Relationships are a fickle thing, and up until this summer I had been lucky enough to never really experience that earth shattering moment where your entire universe stops and your future laughs at you. As much as you may wish, you definitely can’t even distract yourself with movies n snacks nor long text message chats. And so, I dragged my pillows and blankets outside to my ground level overhanging patio and stared up at the sky until it was gritty and grey, letting the array of clouds fill my fallen soul.
Just a tiny ally separates my building from the building across, and after a while I could sense that my neighbours were wondering if I was dead. At first I was feeling kind of angsty with the lack of privacy but then I decided to wave hello to let them know that, no I wasn’t dead – just suffering from heart break and, yes you could leave me to whither now – which they eventually did because you know six hours is about five hours and fifty minutes longer than the average attention span nowadays doncha know.
Once the fog cleared, I was able to understand that this had been the perfect storm. Eight weeks earlier, my work shifts switched to early mornings, while his remained the very late nights that often had him crawling into bed just one hour before my alarm went off. I was entirely focused on just getting through the long and exhausting days at work, saving every loonie I made, all in order to meet that savings goal, pay for school and get those ritzy sunglasses. I had been doing this school and save routine for so long that nothing felt out of the ordinary until of course it was all ordinary with no excitement no passion and no love. Our schedules meant that we could go three days at a time not seeing each other – just bypassing each other in unconscious states. Let’s call it a sleep relay – the worlds most depressing sport where you take turns sleeping alone in your queen sized bed.
I’m fairly certain many people share this reality, and I can say with gusto that we are all doomed. A soul can only take so much, especially a lost soul. Here you are signing a seventy-year lease with another soul – to cohabit through thick and thin and the only way to break that lease is to literally sell off a piece to the shady guy on Terminal – but not before you douse it in butane and flick a match at its sorry little face.
Art credit: http://www.virginiamori.com