nonsense, prose, writing

Split

I got up and left the room without a word. Everyone was probably wondering why but I didn’t care. I walked out to the yard, went across and through a bunch of people smoking their cigarettes and gossiping about other people working there too. They watched me walk out like cows watch a car pass, and then the whispers began again, as if nothing had happened. I finally reached the entrance, which had now become the exit as far as I was concerned, and I felt something strange. A weird sense of angst and relief. There was nothing to be done, on all sides. I didn’t know which way to go, I just walked. I was like a guy imagined by Baudelaire, a flaneur – no direction, no purpose, only the sounds of my shoes dying little by little against the concrete floor. The picture was almost perfect, I expected rain to pour down on me any minute now. But even that didn’t work out, nothing was to be trusted. A dog was barking at me and the old lady dragged by the leash didn’t say anything, she only stood there, looking at me as if I was another of those things that come out of her pet’s behind. I grinned for no reason and kept on going. What was I to do anyway ?
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It’s one of those things with technology today, there’s no sense of suspense or quietness now. Everyone – me included – is always connected. It’s like there’s no more social hiatus, you can’t even go on a trip without sending a text. My friend was asking me “wtf?” and I didn’t know what to reply. I didn’t know “wtf?”, I just knew that I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m not one of those perfectly responsible people who go in there everyday, working their butts off thinking about their salaries. No. I’m the nerdy guy who reads whatever he wants and shows up late because he spent the entire night reading. I’m the guy who will never know by heart the amount of people living in each American state. And I’m certainly not the guy who thinks about his salary. But then again, maybe I should.
It was around four o’clock, people would start to leave the office now. I sat down and leaned against a tree. I thought about going back to school, about doing something else. That was ridiculous. I thought about trying to sell my paintings. That was even more ridiculous. The only option I had left, was to sell my body. I could probably be a decent male escort, I’d have to lose some weight though. Ah, at least my high-functioning sense of nonsense was still there. There had always been those things that don’t quite make sense, that I’m constantly trying to figure out. What am I doing ? This one’s a constant. I should probably get it tattooed somewhere on my body but if the physical pain is half as unpleasant as the moral one, I’m in way over my head with this idea. I kept going on in my reverie until something grabbed my attention. Leaves were falling down on my head, on my shoulders, on the ground. Autumn was there and I hadn’t even noticed. I was so focused on everything else that I missed it. I hate autumn, it gets me mad so I have this Autumn Hate Day. The principle is simple : I get up late, I read tons of poems, and I’m pissed at everything – but just for a day. And though it might resemble my everyday life, there is a huge distinction. I wish I was like one of those leaves though : that I would get to be left alone for a while, laying on the ground like that from September to May. I mean, a shelter of some sort would be nice during winter but the idea in itself, remains the same. But this year, Autumn meant something else : I had now been working there for a year. A whole year spent trying to cram things in my head and them spit them out to clients, a whole year spent doing legwork and research and god knows what else; everything done for that sole reason that I “had to find a decent job”. But then again, what was I to do ?

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