Pizza. Pizza. Pizza. Yum yum in my tum tum. There is the oil shining on the top, freshly glazed. Pineapple. Explosions of sweet and fruity. Meat. Duh. I love a pizza with meat. The meat is..meaty. Don't know where it's from, dont know how it came about, don't know who put it on my pizza. One thing I DO know: I'm gonna eat it. Lies. I'm not actually eating pizza. It's past dinner. But pizza is pretty good. The word itself. PIZ-ZAAAAA. Sounds outgoing. Sociable. Unafraid to scream out its name. I love the 'z' sound. Adds character. Seasons the whole thing, I reckon. See, I was trying to be poetic about pizza. But, really, my words are more of a smoosh of letters. I wish I could make beauty.
As I walked across the stage, I didn't feel my life change. Everyone has always told me that today would be some magical day. But really, I was just counting down the minutes until I could go home and curl up next to the man I love. I wasn't interested in being surrounded by hundreds of sweat-covered adolescents who never seemed to care much for me either. For half of high school, I don't feel like I was ever really there. Freshman year, I was chasing an older boy who lived five hours away because I sure he loved me. Sophomore year, I was just trying to find someone to give me love and ended up chasing right back after the same older guy from the year before. Then junior year came, and I swore I was done begging to be loved by a guy who didn't seem to love me at all. In turn, I fell in love with a guy who tried to give me his all but came up just a little too short. He wasn't quite capable of loving me fully because he too had once loved a little too hard. I spent half of that year heartbroken and searching. By the time summer came, I found the love of my life. I spent my summer then my senior year consumed with this amazing guy. I would count down the days and then the hours until I was out of that place to just spend a nice, quiet night with him. I spent my high school experience chasing after guys and giving my heart away far too easily. But once I met the one who made it all count, it seemed as if these big moments were insignificant. My life didn't change by simply walking across a stage. My life changed the moment when the people in it really started to matter.
The dream started fine. I was on a vacation by the ocean. But then this rocket, intended for some Elon Musk mission, exploded over the sky somewhere North. Then, this big passenger plane landed on a deserted road right near me and I could see inside and I could see terrorists taking over the plane. Nobody else was around. I knew I had to try to stop it from taking off. I was looking for things I could throw into the jet engine. Then I woke up. On the couch. Slept too long. But I was still tired. And it was Sunday. I wanted to write. But how can I write in such a scary world, where things explode, and the things that don't are stolen? I'm getting old. The things I used to care about, I don't anymore. I feel more comfortable in my own skin, now, even as it ages, and itches. Time may heal, but time also wounds.
It’s dull and boring, but it’s homeostatic. It’s in the cellar. It’s in the attic. Wishing will never make it better. "Want" is the first rain drop of coming destruction. It is the "Indian Summer" of our impending doom. It is a "Garbage-Truck Holiday" with overflowing trash-bins in our room. Frugality is the first step towards freedom. Frugality is a type of inverted wealth. Frugality is sweet fragrance to the Lord’s disciples; the specter of fear to greedy corporations. Frugality is the death bullet to stockholders and their hillside-mansion dreams. It is the antidote to the disease of world domination schemes. It is a wrecking ball rolling through the halls of crystal statues; sculptures of glass crash in its path.