My Irate Eyes

A short story:

My irate eyes tell me it is morning. The sun is coming up too early and I need another month of sleep please. It feels like I have slept for years and minutes at the same time as Chester jumps on the bed allying with the dreaded sun to get me up and to start my day. How do I start my day? That is a great question. A half hour of going through what the itinerary will be in my head, what type of focus will my brain have, eat cereal, put on the coffee then lay in bed a bit more. My bed calls to me eighty percent of the time I am at home, it misses me and I miss my bed. One day I think I will write a love letter to my bed – Ode to My Bed – and I will print it on the most beautiful paper then staple it to my hunk of expensive fabric. One day this bed will not be my bed and instead will be considered junk. I will need to accept that it is junk because I can be too sentimental, I get it from my dads’ side of the family, sentimentality might as well be in the family crest under the image of a sun hugging a picture frame. The sun seems most apt to all my family but especially this half of me, joy and support such a present source with them and it brings such natural warmth.

The walk to my plans is a much better option than taking the transit because I can smell the world opening up for the green that will cover everywhere. Warmth has just returned to earth and all who are now emerging from the wintertime seem happier for the sun to return to its full form. Every year the sun loses its confidence and is a little bit weaker, letting the cold come in to cover the landscape. This is perfectly natural, I am the same, I don’t have any ill will towards the celestial body, but at least that sun could leave us with a celestial space heater. The living things in the ground and living from the ground on this part of the planet are collectively thanking our great sun for returning to its full form. Thank you, sun, for getting your confidence back and now my fingers don’t feel like they will fall off after being outside for 40 minutes. The not quite summer not quite winter months are my favourite times of the year. They are the most potent in smell and they bring out the best in the world, all living things seem happier when it is not too hot and not too cold. Then in the extreme moments of our year our feelings become extreme, and the summer is very loud as well as overwhelming while the winter is so quiet you can hear every bad thought that your mind can think of.

Bad thoughts stick around like that one person you don’t like, they show up at times most uncomfortable and then they just won’t go away. You leave the room but the presence of this annoying being cannot let you go on with the day you were having. And they arrive within your brain like they have crawled through your window to hang out with you. The rage building while talking with that person that you dislike more than all others is the same progression of attempting to process bad thoughts, sticky, unignorable. The winter months egg these thoughts on, it seems as though some dark force gives strength to these things in the cold moments of the year. The sun is no longer so strong that it scares the force off and instead, this great beast is empowered as it’s hold overcomes all things. I made it through the darkness that is cold and wet and frozen and wet and cold so now I have less stress.

The white bit stays in the middle while on the bottom, everything is crystalized and a black rot gathers at the top of its peak, the promise of something so pure, renewed and beautiful which then is corrupted, Al says my name. “Why are you looking at that gross pile of snow?” I keep my focus on the collection of snow which over the weeks of falling on the ground, has created a tiny mountain “I’m seeing if I can make it melt” a joke that only I think is funny and the face of Al after my hilarious response is all I need to know to confirm that only I know comedy. “Well if you could make snow melt just by looking at it I’m sure the last thing on your mind would be if Hector is going to fire you or not” and this here is what I do not want to talk about. Hector, my boss, caught me drawing on a notepad and Hector, my boss, hates me more than I think I’ve seen anyone dislike someone within a workplace. I get a text from my mom, and he is behind me catching my eyes glancing down at the half-in-my-pocket device. “Maybe if I stare and focus long enough, I could make Hector melt” and although I love all people, sometimes Hector deserves to melt. “Or maybe you just get a new job, you’re making, what, a bit over minimum? And I think you’re only still there because you accept ungodly hours. I could probably name five different jobs made up of the responsibilities you take up at work, you need a break Henry”. Of course, Al is right, I need a break. I’ve needed a break for the past six or seven years but change is scary and I know how to work around this workplace. Avoid Hector and do the best job I can do so Hector doesn’t fire me. Learning a new job is something I don’t think I am prepared to do at this moment, I’ve got a lot going on, many plans that will be disrupted with learning the goings on of a new workplace. As I explain this to Al I can see the look in their eyes “And you have something to say, your furrowed brow is practically screaming it at me” “Okay, name the things going on Henry, you have a painting you’ve been doing for a year and I’ve seen it two times 6 months apart, you have added an arm. You are working on an idea for a coffee shop art vinyl buzz word salad store and you have like half a name” “It’s a great half of a name Al you’re telling me you would not be enticed if your friend says let’s go to Introbux” “I would avoid a place like that because it sounds like a printer store”. I am seeing a therapist, she says that this excuse that I have for not moving on with my life is deflection, avoiding new things in my life because I like the consistency of this one I have fallen into. I admit, I think of my dream job and getting to a point of happiness in doing what I feel passionate in but if I can just stay on Hector’s I’m almost going to fire you side for the rest of my life and as long as rent doesn’t keep going up, I’ll be okay.

When I was 20, I stood at the hill I was about to climb, clean and white, the promise of something renewed and beautiful and over time it crystalized. It got covered in soot and dirt and cigarette butts and eventually it will melt away. I’m in the process of figuring out how I can look at that mound and get it to melt but what might be better is figuring out the best way I can deal with this aged build up and working within it to let it melt naturally and all that is left is the ground that it settled on. Preserved, ready to be revealed again to support the next mound that will begin to build on top of it. I am that ground and time is the mound, cyclical, but that doesn’t need to mean I can’t do anything about how the next cycle will go. “Okay, fine, I’ll call Hector. I saw a few listings at Chris’ Trade last week so maybe I can get a position there” I say this with a smile of reassurance that I am not just saying this to stop talking about my life. “You are so brave Henry, no one has done anything harder than telling their abusive boss they’re done” “Okay I think I would prefer some reassurance instead of mockery but thank you”. Next week I’m going to go bed shopping, my old one is stained and is definitely on its last legs, and on my walk to groceries I think of how I will begin my greatest work about my beautiful hunk of fabric.

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