I'm Tired

I’m Tired

A word that is commonly used to describe my attitude or outlook upon life is “tired”. Just this morning, in the breakfast line I was told to wake up by the lunch lady. “OK,” I said as a smile ran away from my face. I guess I must have been sleep walking sense I wasn’t awake. I basically have an attitude or certain persona about me that gives off the impression that I am tired, zoned out, in another world. Something along those lines. When there are no intoxications flowing about my circulatory system, I have still been known to give off the affect that I am high. Interesting. I’m just tired though, or just act that way. I’m not really sure at this point. There are many reasons like the one I just gave you about being high without being high that set the stage for my “tired” personality.

In high school I use to wake up about the time that my dad did for work. I left about three minutes in between waking up and going up stairs to face the music. So naturally I’m still feeling a little groggy from six hours of sleep achieved. No one ever seems to work in the eight or so hours of sleep recommended by doctors. But, I am awake mind you. By facing the music, I mean facing my dad. Literally in fact. There he’d be, whistling, singing, asking me a bunch of questions. “Hey, wake up Chris,” he would say as he shuffled around with his “I am the boss” coffee mug in one hand. “Got any tests to take for me today at school?” Sometimes I wouldn’t even answer. It’s almost as if morning and night people are creatures of entirely different worlds. One embraces the day while the other condemns it, waiting until nightfall. It is funny though when my dad tells me to wake up while I am partaking in a bowl of cheerios. Most people that I know get woken up in their beds. I on the other hand wake up somewhere wondering in the kitchen. Again my tired attributes are showcased in the morning because I just want to go back to sleep. I need more motivation to want to wake up and stay attentive. Learning about amino acids and the endoplasmic reticulum really doesn’t give me the proper drive necessary to embrace the day. But there are still more reasons why I am tired I guess.

You don’t know how many times I have been asked if I was und the influence of marijuana. I was at a library and two girls asked if I had any weed on me. You would think people would go some place besides the library to seek their drugs. People are always telling me, “Hey Chris, before I knew you, well, I thought you were always stoned.” No, sorry, that’s just my quality of being able to deceive you as constantly being stoned. Hmmmmm, I wonder if I could somehow use these false pretenses to my advantage. Probably not. One of my friend’s mom even told me that she was constantly wondering whether or not I was showing up at her house to play guitar high. Drugs, sex and rock and roll baby. I act spaced out though not because I am a pot head, but because I have that tired personality. Tired is more than just suffering from lack of sleep for me. It’s a state of mind.

Moving right along. I have been given that tired attribute time in and time out because I don’t fully engage myself in everyday, polite, typical, conversation. Its not my fortai (I can’t spell this word. I believe its French in origin though if that helps anyone.) It is not as though I am too tired though or lazy by any means. I just feel that many conversations between people are pointless. The typical “how are you?” greetings and “I’m good” responses make me grow tired not lack of sleep. I simply choose to try not to engage in these conversations even though they are basically inescapable and part of everyday life. Or maybe it’s just because I lack anything interesting or worthwhile to say.

All in all I think that the tired attribute is more of an outward appearance then an inward one. I mean I’m constantly engaging myself in activities like soccer, skiing, and what have you. I don’t wish to be a sloth by any means. It is not as though my couch is molded to the precise measurements and weight of my butt. There’s not a fortress of potato chips in between the cushions. Tired is but a state of mind for me. An outlook on life if you will. I don’t think that it is something I can run away from by getting more sleep or by drinking V8’s. So maybe the lunch lady is right. Maybe I do need to wake up. Wake up, from this endless sleep.

Midgets in Wheelchairs

Midgets in Wheelchairs

All other thoughts fled from my brain. I had one goal and one goal only; I had to get to my parents room – immediately. Why? I don’t know but I felt as though it would be the proper safety zone. From who? Stop asking me questions, stop yelling at me! The Carpet in the hallway felt like broccoli in between my toes. There were foolish patterns on the ceilings and the walls. My senses evaded me so I lit a match to see my path. All I saw were grinning hyenas skipping in time to the rhythm of the cackle in the bathroom. Well me, I was illuminated in fright. Quickly, quickly I ran until – stop. I couldn’t move. I was chirogenically frozen in time. I screamed, screamed as hard as I could, but to no avail. It was just faint enough for only me to hear. I was stuck at the bottom of the staircase just before the bathroom. I had been here before but when? Wait. I knew what it was or rather who it was. It was that unsightly witch that hangs out inside my bathroom from time to time and casts spells on passing human beings (Quite often me being the passing human being). She had cast some sort of immovable spell upon me. Her cackle was so repellent I could not bear the possibility of seeing her face. I was a CD stuck in a moment I couldn’t stop skipping. Finally, someone or some force skipped me to the next track as I was able to move again in perfect circular direction towards my brother’s room. But when I dashed in, my brother was no longer there. I don’t understand, he was there before.

The next logical room to enter was the play room next door, so in it I went. It was here that I was instantly shrunk into something maybe the size of a well fed hamster. Inside were my cousins Melanie and Beau as well as my older brother Corey. There was no time to talk so I tried to follow them where they were hiding underneath the couch. But it was too late as the oversized snake wrapped around me with his cool skin. We were hamsters placed in a box as precious food for the serpent. “You are cold,” I suggested to the snake. He grinned at me and said “I know, but I tell you this: There are three kinds of people, those who can count and those who can’t.” “But that is a paradox,” I refuted. The snake replied, “Yes, and so are you and me and anything you might believe,” as he took me on a journey through the glass door and out to the nearby forest then disappeared into a snake hole in the ground.

I looked down at my feet. The grass was hay and my mind hysterical. The hay sprouting out from the ground was tied into little witch formations, covering the vastness before me. The sky felt torn and the world obsolete. Darkness overwhelmed my bloodshot eyes. Sadness reigned supreme in a life of dull razors. I realized I adored nothing and nothing adored me. I was filled with inequities and soft memories, knowing I could never let go of my broken past. Suddenly my neighbor, Jake Jacobson emerged out of the woods. We exchanged greetings and walked around the formations, commenting on their structure. Just then I fell off a cliff that had never been there before. I was able to hold on to the edge of this new found cliff. I watched as my neighbor slowly walked away. He did not look back. I just held on tighter and the wind swayed louder and the blackness grew blacker. I sensed the presence of the witch. I hated her and I couldn’t bear encountering her again so I teleported back into my house in the cross section of the hallways. I tried running back up to my parent’s room again but again I froze – this time on my own accord.

There were three men wearing trench coats at the end of the hall right outside my bedroom, two of which seemed to be bodyguards for the midget in the wheelchair. They looked like mobsters from the fifties and called themselves the grey men. It was then and only then that I realized they had been after me all night. With blank stares, they did look at me. Sin dressed in trench coats and my self labeled in slow death. I bit my thumbs and they were squishy like jello. The midget in the wheelchair was carrying a briefcase and the other two were holding Tommy guns. The mobsters taunted mw with their mobster-like ways. The midget mobster in the middle sat in his stupid wheelchair grinning at me with his overwhelming body guards. “Judgment has come and you have been judged,” he snarled. But why? Something was off. Something was askew. “Yes your beginning to realize now,” he began. “This was your life but you stayed quiet, and slowly your world grew into something that would no longer be your own. This is all a dream you are dreaming but a dream it shall stay.” The suitcase opened up. I stood still waiting, my legs no longer equipped with their mobile capabilities. The revolver was now in the hands of the midget. Words sprung out like fire from his lips. But I could not hear them, only feel them. His eyes and barrel and bullet met my inner thoughts. BANG! Feet and wheels scurried around me as I watched them forever and a day.

I think I might like Chicago just because Billy Corgan is from there. Oh well.

Let the light come shuddering through

Let the light come shuddering through
Thought about her once, but never enough
Acted out blindy when given a que
Spoke out too freely, broke some sort of made-up rule:

Trust Nothing
And Nothing Will Trust In You

Heading up 196 trying to make myself,
Make myself as blank as a clean slate
Pull to the left hand side,
Try to pull these thoughts behind

Just keep repeating this line,
this rule, this survivors guide to life:

Trust Nothing
And Surely Nothing Will Trust In You

But there is to much slush
Brain and steering wheel rivet to the left
Then with Godspeed to the right
This is it, I cautioned to myself
Slow motion roller-coaser into the deep bank

Trust Nothing
And Truly Nothing Will Trust In You

-----

And this is what He said
As I went with Godspeed to the right:

Trust the snow to slow your fall
Trust your old, worried car to collapse
So that you might last
Trust the trees for directing your path
Trust a welcoming stranger to pull you out of this mess
Trust a family who gives you smiles and a warm coat

Trust in Lee's towing service,
in your worried family
Trust in technology, cell phones,
and friends,
Trust simply in people,
Trust that help is on the way

-----

You know your car is a little messed up
When you can stand straight up in it
Whithout having to hunch

But you can stand up
Yes you can stand up
You are completely OK
And so is everyone else

Today is the day the light came shuddering through,
My windows so suddenly, so suddenly
They shattered through and through
And through out that empty, made-up rule

Writing this on my slate,
that I so desperately wanted to be blank:

Trust in Something or Nothing,
The choice is up to you
But either way, no matter how sad the day
You can trust in absolutely nothing
But, you can't help it
when something trusts in you

So put the trust in you
Act out blindly sometimes,
Dance and hold hands a little
Speak out too freely sometimes,
Share jokes and get light-minded a little
And Put some trust in you
Even if it is just a little