That Look

That Look.

You know exactly what you’re doing to me. Giving me that look. I’m starting to know it all too well now. What gives you the right? I am powerless. I despise this. More than I’ve ever despised anything. And there hasn’t been a real shortage of things that I’ve despised in my life. But you. This. Tops them all. 

You look at me like that and I have nothing. No  leaping to new sarcasm heights in a single bound. No inner comedian doing a pop-up show. No poetic burst of coffee shop brilliance. Zilch. Nada. Brought to statue status. By you. You must love this. Who do you think you are? I hate you. HATE. 

You’re such a tease. Such a flirt. Enticing. Begging. I can’t help myself. I’m in it. I want it. All of it. Give me more. 

Your emptiness  taunts me with that wicked blank stare. As I return on to the battlefield once more. The enemy has to returned to offer a dare. Do I take it even though I know it’s not fair?  

Now. Eagerly awaiting my first move. 

You sick sadistic bastard. It’s time. You’ve been there all along. I know you are there. Watching. Waiting. Ready to pounce. You know exactly what you’re doing. Glaring back at me. So smug. Why do I allow you to have so much control over me? You stalk me. You have me paralyzed with fear. Plucked from my deepest darkest nightmares where I don’t allow myself to go. I can’t go there. I won’t. Through dark and twisty alleyways. Yellow brick road pavered alleyways. A Wizard of Oz horror film. My fingers covering my eyes. Shaking hands. I can’t help but peer through my oddly tiny fingers. Will I see something I don’t want to see? Something so jarring I’ll be so scarred I won’t recover from. Can I handle that? Is it worth it? This can’t be worth it. 

What is unfolding? Will I be good enough? Good enough, for who? Will I make someone feel something? What if I can’t think of anything to say? Am I being brainwashed right now? That must be what is happening. A clear logical explanation. I should get a snack. Tostitos. The answer to anything that ails you. Especially when one is being brainwashed. The salty hero.

I’ve got it! The answer seems so clear now. I should just take up knitting. Knitting needles and yarn look pretty unassuming. Guaranteed and immediate success. I’ve created something. Someone will be warm and cozy because of my efforts. My glorious efforts. Lying back covered by my creation. Curled up. Reading a good book. Laughing. Smiling. Crying. At all of the parts that are supposed to make you feel something. Quenching that thirst inside of me. Is it enough? Where am I, in the desert? Am I okay to only be a supporting role? The blanketeer? How lucky are they to be wrapped up in a good book without a care in the world. How dare they not have any cares. Something. Have an itch. One annoying itch that you claw your way at until it's a bloody mess and you have to put your book down and toss off the blanket that I made out of the goodness of my heart. You should be grateful! I worked hard on that blanket! I pricked my finger! It was no easy task! I should take a nap.

My head hits the pillow. The sheep that know their role begin to appear. I count them. Beautiful smiling creatures. Jumping and frolicking in the green pastures. Overjoyed to be who they are. Vibrant. Alive. Happy to help me. Help has finally arrived. Wait. Nooo, say it isn’t so! They are refusing to be just a number. They are revolting. What kind of sheep are these! They have turned on me! My friends! Pure chaos being hurled into my life. Why! Why! Just let me count you! I was counting on you! Abort! Abort!

They say it will come to you. They don’t see what I see. Or the sweat that is now dripping from me. Opening the window will help. Fresh air. That is definitely what I need. As I listen to the neighbors rocking back and forth in their chairs, the creak of the front porch, an insanely loud creak, I am hopeful that their porch will eventually succumb to the squirrel soldiers that have been gnawing their way at it. Day after day. Wreaking havoc. Out of enjoyment. Mr. and Mrs. Wilesbury unaware, just slurping away at their beverage of choice. Which smells like rotting death and chocolate. Yum. Good for them. That’s why I nod at you when you take the garbage out. I salute you and your life choices. 

You’re such a loser, what is wrong with you? Why do you have so many voices inside your head? Are you crazy? Have we reached that point? Is everyone going to know you and see you. The real you. The weirdo who is afraid. Of failure. Judgment. Not being funny enough. Creative enough. Good enough. Worthy. Who are you trying to impress. The squirrel soldiers? They are pretty judgmental. I see you stopping and staring in disbelief at me. Don’t think I don’t see you. I see you. Move along. You’ve got issues too. You chew on wood. Good luck with that. 

Maybe it is just about luck. I thought of you today. And I will think of you tomorrow. Deep down even though I don’t want to admit it, I know it’s true. I could never hate you. You. That empty page that taunts me with your wicked blank stare. Of course I take your dare. Always. Every time. We are bonded. I am drawn to you. Alluring. Seducing. I can’t help myself. I smile that coy smile. Take a deep breath. It’s time. I pick up my pen. I can do this.  I will do this. No, turning back now. You’ve got this, kiddo. Ooo, a typewriter, that’s what I need!