#ConsumedByThoughts

[naomimoorewrites]

For Your Amusement

Sour like thrown-up wine, acid on my tongue. It’s the taste that lingers, the kind that leaves a sourness stuck to your teeth. I don’t know why I’m still here, but here I am. Doing the best I can with what God gave me, which isn’t much. Not enough, certainly. But that's all I’ve got.

God takes what it wants. It doesn’t ask. It doesn’t even apologize. I’m not one for religion, but I think I get it now. My body’s not a temple, it’s more like an amusement park - littered with cotton candy and spilled popcorn, noisy, attracting people who are more interested in the cheap thrills than anything that might actually matter. I’ve got roller coasters of anxiety and a ferris wheel of regret, but no one’s coming to my rundown show. And the rides? They keep spinning anyway. No one’s stopping them.

No one’s stopping me. In the dead of night when there is no one around to see me consume consume consume There’s a light in the fridge, so what am I supposed to do? If we’re not supposed to have them, then why is the universe always handing me a little sweet treat, a little moment of distraction? And don’t even get me started on the microwave. You can heat up leftovers, no problem, but you can’t heat up your life. You can’t go back to that thing you screwed up three years ago and fix it. You can’t pop your mistakes into the microwave and hit “reheat.” That’d be nice, though. But if you’ve learned anything from living as long as I have, you’d know that the only thing reheated in this life is disappointment.

I’ve spent enough time staring at my reflection to know that I’m not special. If you had lived my life—if you could somehow do the thing where you get into my head and really feel it, front to back—you wouldn’t dare call me privileged. Or maybe you would, but you’d be wrong. Because the last time I checked, privilege doesn’t come with this kind of exhaustion, with this weight on your chest, with this sneaky voice in your head telling you that you’re nothing, that nothing you do matters. And that’s what I have. A voice. That’s all. The rest is just noise.

So, yeah, maybe I’m privileged. I get to wake up in a bed that’s mine and go to a fridge that’s stocked with food I can eat at 3 AM when the world’s asleep and I’m wide awake with nothing to do except stew in my own thoughts. Privilege doesn’t come with happiness. It comes with expectations. The constant sense that you should be better, do more, try harder. Maybe I’m tired of trying. Maybe I’ve been tired for years.

But I can’t stop, can I? Not now. It’s like being on one of those roller coasters that never ends. I’m strapped in, and the ride just keeps going.

I open my eyes to the same thing every day: the light in the fridge, the dark outside, the same dirty dishes that’ll still be there when I get back. It’s all so fucking predictable.

But if I’ve learned anything from living as long as I have, it’s this: you can hate it, but you can’t stop it. Not really. You can ignore it, numb yourself with whatever’s available - sleep, food, wine, Netflix - consume consume consume. But at the end of the day, it’s just you. And I’m not even sure who that is anymore.

So here I am. Still alive. Still here.

Doing the best I can with what God gave me.

[schmuckered]

For the Fic Writer question game, could you send a number 4, 24, and 29?

4. Kinda of a cop out to have it be a four way tie, but I really enjoy whenever someone compares my work to something horror-related (always a hoot), and also you, P_a_V, and ConsumedByThoughts always leave such wonderful comments on Awkward Aftermath and I appreciate every single one. Y'all always show so much enthusiasm in each comment and it warms my heart.

24. I suppose it'd be "What a (Blood)Rush!", mostly due to the fact that I don't think I've written many straight up comedies yet. I should rectify that one of these days.

29. For right now, I suppose any scene from Awkward Aftermath, though when a few more chapters of "A Bit of an Adjustment" comes out, maybe that one. Either way, the idea of fanart of anything I've worked on being made sounds wonderful.