Oh The Memories
Seems apathy has once again ingested me into it's rather comforting stomach. Presently nothing seems to matter. Why is that? It seems to have engulfed me rather suddenly. People who are supposed to be close to me and I to them, seem distant. Mere aquaintances in the giant house party more commonly known as life. The music is too loud to hear their rather annoying babble and seemingly endless stream of shit. Now, you and I both know that this isn't truly how it is. I love these people and vice versa. I would be there for them at the drop of a hat or the crash of a beer bottle, however I may be needed. But as the keg drains and more roll in, it seems like these people leave me alone in the backroom while they go out to the brightly lit kitchen and get pissed. It's odd how at certain times life can throw you a curveball from the bleachers which ends up taking off your fucking head. I was lucky this time though, I happened to be wearing my helmet, but the dent in the plastic and the blue scuff on the ball are a subtle hint. I haven't been so lucky in the past. A couple of times I left my helmet on my bed with the rest of my problems, then headed to the big game. Never again.
I find I'm jumping from the analogy of a house party to a baseball game without any sort of understanding in either scenario being reached. The solution hasn't come yet. The police have yet to come to break up the party and send everyone on their way home. The clock seems to have been stuck in the 4th inning. I look around the diamond and realize that I'm alone. The bleachers are empty, the dugouts are full of dust. My mitt lay haphazardly by the backstop. My helmet in my left, bat in my right. And silently I wonder who the fuck threw that ball. The effect is very real, but the cause is no where to be seen. The slobs who have passed through this field before leave their evident mark behind. My life strewn with the wrappers and rubbish of the people I wish to long forget. The janitors have been fired in this diamond. There is one clean section of seats, high above me on the green benches. Reserved for the special group I choose to let into my mess of a head. There they will observe, free of debris, me on the field. People I feel comforable enough knowing that if I leave my helmet on my bed, I'll be fine. God help them if they decide to throw the next curveball.
I wrote this in May of last year. I was just reading through my old entries and came across it. I like it.
I find I'm jumping from the analogy of a house party to a baseball game without any sort of understanding in either scenario being reached. The solution hasn't come yet. The police have yet to come to break up the party and send everyone on their way home. The clock seems to have been stuck in the 4th inning. I look around the diamond and realize that I'm alone. The bleachers are empty, the dugouts are full of dust. My mitt lay haphazardly by the backstop. My helmet in my left, bat in my right. And silently I wonder who the fuck threw that ball. The effect is very real, but the cause is no where to be seen. The slobs who have passed through this field before leave their evident mark behind. My life strewn with the wrappers and rubbish of the people I wish to long forget. The janitors have been fired in this diamond. There is one clean section of seats, high above me on the green benches. Reserved for the special group I choose to let into my mess of a head. There they will observe, free of debris, me on the field. People I feel comforable enough knowing that if I leave my helmet on my bed, I'll be fine. God help them if they decide to throw the next curveball.
I wrote this in May of last year. I was just reading through my old entries and came across it. I like it.