Thoughts

A Story by R. Bartilet

Some deep, yet not-so deep thoughts.

I longed to free myself, but from what was unknown. And I concluded this from the boredom I currently suffer. Within the confines of my thoughts, I made sentences -- incompetent thoughts that lacked significance, and they were choppy to the point that one would expect they escape from the mouth of a mindless mutt. I was not a mutt, but rather odd -- I was simply bored. I was lost in the clutter of my thoughts and they clouded the once vacant space of my brain. They swirled and danced, and bounced between the borders of my head. I was unaware of most of my surroundings, but I was aware of the cold surface of the hardwood floor against my back. I continued to lay down. Once I thought about it, I was a pronoun that I used too often, but speaking in third person caused the dialogue to sound ever so primal. I rest my case, I was odd and I lay at my floor. I knew that my lack of desire to move wasn’t the only reason I remained still, as boredom gave me a much needed insight. My current position was caused by something more than just my laziness; there was a deep want inside me and I lay to try to find how I can free myself of that feeling -- if lying down will actually help. One thing is for certain though, I had no clue what I want.

I began to question myself. What do I want? It was a straightforward question with no implications or intimations, but a question that I did not have the answer to nonetheless. I considered different options from lack of experience with opposite sex to lack of relationships in general as I recalled each moment that led me here, here being what I understand now is my dull bedroom. And as I said that simple line, I had an epiphany of some sort. Dull. Every aspect and every detail of life was dull. I was living a life of constant cycle. It started with rising from my bed, to breakfast, to going to school, to coming back to school, and I was expected to repeat the cycle again and again. Each moment I had been in the cycle blurs together until I was not so certain that it is truly me living my life but rather someone who behaves in an unemotional matter. Then I ask myself why and this leads to a plethora of questions concerning a variety of topics -- mainly because I usually get off topic -- and then it clicks. I want to live life to the fullest. But I don’t know how. I want to live freely without restrictions. I want to rebel against the constraints placed by today’s society. I want to declare war against any norm that intends to bind me in any particular way. I want to truly live, but as I think about it, is that what living truly means? To live in that sense is similar to saying that quantity and variety can ensure quality, but saying so is shallow and highly materialistic. So that leaves me back to the question: what do I want? At the same time I thought this question, my stomach gave me a not-so-subtle hint. And that is when I found my answer. I want food.