Nothing speaks.
My mother calls me for dinner. She says I look thin. She says I should eat fruits and broccoli.
I have told her, over and over, that I hate broccoli. Broccoli is too green, too hard. It’s tasteless and the smell of it makes me sick. I hate it.
Nothing speaks.
My sister says why don’t you get a job. I tell her I don’t like anything. The mall depresses me. Retail is sickening because I can’t pretend to care for what people want to buy. I can’t pretend I like a dress that looks ugly and shouldn’t be sold to anyone.
Nothing speaks.
My father reads the online news because technology has changed. He falls asleep often, his head resting on the keyboard. I call and say dad, why don’t you sleep on the couch. He goes back to reading. If he calls me it’s because I forgot to turn the lights off in my room. Don’t you know how much we pay for electricity now?
Nothing speaks.
My room gets more disorganized every week. I try to go through old papers and throw them out. Then I realize I need them. I just don’t know where to place them anymore. I am still getting used to this new room.
The old room spoke. My walls were happier. They were softer, whiter.
People spoke.
Now,
Everyone gathers in the kitchen downstairs with a laptop in front of his face.
Nothing speaks.
I don’t even speak. It’s like my lungs are tired of taking a breath for words and my body is building up muscle because I work out so much and I am too tired to think.
272 words. I am speaking two hundred and seventy words but I am not saying anything. I am not trying. I am taking the easy way out. I am not writing. This isn’t writing.
Nothing speaks.
Nothing speaks DAMN it.
I miss inspiring people. I have lost the ability to inspire. And I find that sad. Slap me. Tell me to stop nagging and start finding something real. You know what my horoscope said today, it said I should stop dreaming and start working towards a real goal. I laughed and said screw you.
I’m wondering if I am dreaming again.
Nothing speaks.
I take a hot shower. My showers take an hour sometimes because this house is so fucking cold that the blood stops circulating in my ears. I take a long, burning hot shower and cry because I can’t think of a reason why I feel so damn tired.
I just broke my nail that had grown so nicely. And now I feel like cutting all of them, making them as ugly as I can.
I wonder how people see me. I’ll tell you what I think. I think they think I’m pretty, but mean and insecure. I wonder if that’s how they see me.
I wonder what it would be like to be a real writer.