(This thread has no purpose)
It's chronic. Depression is obsessed with me. If it could, it would keep me in bed with her all day, everyday, as life slipped away unnoticed. I cancel my plans with her every day. One day I hang out with atheist senior citizens and talk about their RVs. One day I take myself out on a movie date. I hunt for the best stout and kiss many beer frogs during my quest. One day I'll find the beer charming. I go to a PFLAG meeting. I write. Cook. Take myself out for cheesecake. Yesterday it was a makeover. I cut and dyed my hair.
I'm driving. I see humans walking. I see humans and notice we are funny creatures. We walk around like pogo sticks, and we have limbs dangling down and moving front and back as we walk. It's very funny, really. I make a stop at a cross walk and I feel tears fighting to come out. I blink several times and fool my eyes into believing that I don't need to cry. I just saw funny humans. I'll be fine.
I park my car in front of the hair salon. I walk in and explain what I want. A stylist I never saw before prepares the dye. I see funny humans getting hair cuts, and they're so funny to watch with their nose on their face just popping out and making life so funny. I see a mirror. I look at the mirror and see my funny human self. Tears fight to come out of my eyes and I take a deep breath. I open my eyes wide enough to make them dry up and forget that tears are a thing and that pain is real.
She asks if I have dyed my hair black before. She seems skeptical. I tell her I've been coming here for ten years and black is my thing. I tell her that yes, I have, and I'm sure of my choice. She smiles. Her smile is funny. Humans are funny. We smile and as we do we show our teeth. Here, fellow human, take a look at my teeth and let me see yours. It's a funny human ritual.
I now have black dye on my forehead and ears. I have to wait 45 minutes. I forgot my book and there's no wifi. She hands me a magazine. Magazines are not funny. I flip through pages of basic gossip that doesn't interest me. Some famous person had a party of some sort and decorated beautifully. It's useless information. I don't even know who this person is. I flip the page. Another famous human with a party. I miss my book. I like the smell of hair salons.
Tears fight to come out of my eyes as I close the magazine and place it next to me. This time one manages to escape my eyes. How do I dry it without bringing attention to my eyes? I pretend to check my make up. I accidentally see myself in the mirror. Two, maybe three tears escape my eyes. This is getting out of control. I sigh. I take a deep breath. I blink really fast. More tears barge out. I quickly dry my face. I blink more. I look up. I open my eyes wide. I think it's working.
A little girl is getting a haircut. She has a nose on her face and limbs that dangle from the high chair she's in. That's funny. A tiny funny human. I smile. I show my teeth. That's funny, too. Fuck. Hurry up and finish with my hair. I think I'm about to cry like an average human that pours water out of her eyes. That would be funny. Humans are funny. I wish I was laughing.
It's chronic. Depression is obsessed with me. If it could, it would keep me in bed with her all day, everyday, as life slipped away unnoticed. I cancel my plans with her every day. One day I hang out with atheist senior citizens and talk about their RVs. One day I take myself out on a movie date. I hunt for the best stout and kiss many beer frogs during my quest. One day I'll find the beer charming. I go to a PFLAG meeting. I write. Cook. Take myself out for cheesecake. Yesterday it was a makeover. I cut and dyed my hair.
I'm driving. I see humans walking. I see humans and notice we are funny creatures. We walk around like pogo sticks, and we have limbs dangling down and moving front and back as we walk. It's very funny, really. I make a stop at a cross walk and I feel tears fighting to come out. I blink several times and fool my eyes into believing that I don't need to cry. I just saw funny humans. I'll be fine.
I park my car in front of the hair salon. I walk in and explain what I want. A stylist I never saw before prepares the dye. I see funny humans getting hair cuts, and they're so funny to watch with their nose on their face just popping out and making life so funny. I see a mirror. I look at the mirror and see my funny human self. Tears fight to come out of my eyes and I take a deep breath. I open my eyes wide enough to make them dry up and forget that tears are a thing and that pain is real.
She asks if I have dyed my hair black before. She seems skeptical. I tell her I've been coming here for ten years and black is my thing. I tell her that yes, I have, and I'm sure of my choice. She smiles. Her smile is funny. Humans are funny. We smile and as we do we show our teeth. Here, fellow human, take a look at my teeth and let me see yours. It's a funny human ritual.
I now have black dye on my forehead and ears. I have to wait 45 minutes. I forgot my book and there's no wifi. She hands me a magazine. Magazines are not funny. I flip through pages of basic gossip that doesn't interest me. Some famous person had a party of some sort and decorated beautifully. It's useless information. I don't even know who this person is. I flip the page. Another famous human with a party. I miss my book. I like the smell of hair salons.
Tears fight to come out of my eyes as I close the magazine and place it next to me. This time one manages to escape my eyes. How do I dry it without bringing attention to my eyes? I pretend to check my make up. I accidentally see myself in the mirror. Two, maybe three tears escape my eyes. This is getting out of control. I sigh. I take a deep breath. I blink really fast. More tears barge out. I quickly dry my face. I blink more. I look up. I open my eyes wide. I think it's working.
A little girl is getting a haircut. She has a nose on her face and limbs that dangle from the high chair she's in. That's funny. A tiny funny human. I smile. I show my teeth. That's funny, too. Fuck. Hurry up and finish with my hair. I think I'm about to cry like an average human that pours water out of her eyes. That would be funny. Humans are funny. I wish I was laughing.
"Hipster is what happens when young hot people do what old ladies do." -Exian
