#i was on this stupid canvas for like a whole workday

[dirtsoilmulch]

what

[scarletroman-blog1]

Clouds

               Lick lick lick.

               Daisy’s gentle tongue on my face brought me to consciousness. I ran my hand across her soft Dalmatian head, taking in a deep breath.

“Were you lonely?” I asked Daisy, to which she continued to lick my exposed skin. The time on my phone read six forty-five, meaning I still had fifteen minutes to sleep, but the day was already calling for me to get up. Daisy had made sure of that.

The studio apartment was quiet but for the sound of chirping birds coming in through the window. Since I lived seven stories up, I left my window cracked open overnight with no fear of intruders, just enough to allow the summer air seep in.

I pushed the blanket from off my legs, letting the cold envelope my body, and got up to start the coffee. Before I moved to the city, I was more of a tea person, but the long workdays at the bank had drained me much more than I ever realized they would.

Everything was just as I wanted. A cute place to live with a magnificent view of skyscrapers, an affectionate Dalmatian companion, expensive furniture, healthy food, and enough money to eat in a relaxing café every so often. This was the life I wanted, the one I dreamed about back in college and even high school.

I’d always wanted to escape, back then. To get somewhere on my own, to get away from everyone around me and meet new people. I’d tell myself the same phrase every time I was overwhelmed with my surroundings: “one day.” One day I’d be here, waking up ready to work hard and make a good life for myself.

And here I’d made it, except things weren’t exactly how I wanted them to be. While I was surrounded by all the things I wanted, the feeling inside me wasn’t happiness. As a hopeful girl, I usually tried to push the feeling away, thinking that it was all going to be alright, but it was much stronger than me; it was a feeling of absolute dread, one that I’d never felt before back home, even when getting ready to do something I had no interest in, like volunteering at a church spaghetti dinner.

The dread came every time I thought about working. It wasn’t that I was lazy, or that I hated getting up early; I was always the most hard-working person I knew, and an early wake-up didn’t bother me the slightest bit. It wasn’t that I hated my tasks either. They were simple, mostly involving organization, something I was good at. I wasn’t sure then, what brought me the dreadful feeling, only that it depressed me like nothing else. As I tried to relax at night, tired as could be, it kept my heart racing, and prevented my mind from any calm. The only way to get rid of it was to hold my breath and think of happier, hopeful times. I’d push it further and further down, hiding it away for it only to come back again.

               I let Daisy out onto the balcony, containing only a metal chair and a rectangular patch of grass from California that served as her litter box. Getting up early, along with getting ready a bit quicker than usual, allowed me twenty minutes of extra time that I wasn’t quite sure how to spend. I paced the apartment for a moment, making sure I didn’t forget to pack anything, and then decided that I could relax.

               Picking up the unread book from my beside table, I slipped off my shoes and cuddled onto the loveseat. I was immediately absorbed by the story, and before it felt like two minutes even passed, it was time to go. Part of me was tempted just to stay and keep reading, but I made myself leave, taking the dreadful feeling along with me.

---

               Eight. Nine. Ten.

The hours of work went on, each one dragging its feet through thick mud. I’d check the clock one minute, and then the next minute, thinking that at least five had gone by. When I’d reached my lunch at eleven thirty, a café just a block away beckoned me. Walking out the doors felt like freedom, and the weather was so nice and welcoming that it sent a wave of sadness through me. How could a day like this, sunny and warm with a gentle breeze, be ignored? How could I stay stuck inside doing repetitive task when a real-life canvas laid right in front of me, waiting for me to contribute to the artwork?

               It’s fine, I told myself. I’ll walk on Saturday. I’ll walk the whole day, and see everything.

I reached the café, a quiet and unpopular place that I often found relaxation at. When I walked in, I was the only customer. The barista brightened when she saw me, perhaps glad to finally have something to do.

               “What will it be for you today?” she asked with a smile.

I ordered another coffee and a turkey sandwich, and then took my seat by the window. Several people walked by, some dressed in formal clothes for work, others on a casual walk with a loved one, enjoying the day. I envied each person, imagining the happiness they must have felt. What I’d give to be out there walking Daisy with no place to go, just wandering around the beautiful city aimlessly.

               About half-way through my sandwich, a man entered the café, pulling off a backpack from around his shoulder and breaking me out of my thoughts. He took a quick glance at me, and I looked down, trying to appear as though I wasn’t staring. But as soon as he sat down a few chairs down from me with coffee in hand, I peered over casually.

               He got out a laptop and immediately starting typing with quick, excited fingers. I guess that my watching wasn’t causal enough, because when he noticed my curious eyes, he stopped working and said, “hey.”

               It was a friendly tone, not an irritated one, but I felt rude and embarrassed for looking anyways.

“Hey,” I responded, eyes drifting to the wooden table.

               “Nice day, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said sadly, “I only get to see it for a little bit. Then it’s back to work.”

               “Mmm,” he said, typing once again, no longer paying attention. It wasn’t until then that I realized how lonely I really was, my coworkers being the only people I talked to. It had been months since I spoke in person to a real friend.

               “What are you working on?” I asked, immediately regretting it. You’re so nosey, I thought to myself. So nosey and stupid and---

               “A story,” he said, turning my way to give me a quick smile. “I write short stories, mostly, and occasionally a novel.”

               The enthusiasm in his voice reminded me of one I used to have back in middle school, when I was convinced I’d have a book written by the time high school ended. It never happened.

               “I wanted to be an author once,” I said, “I thought for sure I’d be for a few years actually.”

He looked at me with both curiosity and confusion.

               “Well what stopped you?” He asked.

Nobody had ever asked me that question, not even myself. When I announced that I wanted to work at the bank around sophomore year, I was only given positive responses. I had convinced myself that it would be good for me, considering my organization and math skills. That was what I had decided for myself, and that was what I had stayed with. Writing turned from a goal to only a dream.

               “I have no idea,” I responded, and the feeling of dread came back so strongly that I wanted to cry right there, in front of a stranger I’d just met.

               But then an idea came to me as well, one that I’d let myself fantasize about for hours this past week, one that I never seriously considered. Until now.

               “Do you have a pen?” I asked him, standing up suddenly from my seat.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said.

               I crossed the room to retrieve a brown napkin, and came back smiling. He handed me the pen, to which I gave a quick thanks, and then began to write without sitting down. It was only two short sentences, signed with my name and date, but I felt it got to the point.

               “What’s that?” he asked me, regarding the napkin, as I slid the pen back over to him.

“I’m quitting,” I announced.

               It was a reckless decision, made within the course of a few minutes, but I’d never felt so sure about anything in my life. The dreadful feeling was replaced by one of pure hope, and I already felt loads of stress leave my body. It was as I’d been wearing cinderblocks for shoes, and I’d just now decided to take them off.

               Maybe it was crazy, and maybe I was stupid for doing it. All I knew was, I had a dream, and I wasn’t going to let it stay in the clouds.