On worry.

Published September 18, 2012 by mandileighbean

“Yeah, it’s all alright.  I guess it’s all alright.  I got nothing left inside of my chest, but it’s all alright.”

–          fun.

I care about people more than I should.  The well-being of others immediately and intensely affects my own well-being.  If someone I know and only mildly care about is upset or aggravated or what have you, then I am terribly anxious and overwhelmed and stressed.  I just want everyone around me to feel loved and to be happy.  I know that sounds ridiculous and like it is too good to be true, but it is true.  I genuinely want nothing but the utmost joy for those that I know and love.

A lot of the time, I worry that I am not as integral to peoples’ lives as I thought.  I am terrified that I do not have friends and that I am alone.  My birthday is tomorrow and I have no plans.  My mom travelled to Virginia to see her grandchildren and I have home instruction.  I’ll be done for the day at 4:00PM.  That is the extent of my birthday plans.  I know that my twin sister is going out on the town with all of her friends.

I can blame my lack of birthday debauchery on work; it is a school night and I do have to be up early the next day.  That is a lame excuse and I know it.

Maybe I just need to be more proactive in planning.  If I held a party, I’m sure people would show up.  Well, I’m not sure and that’s the point of this particular entry.  I give people everything that I have, always.  And no matter how many times I am hurt, neglected, ignored or wronged, I still believe everyone will give me everything they have.  Does that make me foolish?  Perhaps, but I like to believe it makes me special.

And I realize that there are times when I do close myself off and become decidedly anti-social.  I also realize it’s hypocritical for me to fault this trait in others.  I’m just trying to make sense of how I feel, I guess.

“I’ve given everyone I know a good reason to go, but I came back with the belief that everyone I love is gonna leave me.”

– fun.

PROMPT: A writer’s computer begins to flash messages on its screen, as if trying to communicate.

 

PIECE: Alexa gingerly sipped on her steaming mug of coffee, but despite her carefulness, she still burned the shit out of the roof of her mouth.  She pulled the mug from her mouth and held it away from her, as if it were suddenly going to lunge and do more harm, and ran her tongue along the seared section of her mouth.  She had left the computer desk and the uncomfortable chair to grab a cup of coffee and to get the neurons firing.  As of late, Alexa had felt decidedly uninspired.  Hoping that moving would get the creative juices flowing, she had ventured to the kitchen and now she had returned with nothing to show for the effort but a lame injury.  She rolled her eyes at her own misfortune and was not in the least bit surprised when those eyes landed on the glowing monitor.  It seemed as if she had been staring at the monitor for days and her eyes were dry from the effort.  Freeing one hand from the porcelain mug, she meant to wipe at her irritated eyes when she suddenly halted.

Just there – on the screen – she had seen it.  On the monitor, which had been blank because she had nothing interesting whatsoever to say, were words.  Those words, not coming from her mind nor her typing fingers, came from somewhere and had clearly said, “Not coffee.  Tea.”  Alexa, not breathing, looked all about her to confirm her suspicion that she was alone, dreadfully alone.  She wasn’t sure if the thought that some invisible or incredibly tiny creature had typed the message was more comforting than the possibility that she was simply imagining things.  Gulping hard, she moved closer to the computer.

“You can come back and sit. I won’t bite.”  Another message flashed.  It was there, and then it was gone.

The porcelain mug crashed to the floor.  Hot liquid splashed against her ankles and dampened her socks to the point where they were decidedly uncomfortable.  Alexa was deaf and dumb to how she had disturbed her own universe as she nearly collapsed into the uncomfortable chair.  Her tiny, human brain couldn’t truly comprehend the magnitude of the events unfolding before her, but she did know that she didn’t want the messages to end before she had a chance to write back.  Alexa took a deep breath, her wide eyes sweeping back and forth, and then typed, “Who’s there?”

There was no response.  She sat still for ten minutes, waiting and waiting and waiting.  She had given up, chalking the phenomena up to exhaustion and desperation and nothing more.  Alexa gripped the handles of the chair and made ready to lift herself to her feet when another message appeared.

“Please; like it’s really going to be that easy to figure this out.”

2 comments on “On worry.

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