls being destroyed or built up. It's hard to listen. It's hard to be. 

I'm going outside. I'm going to watch the sunrise and figure out how to make it through the rest of Wednesday. 

I'm not sad. 

I'm not lonely. 

I'm not warm. 

I'm not content.