Book Creative Writing

Book Excerpt: A Week in the Life – Chapter 7

Photo Credit: 'Nino" Eugene La Pia

Photo Credit: ‘Nino” Eugene La Pia

SEVEN

What the hell was that? This day is like 50 percent typical, 50 percent weird as all hell. Or maybe that means it’s 100 percent typical.

Actually, when we started this day together, there’s something I failed to mention: I don’t know what I’m doing.

At all.

I’m certainly doing things, but I’m not entirely sure why I’m doing them. I have no clue if I’m even doing them right. I usually reserve these thoughts for random, insomnia-fueled nights, but Jun seems to have brought them to the forefront of my slightly drunken mind. Maybe I’ll happen to have insomnia later too. Can’t hurt, right?

No, wait, people can die without sleep.

I stand corrected.

The night air is warm and still. Makes for a pleasant walk, I suppose. I’ll just hoof it back home. Cabs are overrated anyway.

Want to hear something else random about me? I used to dream about dedicating my life to charity work.

Look at me being altruistic!

Instead I got an office job. A mind-numbing one at that. Whoop-dee-doo.

And, oh yeah, I’m middle management.

Who dreams of being a director in a company? Sociopaths, I imagine. Or perhaps people who have been fooled into believing it’s a lofty goal. And for some, it may actually be a dream job, but that’s not the case for me. But I can’t disappoint my parents or Diane or even that old goat, Mr. Pringle. I have to play my role, right?

Right?

Someone please tell me I’m right so I can stop thinking about this.

Life shouldn’t require so much thought. Where’s a squirrel to take my focus away when I need one? Hell, I wonder if my dog has these internal struggles about life and his place in it. Imagine that. Knowing the world in which we live, I wouldn’t be shocked if I saw commercials for doggie depression pills.

Make it all go away with federally approved drugs, dog.

Damn it, I feel like I could use another drink. I hate thinking this much. Luckily, Jun gave me that bottle of soju for the road.

Good old Jin.

Good old, soju slinging, slightly creepy Jin.

Okay, I recognize this area; I should be about 20 minutes away from my apartment. And then I can finally end this anomaly of a day.

I wonder if people think about me at all – people other than friends and family. I just walked past three people chatting about whatever nonsense they deem conversation-worthy. One of them definitely made eye contact with me for the briefest of moments, but let’s be honest: I don’t exist to her. She’ll never remember me.

O woe is me.

I don’t mean that in a depressing way. I guess it’s just another way of saying I’m not as important as I think I am. Maybe none of this is. What does it even mean to be important? Why am I thinking about this instead of drinking?

Alcohol, you need to start doing a much better job of dulling this introspectiveness.

I would actually like nothing more than to be totally numb to these thoughts and ideas. It’d be awesome to move through this world and be oblivious to these nonsense thoughts. The problem is this stupid brain of mine just doesn’t want to shut up. Kind of like right now.

Exactly like right now.

Another deep thought, another swig of soju.

I immediately react to that familiar ding of someone sending me a new text message. Pavlov’s dog would be proud.

Yo John! You still out and about??? Feel like grabbin a drink?

It’s my buddy, Isaiah. How could I possibly turn him or another drink down? I need both after a day like this.

A Week in the Life
Chapters 1 and 2
Chapter 3
Chapters 4 and 5
Chapter 6

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