East
Crappy Imitation
Link to original post: [drupal=1748]Purlieu Prison[/drupal]
Who knows what it is that stirs me awake. A single eye opens and my vision quickly focuses to the forest green cushion of my bed. I sit their for a moment, listening to the sound of my own breathing, and slight shaking sound of the spinning ceiling fan above. "It's another day" I think to myself.
Slowly I shift my head from on side to the other, pushing up as I do so. My bed, slightly too small for my 6'2" body is a mess. The blue flat sheet I use as a comforter is strewn about all over it. The random assortment of mismatched green and beige pillows are spread out across the top. Moving them, I find the random light pink body pillow, jammed between the front end of the bed and my small dresser. My mom says she's going to come get that body pillow, but she never does. "I don't care about the color, it's just comfortable" I think to myself, goading the imaginary people of my psyche I'm not gay.
Sluggishly I scan around my room. Nothing has changed. The walls are still an off cream color with random white patches of what was probably spackle. They're everywhere, almost polkadotting some walls. They were here before my mother and I moved into this house. I always tell myself one day I'm going to ask about them. On sand-colored carpet I can see the slender individual lines of light from my closed blinds. I give a small sigh and finally stand from my bed. Moving to the window, I open the blinds to let what little light there is in my room. Moving my head in close, I focus just outside the window. The two banana spiders who have decided to make their residence on the screen have caught something. I'm terrified of spiders, and I have the biggest fear of them somehow getting in and going to town on my ***. I know, that's pretty childish.
"Window open. Check" I mentally mark it off "What's next? Computer" I think nonchalantly. I lift up the screen of my black HP laptop and press the silver power button. The slight whirring sounds of technology going to work can be heard. I take in a deep breath, enter my password and then open my door. Cool air rushes in to fill the void of heat generated by my room. I don't know why my room is hotter than most of the house, but it is, and no matter how many times I complain to my mother or her soon to be husband, Kevin, they don't believe me.
Taking a step out, I go through the hallway, into the living room. All is quiet. The blinds in the dining room and over the sink have already been opened. No doubt my mother's doing before she left to do errands. The house is silent. As I move from room to room the only sound to be heard is the occasional creaking of the floor under me. Opening the front door, I go out onto the porch. There are no cars in any of the driveways of this cliche suburbia. I don't have a licence, so it's impossible to drive anywhere, and we live in a neighborhood far from anywhere interesting. It's then I realize I'm in nothing but boxers and a white T-shirt. My short hair, has somehow found a way to get ruffled and messy, and the ground is starting to get a little too warm for my feet to stand in place. I quickly check my Sagoe Palm, which I cleverly nicknamed "Oddish" to find that nothing has changed with it. It's a slow growing plant, so it'll probably outlive me. I take a step back in and close the door behind me.
After a shower and I fold my futon bed back up into a chair I sit down in it looking around. This is it. I look at the clock and it's now 4 pm. I have to stop waking up at 2 or 3 in the afternoon I tell myself. And that's it. I surf the internet, play video games, watch TV, occasionally go for a run when it's bearable. I've only been home for the summer for a week and a half, and it feels like prison. I have only 1 task. Make sure the kitchen stays clean, which pretty much amounts to the dishes and occasionally sweeping and taking out the garbage. That is my only responsibility.
This kind of shallow existence is starting to eat away at my mind. I'm a prisoner of my own psychological prison. Nothing I do here has any meaning. My human contact is limited to my mother, who occasionally pops her head in to see what I'm doing [though I think she's trying to catch me doing something wrong. Despite my excellent grades and my willingness to be a good kid throughout my life I feel as though she just doesn't buy into it. It's as though I'm trying to create some facade] and her boyfriend, Kevin, who has such memorable lines as "So... It's 3 o'clock. Guess you decided that it was time to start the day now." He says with a smirk. "It's not as though it'll make a difference in what I do today or tomorrow, or any other day." I quickly retort. He's a good guy, but we just have conflicting personalities. That and I probably should find an earlier bedtime than 6 AM. It messes with my sleep schedule.
I digress, with little human interaction, and simply wasting my time in a poor attempt amuse myself, this way of life is destructive to my psyche. I feel as though I'm the walking dead. Each day is the same as the one before it. It is though a false reality is being pulled over my eyes. Everything I see, do, feel is a lie; Some elaborate joke by a devilish entity who has no bells or whistles to fool me. His joke is absence itself. I can hear his empty whispers, I can see his blank images. I know there's something more out there, but I'm still trapped. It's like being in a pit, with nothing at the bottom and no way out. If no one comes to get you, you lose yourself and in your insanity you eventually fade away.
I've been doing this for who knows how long. I often lose track of the date and day. Looking now, it's been 13 days. Thankfully I go back to Charlotte, to do summer work as the Senior Resident Assistant there this Saturday. And it's not as though this hasn't happened before. I can wholeheartedly say, this is the way that every summer of the past ten years has gone. Whether it was watching my sister, or not having to... You'd think I'd be used to it by now. It's only made me a thinker...
Going back through a lot of this, I feel a lot like Descartes
"Except our own thoughts, there is nothing absolutely in our power" -Rene Descartes
When I'm here, like this, in the summer, sometimes I don't even think I have my thoughts.
tl;dr: In my extreme summer boredom, I may have discovered some form of wavedashing, or similar mechanic in brawl. Tell everyone you know...
It's getting late now, so I guess I'll get to sleep. This came out longer than I hoped for, and I even cut it short. Gah, **** it.
Who knows what it is that stirs me awake. A single eye opens and my vision quickly focuses to the forest green cushion of my bed. I sit their for a moment, listening to the sound of my own breathing, and slight shaking sound of the spinning ceiling fan above. "It's another day" I think to myself.
Slowly I shift my head from on side to the other, pushing up as I do so. My bed, slightly too small for my 6'2" body is a mess. The blue flat sheet I use as a comforter is strewn about all over it. The random assortment of mismatched green and beige pillows are spread out across the top. Moving them, I find the random light pink body pillow, jammed between the front end of the bed and my small dresser. My mom says she's going to come get that body pillow, but she never does. "I don't care about the color, it's just comfortable" I think to myself, goading the imaginary people of my psyche I'm not gay.
Sluggishly I scan around my room. Nothing has changed. The walls are still an off cream color with random white patches of what was probably spackle. They're everywhere, almost polkadotting some walls. They were here before my mother and I moved into this house. I always tell myself one day I'm going to ask about them. On sand-colored carpet I can see the slender individual lines of light from my closed blinds. I give a small sigh and finally stand from my bed. Moving to the window, I open the blinds to let what little light there is in my room. Moving my head in close, I focus just outside the window. The two banana spiders who have decided to make their residence on the screen have caught something. I'm terrified of spiders, and I have the biggest fear of them somehow getting in and going to town on my ***. I know, that's pretty childish.
"Window open. Check" I mentally mark it off "What's next? Computer" I think nonchalantly. I lift up the screen of my black HP laptop and press the silver power button. The slight whirring sounds of technology going to work can be heard. I take in a deep breath, enter my password and then open my door. Cool air rushes in to fill the void of heat generated by my room. I don't know why my room is hotter than most of the house, but it is, and no matter how many times I complain to my mother or her soon to be husband, Kevin, they don't believe me.
Taking a step out, I go through the hallway, into the living room. All is quiet. The blinds in the dining room and over the sink have already been opened. No doubt my mother's doing before she left to do errands. The house is silent. As I move from room to room the only sound to be heard is the occasional creaking of the floor under me. Opening the front door, I go out onto the porch. There are no cars in any of the driveways of this cliche suburbia. I don't have a licence, so it's impossible to drive anywhere, and we live in a neighborhood far from anywhere interesting. It's then I realize I'm in nothing but boxers and a white T-shirt. My short hair, has somehow found a way to get ruffled and messy, and the ground is starting to get a little too warm for my feet to stand in place. I quickly check my Sagoe Palm, which I cleverly nicknamed "Oddish" to find that nothing has changed with it. It's a slow growing plant, so it'll probably outlive me. I take a step back in and close the door behind me.
After a shower and I fold my futon bed back up into a chair I sit down in it looking around. This is it. I look at the clock and it's now 4 pm. I have to stop waking up at 2 or 3 in the afternoon I tell myself. And that's it. I surf the internet, play video games, watch TV, occasionally go for a run when it's bearable. I've only been home for the summer for a week and a half, and it feels like prison. I have only 1 task. Make sure the kitchen stays clean, which pretty much amounts to the dishes and occasionally sweeping and taking out the garbage. That is my only responsibility.
This kind of shallow existence is starting to eat away at my mind. I'm a prisoner of my own psychological prison. Nothing I do here has any meaning. My human contact is limited to my mother, who occasionally pops her head in to see what I'm doing [though I think she's trying to catch me doing something wrong. Despite my excellent grades and my willingness to be a good kid throughout my life I feel as though she just doesn't buy into it. It's as though I'm trying to create some facade] and her boyfriend, Kevin, who has such memorable lines as "So... It's 3 o'clock. Guess you decided that it was time to start the day now." He says with a smirk. "It's not as though it'll make a difference in what I do today or tomorrow, or any other day." I quickly retort. He's a good guy, but we just have conflicting personalities. That and I probably should find an earlier bedtime than 6 AM. It messes with my sleep schedule.
I digress, with little human interaction, and simply wasting my time in a poor attempt amuse myself, this way of life is destructive to my psyche. I feel as though I'm the walking dead. Each day is the same as the one before it. It is though a false reality is being pulled over my eyes. Everything I see, do, feel is a lie; Some elaborate joke by a devilish entity who has no bells or whistles to fool me. His joke is absence itself. I can hear his empty whispers, I can see his blank images. I know there's something more out there, but I'm still trapped. It's like being in a pit, with nothing at the bottom and no way out. If no one comes to get you, you lose yourself and in your insanity you eventually fade away.
I've been doing this for who knows how long. I often lose track of the date and day. Looking now, it's been 13 days. Thankfully I go back to Charlotte, to do summer work as the Senior Resident Assistant there this Saturday. And it's not as though this hasn't happened before. I can wholeheartedly say, this is the way that every summer of the past ten years has gone. Whether it was watching my sister, or not having to... You'd think I'd be used to it by now. It's only made me a thinker...
Going back through a lot of this, I feel a lot like Descartes
"Except our own thoughts, there is nothing absolutely in our power" -Rene Descartes
When I'm here, like this, in the summer, sometimes I don't even think I have my thoughts.
tl;dr: In my extreme summer boredom, I may have discovered some form of wavedashing, or similar mechanic in brawl. Tell everyone you know...
It's getting late now, so I guess I'll get to sleep. This came out longer than I hoped for, and I even cut it short. Gah, **** it.