commute
there are words to categorize the last twenty-four hours. i am not capable, at this moment, of dredging them from my tattered and nervous mind in order to adequately express how fucked up i feel right at this moment. i finally got a dresser, sort of. it's two plastic drawers stacked on top of each other, but it was the cheapest option, and, well, i'm cheap right now. i cleaned my room and did laundry. i bought a freeweight so i can get back in shape. i shaved my head because something felt like it needed to go and the easiest and least destructive option was my hair. i went to a far too fancy dinner with CWR3 and he picked up the check which was so amazing. we didn't get tapas at the tapas bar, however, which means we have to go back. the paella was amazing. his had squid ink in it. we saw Eragon, which i tried to enjoy but ultimately ended up laughing at all the way home. i got home late and went to bed later, which wasn't the plan but fuck the plan. i got up in the morning and bought gifts for my family but i still need to send mom her present. i received some gifts from them but didn't open them except for the fake cat my aunt sent me. it's curled up like it's asleep and frankly kind of creepy but i can't tell her that because i know she only got it because she doesn't want me to be lonely because i am even though i have so many friends here.
a man died on my way to work. maybe. i don't know. i walked into the train station, as usual, to catch my train for work, a few minutes later than i usually get there because of the packages, and there were people yelling but i figured it was just hooligans. there was a man in the stairway below the platforms, sprawled as if he'd fallen down the stairs, red-faced and unconscious. his broom and dustbin lay on either side of him. he wasn't breathing. i don't think. there were other people with phones out who had been there when whatever happened happened. i didn't know what to do. i couldn't help. i could've helped. i don't know how i could've helped. i couldn't do CPR because i'm not certified. but does that matter? could i have saved his life? people were there, and staying, and i would be late for work if i stayed, so i left.
i feel like a coward. all my life i've idolized heroes. i look up to fake people because i want to be like them. i want to make a difference. but i left. i didn't save a life. maybe i couldn't have. i thought i saw the man take a deep breath as i looked down from the platform. maybe i hallucinated that. he wasn't breathing or moving for the entire time i was beside him. i didn't know what to do. so i went to work.
the ride there feels like it didn't happen. the entire time i was working to not break down; to figure out what i was feeling. did i do the right thing? what could i have done? i felt like a coward. is that man alive? will i ever find out? i don't even know where to check. i spent the better part of the walk from the train trying to figure out who i could call to help me keep from breaking down right there on the street. i wanted to call everyone i ever loved and tell them that i love them still and don't ever just drop dead on me like that man did. and now i'm trying to keep from crying while i type in the break room. i hate that i'm embarrassed.
work was the worst it's ever been, probably because it feels lifeless. i was the bearer of bad news more often than not. when i made someone's day it only helped for a moment. and then it was gone and the terrible reality of what had happened rushed back and i felt alone and scared and useless. i feel useless. so i stayed an hour late to help a woman because she had been jerked around so badly by everyone else that all i could think to do was to at least give her some hope. to not desert her like i deserted that man. even then i had to leave.
i want to leave.
i still don't know who to call. and telling people hasn't helped.
with great power comes great responsibility
a man died on my way to work. maybe. i don't know. i walked into the train station, as usual, to catch my train for work, a few minutes later than i usually get there because of the packages, and there were people yelling but i figured it was just hooligans. there was a man in the stairway below the platforms, sprawled as if he'd fallen down the stairs, red-faced and unconscious. his broom and dustbin lay on either side of him. he wasn't breathing. i don't think. there were other people with phones out who had been there when whatever happened happened. i didn't know what to do. i couldn't help. i could've helped. i don't know how i could've helped. i couldn't do CPR because i'm not certified. but does that matter? could i have saved his life? people were there, and staying, and i would be late for work if i stayed, so i left.
i feel like a coward. all my life i've idolized heroes. i look up to fake people because i want to be like them. i want to make a difference. but i left. i didn't save a life. maybe i couldn't have. i thought i saw the man take a deep breath as i looked down from the platform. maybe i hallucinated that. he wasn't breathing or moving for the entire time i was beside him. i didn't know what to do. so i went to work.
the ride there feels like it didn't happen. the entire time i was working to not break down; to figure out what i was feeling. did i do the right thing? what could i have done? i felt like a coward. is that man alive? will i ever find out? i don't even know where to check. i spent the better part of the walk from the train trying to figure out who i could call to help me keep from breaking down right there on the street. i wanted to call everyone i ever loved and tell them that i love them still and don't ever just drop dead on me like that man did. and now i'm trying to keep from crying while i type in the break room. i hate that i'm embarrassed.
work was the worst it's ever been, probably because it feels lifeless. i was the bearer of bad news more often than not. when i made someone's day it only helped for a moment. and then it was gone and the terrible reality of what had happened rushed back and i felt alone and scared and useless. i feel useless. so i stayed an hour late to help a woman because she had been jerked around so badly by everyone else that all i could think to do was to at least give her some hope. to not desert her like i deserted that man. even then i had to leave.
i want to leave.
i still don't know who to call. and telling people hasn't helped.
with great power comes great responsibility