I Could Write a Book
Life sucks. It's not exactly news where Lorne's concerned, but the past few days have done quite a job of imprinting that insight on the inside of his eyelids. Life sucks.
Sometimes, it starts sucking a whole lot sooner than you'd ever want it to. Yeah, like you ever want life to suck. You don't. You just wish that time of innocence and happiness and zest for life lasts a whole lot longer.
And what do you do when it ends? You either crumble, or you learn to survive. And now, surviving is a learning process, not an art. You never stop learning how to keep the odds stacked in your favor. You can never learn too much or too soon.
Life itself is a learning process. And that's good. It's real good.
Lounging in one of the plump armchairs in his private room, dressed in his jammies and a soft, burgundy robe, Lorne tries to tell himself that. 'It's real good.' But then his mind supplies him with such intriguing questions as 'But what if you learn things no one ever should? What if you're forced to face the ugly, razor-toothed, lolling-tongued, nasty bitch life can be? What if you're forced to look her straight in the eye and realize how helpless you are, and you're just a kid?
"Just a kid..." Lorne mumbles, staring into the bottom of his tumbler. If there's one thing he hates, it's not knowing how to help. And this instance of not-knowing has had him grinding his teeth and banging his head against the proverbial brick wall for days.
Drinking yourself into a coma may not be the most reasonable short-term solution to good ol' frustration, but it could be construed as a glamorous one.
He just wants to pass out. He can't even imagine how the fuzzy blue boy feels every damn time darkness falls. But he does know this:
He wants to help, but on Mister Wagner's terms. And once given the green light, he won't stop if it kills him.
Sometimes, it starts sucking a whole lot sooner than you'd ever want it to. Yeah, like you ever want life to suck. You don't. You just wish that time of innocence and happiness and zest for life lasts a whole lot longer.
And what do you do when it ends? You either crumble, or you learn to survive. And now, surviving is a learning process, not an art. You never stop learning how to keep the odds stacked in your favor. You can never learn too much or too soon.
Life itself is a learning process. And that's good. It's real good.
Lounging in one of the plump armchairs in his private room, dressed in his jammies and a soft, burgundy robe, Lorne tries to tell himself that. 'It's real good.' But then his mind supplies him with such intriguing questions as 'But what if you learn things no one ever should? What if you're forced to face the ugly, razor-toothed, lolling-tongued, nasty bitch life can be? What if you're forced to look her straight in the eye and realize how helpless you are, and you're just a kid?
"Just a kid..." Lorne mumbles, staring into the bottom of his tumbler. If there's one thing he hates, it's not knowing how to help. And this instance of not-knowing has had him grinding his teeth and banging his head against the proverbial brick wall for days.
Drinking yourself into a coma may not be the most reasonable short-term solution to good ol' frustration, but it could be construed as a glamorous one.
He just wants to pass out. He can't even imagine how the fuzzy blue boy feels every damn time darkness falls. But he does know this:
He wants to help, but on Mister Wagner's terms. And once given the green light, he won't stop if it kills him.