a small fridge hidden under a stack of old pizza boxes; a small, plug
in stove element lives amongst piles of empty spaghetti boxes and used
canned meat tins: sink filled with putrid smelling dishes and the
remains of a chicken from last thursday; a garbage can that is
surprisingly empty. My eyes strain to open, they are crusty with
mucus, and film clouds my vision.
I look to the top shelf, the box of cereal perched up there. Why do I
put you up there everyday? Every morning I ache and stretch to reach
you, and vow to keep you down here with me, and every morning when I'm
done with you, I put you back in your proper place. Perhaps the beast
I am that wakes and comes for you is a different man that leaves you.
I search for an empty bowl. I finally find one with the remains of my
last cheese twist binge. I sniff it. The stink of mold hasn't yet
touched it, so I empty it out and fill it again with corn flakes.
I open the fridge, and am greeted by the bright cold light. A
margarine tub and nearly empty bottle of johnny walkers. I contemplate
pouring the liquor in my bowl, but I know what that will lead to. I
fill it with tap water instead.
I find a spoon lying on the counter and notice the grime on my hands.
I am absolutely disgusting right now, aren't I? I laugh aloud with no
one in particular, and rinse my hand of what I can. I know it is still
dirty, but it at least placates that feeling of uncleanliness
whispering from the back of my brain.
I take my meal to the dining room: the couch opposite the sink, on the
carpeted area of the apartment. Sunlight tries to peak in at me
through the small gaps in the blinds. I draw them tighter shut; the
lines of light on the floor disappear.
The cereal crunches deafeningly under my spoon. It awakens my ears to
that which surrounds me. The fridge hums deeply, a gentle tenor with
the slightest warble in it's note. The drip of the sink, and the horns
of cars passing below play a slow but erratic beat. Muffled and
silent, I can still hear my companions from last night. They alternate
between high pitched conversation and shrieking. Ecstasy of the
soprano echoing from my laptop speakers, cracking just a bit as their
volume reaches unearthly heights.
I slowly chew on the corn flakes. The water is an unsettling touch.
The brain knows what to expects, screams to get it. 'Where is the
milk' it seems to ask. It believes is so strongly that if i close my
eyes, and focus on the women in my room, I can almost taste the slight
sugar and fat that is in the milk that isn't in my bowl. The mind
wants what it wants, and is easier to trick when overwhelmed I guess.
I look at the clock on the VCR under my tv. 1:14. I guess this was
actually lunch. I place the bowl on the coffee table, already covered
by piles of papers, wrappers, and empty glasses. I return to my room:
I'll just get some more sleep, try to start again later today.
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