Speaking
August 02, 2016 - 178 words
I take a different route home this evening, lost in my head. Marking time to a surreal baton, I rehearse the speech. It would change our lives, no doubt, ruin them even, if I could get through it without fainting.
I haven't been fully here. Instead I'm playing god with the fantasies in my mind, like a boy with his train set: enraptured, and not entirely in control. Sometimes I can't even win the arguments in my own head, or finish the abstract scene I had conjured. They simply stop. My own fantasies don't even work out in my favor.
Wow, how did I get here? I'm almost home. I've struggled to stay focused lately and I wonder if my protracted coke and acid phase permanently severed my ability to solve problems like a functional man. Psychological rewards system all cross-wired to hell. Doesn't matter, really. I could have it so much worse than lacking basic emotional coping skills, so I tell myself as I come home, the tattered speech disintegrating once again. It can wait till tomorrow.