Ennui

There was sun. Warm, but not too warm. It made the colours of the world brighter. The leaves filtered its light and cast shadows on the pavement that lilted to the rhythm of the wind. It was beautiful.

There were people. Lots of people, but not too crowded. We talked. We laughed. It was beautiful.

This is a lie. I don’t remember the details. I only remember the warmth.

I had made a friend, Nicole. She was nice. We talked a lot about things that didn’t really matter, as it always is with new people. I think it’s rather stupid. Imagine, after spending all that time asking boring questions and getting boring answers, you get to their heart and find out that they aren’t that nice of a person. That would be a real shame. Then you would feel real stupid about asking all those questions. A man online said that people who thought the way I did were wrong. According to him, I was impatient, and didn’t understand the importance of timing, and time. I didn’t understand him.

             I was going to work quickly through all the boring questions and get right into the heart of Nicole.

I didn’t get time.

I’m flying back to Perth tomorrow, she said.

Oh, okay, I said. I never thought the word okay could be so sad. I didn’t really know why I was so sad. It’s not that I liked her that much. But it was sad. Some things just are.

I tried getting through some more questions after that, but I gave up pretty soon. There was no real reason for giving up. I just realised that I wasn’t really interested in her. So she faded with the warmth.

You know what it feels like? Like someone turned off the lights in your room. But during the day, not night. What I mean is like when someone turns off the lights in your room during the day. It’s usually Mum, saying that I’m wasting money, leaving the lights on when it was bright enough without them. I get that, but having the lights on is nice. When you turn it off, the room gets a little darker. It’s still light, but a little darker. Nothing’s changed, really. But for some reason, standing in the middle of the room, staring at those slightly darker walls and slightly longer shadows, I always feel a little sad.

Let me tell you about something crazy I’ve been doing. I’ve been running every day for months now. It’s crazy, because I’ve never been much of an athlete.

This is how I did it: one day I decided to go on a run. Then I decided to run the next day. And the next. And I kept going. That’s it.

Writing about it now I could say something metaphorical, something like running was a way to break free from the restrictions imposed on me, but it was nothing deep like that. My friends and I just said hey, we should probably do something with our lives, and we did. That was all.

Most of my friends don’t run anymore, though. I’m the only one who’s kept at it. I always try to run a little more than I did the previous day. That keeps me going. I’m scared though – I probably can’t keep this up for too long. I can only run so far. I’m scared of what will happen the day I give up and stop.

Anyway, I think it’s a real shame. I’m eighteen, in one of the most important years of my life, and this is happening. Yes, I know that there are people out there who are suffering much more than I am, but to be honest, I couldn’t care less about them. Really. Maybe it’s because I’ve been isolated for so long or maybe because I’m just a psychopath, but I really don’t care what other people are going through. It’s like this. People care so much when an actor or a singer dies. It’s all over the news. They make such a big deal out of it. I swear on my left thumb that these people don’t even care about the fact that their favourite actor or singer is dead. They’re sad that they won’t see another one of their movies or listen to another one of their songs. I think that’s crazy. And psychopathic. A lot of people die every day, I don’t know how many, but I know it’s a lot, but nobody cares about them. It’s like that. That’s why I don’t care about what’s happening to everyone else.

Anyway, I’m upset that there will be this blotch here forever, in the history of my life, like a page blotched out with ink. That upsets me. It’s silly. A lot of things blotch our life, but we never really notice it. Some blotches you don’t even see until you look back, years later.

I tried to think of some of the blotches in my life. I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I couldn’t remember any, it was that I couldn’t even get myself to think. I’m just too tired. I really am. I can’t even tell if I’m physically tired or mentally tired. My sleep schedule’s all messed up, and that makes it kind of hard to tell. Put me in university with 8 AM classes and I’ll sleep and wake up at the exact same every day, but put me alone at home for a few months and I just can’t. I remember in fifth grade we had a pet lizard in our classroom. Looking back, I don’t even think it was approved by the school. It’s crazy. Mr Lansky just brought it to class one day. A teacher higher up than him probably saw it, but my guess is that he wasn’t really sure what to do about it, or he wasn’t high enough in the teacher hierarchy to do anything. Maybe he told someone higher up, but they also didn’t have a clue. Maybe the matter eventually ended up in the principal’s office, but he probably was too busy and too fat to care about a stupid lizard in a stupid classroom. He had more important things to worry about. That’s funny. When I was in fifth grade I thought that the principal was this scary, untouchable, godlike being. Now, the whole charade seems kind of ridiculous. He’s just a man in a suit acting tough in front of a bunch of little kids. What the hell did he know?

I’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent. I do that often nowadays. It’s because there’s nothing happening, so my brain just grabs onto tiny little details and starts blurting out random thoughts and ideas, just so it has something to do. This often leads to questions like why are we here and what are we going to do about it, all that cliché stuff. But I’m too tired to answer them. I’m too tired to even start thinking about these questions. Whenever I try to, my mind just goes blank and I just sit there looking all stupid.

Anyway, Mr Lansky decided to do a little experiment on his pet lizard. It was kind of like Pavlov’s experiment. I think it’s silly copying someone else’s experiment. I think it’s silly doing any experiment. I understand researchers and scientists need to do experiments, but what’s the point of kids doing experiments? It doesn’t make any sense. Anyway, he rang a bell every time he fed the lizard. Then, one day, he stopped ringing the bell. He gave it food and all, but no bell. He got Pavlov’s experiment all mixed up. You’re supposed to ring the bell but not give it any food. Anyway, the lizard went crazy. As crazy as a lizard could go, anyway. Some kids laughed. I don’t know if it was because they actually found it funny or if it was because Mr Lansky was laughing. But I felt all sick inside. I didn’t show it, though.

It’s crazy how people like that end up as teachers.

Anyway, I kind of feel like that lizard right now. All crazy. I’m not acting crazy, because I’m not doing much other than sitting in bed and watching YouTube, but when I get sick of those silly videos and close my laptop, I look around my room. It’s day, but the lights are off, which makes me feel a little sad. I have an urge to stand up and walk to the switch and turn on the lights, but I’m too tired.