pandakat
I lie awake at night thinking about all the things I should have said, should have done, shouldn't have said, shouldn't have done...the colossal emotional hurricane of damage that I leave behind, and how many times I have messed up other people.
Tedious. This was yesterday's word. Why the repeat? Is this the cosmos trying to tell me something? That I am tedious? That people think I am tedious? If so, they would be right, I'm sure.
My life is tedious. I do the same things over and over, and nothing holds meaning. In this life, there is nothing that fuels my soul, feeds my passions...or even ignites them. Tedious is the only word to describe the monotony of being alive.
They say that penguins mate for life. All I can think is...I want to be a penguin, but I am struggling to find my "lifetime mate". I am involved with chronically unavailable people and I exist on the fringes of my friends' lives while my friends become the very core of mine.
The desintegrating car sat on the side of the unused road, metered of course, in the city that never slept. At least, there was never a moment when a person could think that people were asleep. This city, much like those of the ancient citys of the old United States, just kept on rolling through the night, with alerts and sirens and emergency hovers blaring round the clock.
The squad car followed them around the corner, sirens blaring and lights flashing. The cabbie didn't know why he was being pulled over, but he suspected it had something to do with his passenger. She looked nervous in the back seat of his yellow sedan.
I know I should be sensible. I should get up when my alarm goes off the first time, instead of after hitting snooze a dozen times before it finally times out and stops "snoozing". And before my cat realizes I'm alive from all the rustling of the covers , and meows himself hoarse for a second breakfast.
Affection, a noun, whose physical version is often confused with love. Misplaced physical affection is likely the leading cause of dysfunctional relationships. Not always a fatal problem.
Flea wandered the streets, looking for Spricket and Moor. He saw them take off around the next corner frequently, but he'd never been down there himself. That's where most of the Scavengers did their work. Flea didn't like the Scavengers.
To flee is to run away. To escape, or retreat. It's part of the "fight or flight" response. Fleeing is seen as cowardly, "unmanly", and generally unacceptable behaviour for the common person.
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