Chapter 7:

"Green Clouds"

Your Daily Trip in the Life of a Young Man Who Has Nothing to Offer


2015, oh what possibilities a new year brings..., who ever knows if a year will become terrible or become terrific. I really quite enjoy the ambiguity of the prefix, 'terr-' since it serves as a good metaphor for the ambiguity of the new year to come. 

Though I do admit I'm quite concerned about how the new year will play out. It might possibly become just as terrible as the previous years of my life and nothing will ever change besides my physical aging. 

My winter break was especially lackluster, Christmas was only interesting because of Franco, yet I just passed the time in my apartment watching television or doing chores. The real excitement of my life, as much as I hate to admit it, stems from public education--at least the social aspect of it--. I enjoy interacting with some people I know, however the boring classrooms and the weird emotions are quite repelling. The organized lifestyle of school is a shadow of what adulthood might become, but it still is missing a key detail...that is choice.

I awake from my comfortable slumber to another day of...nothing. I don't brush my teeth, and neither do I rise from my bed. I will stick here until noontime which is typical for me on a day-off of school. Days like this fucking drag, the most excitement comes from turning on the TV, which even that eventually demotes itself to ambience. Maybe I can watch some random shit on YouTube, but even then it's quite monotonous and does nothing to cure the disease of boredom. My life is just a reflection of bored experiences at this rate.

I just lay in this damp room, surrounded in a dark apartment alone with only a handful of meaningful activities to conduct. Most of my time is usually spent deep in thought and self-reflection. As healthy as that may seem, on the surface, it's not very fun on days where I want to feel something. There is no adventure, where is the adventure anymore? I've always wanted to be part of a grand story, a drama or action where I can be an extended version of myself.

 No, I'm stuck here.

Now, I simply could leave this apartment. If I truly seek adventure, what is stopping me from packing my bags and just going? I can try and hang out with friends, however they are probably locking themselves in their rooms to grind on Call of Duty. That's more or less a reflection of our generation, it's something you get used to. I do have a gaming console, though I don't use it too much. It's an Xbox 360, a wonderful piece of machinery I may add, but still it doesn't satisfy my want for adventure. 

My generation is glued to our seats and screen, just as I am. The monotonous daily life of a teenage boy in the 2010's. I may infer this trend to be a impactful reason as to why not much is taken to change our world. I believe it takes a strong mind to have an impact, yet a strong mind is difficult to come by. I always wanted to be the person who can change the world, the person who can save the world, but dreamers dream until they die. I will just die one day anyway.

It barely hit me that I was still in bed when it was about to be one o'clock in the afternoon. I can truly be lost in thought for very long periods of time, especially when I'm left alone. I should probably eat breakfast...actually, of course I should eat breakfast. 

I force myself to rise from my comfortable bed, it's cold outside right now, if it wasn't then it wouldn't be so cold inside of this apartment. However, the cold is the least of my concerns, I still sleep with just boxers on and two blankets, and I rise from my bed to only put on a white t-shirt and my favorite pair of black basketball shorts. The cold crisp and still air of the apartment does strike my bare but somewhat hair filled legs. The cold also caused me to rush to place my shirt onto my body, but besides that the cold has no impact on me. Why should I care about the cold?

I finish getting dressed up for the day, yes this outfit is going to bear with me all day, and I exit my room into the shallow hallway that points towards three key directions; my mother's room, the bathroom, and the kitchen/living room. I pave my path toward the kitchen, the wood flooring feels as col as stone against my bare feet, yet my habit of being barefoot has given my feet temperature resistance. 

This hallway feels a mile long, the grogginess must be affecting me. I finally complete my path to the kitchen and enter the very tiny space in order to prepare my usual breakfast. I head to the pantry where I open the door to discover my favorite assortment of breakfast cereals. I only eat two cereals, that is Honey Nut Cheerios and Frosted Mini Wheats, there is just something about those two. The companies behind those cereals know what the fuck they are doing.

I dance to my morning ritual--not literally--I commit to precomposed motions that carry out into my actions as a way to efficiently prepare myself for the day. Though, my actions are a form of self-entertainment and expression that boosts my spirit just enough to keep me sane. I grasp the box of Honey Nut Cheerios without a second though and spin my way to the counter. I place down the box and head toward the small fridge where I jerk open the door to scan the contents for that jug of milk. I find my target, I soon pull out the half-jug of milk and place it on the counter. My ingredients are set in front of me. I open the box of cereal, unfold the bag, and pour enough into the bowl I had set here to satisfy my light hunger. I follow that pouring action by pouring the milk into the bowl just enough to satisfy the texture I aim for.

The simplicity of my days are often overlooked, some may question me, 'How could you spend so much time doing nothing?' My answer to those questions are clear, 'What am I supposed to do?' I don't have many special talents or special opportunities in my life. I'm not the most studious individual, I'm not the most competitive individual, and I am not the most athletic individual. I'm not part of any clubs, nor am I part of any sports. The only thing I do is music related, and even then it's minimal compared to most other people out there who enjoy the same things as me.

Jazz band truly is only a small hobby of mine to pass the time and give me something to look forward to compared to opening a textbook to a page with a god awful amount of words that could even send me to my grave. Sure, there's nutrition and lunch to forget about academics and mingle with some peers, however I feel like I need something more than that. Nonetheless, I spend most of my days holding down the fort, this apartment of mine. I hate this fucking place with a burning passion, the apartment, the city, everything has done me wrong. Despite my resentment and strong negative feeling directed toward a specific place, I still have this burning desire to keep this place safe, and I would give my life to keep it alive.

Hatred is a burning desire that is necessary for my function, it is my petroleum, it is my coal, and it is my fucking will. Such a thing like that may sound evil, maybe even psychotic. It may even sound sinister. Hate is viewed in a multitude of partially accurate ways. Hate is an irrational emotion--so they say--and to fully understand the extent of hatred's power, you must understand why you can use it. Hatred is my motivation to live, it's simple as that for me. I can't live on this world if I don't hate something. Everyday is a constant reminder of things I hate, from minute materials to literal global conflicts. Yet here I am, kicking with fire in my soul.

I sit on the couch and turn on the TV, luckily the remote was resting on the couch cushion and I did not have to conduct an F.B.I. level search to find it. The television is an essential part of my entertainment as a good show never fails to keep my company. Though I admit that most shows are completely worthless. I live for the emotional thrill off drama that I do find, it's a great tool for reflecting on myself as a person. I realize how much I do hate and love myself as a person, however I don't really want to think about all of that just yet. Bringing along my bowl of cereal and beginning to speed eat, I remember the days of a younger me when Luis and I would sit on the couch and watch SpongeBob SquarePants in this very apartment. He would ramble on about what he didn't enjoy from each episode and the younger me would always listen. I would agree or disagree, and we would discuss in depth when we had the time.

My friend Nathan is a similar critic, just for different things. I remember back when Nathan lived in this apartment complex with me, this was back when Call of Duty: Black Ops II came out for Xbox 360. We split our allowance money both ways to buy the game the day it came out and we equally shared the disc of the game. We would spend hours playing the zombies game-mode on split screen together. Nathan would guide me through each of the maps and was an excellent navigator at finding Easter Eggs and strategies to follow in order to have a good and fun game. Nathan was always someone I could skype with and we would be on call for hours and hours, we talked about our unfair lives and shared the same dread about our futures. Those talks meant a lot to us and they were able to bring out our vulnerable sides to each other. I miss those days.

As I sit here watching the television with little expression. I feel bored of whatever adult comedy that was on right now and I change the channel to the local news station. The anchor is doing a noon report about air quality. He states that the skies will be extra smoggy today and that sensitive groups are advised to stay indoors. Thankfully, I'm not sensitive to air quality, yet I'm still stuck here.

Shattered_Hope
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