Have you ever had a feeling so indescribable, that should you make a chart of all your previous feelings and stick it to your bedroom wall, your current feeling doesn’t seem to fit any space in the chart?
For no reason at all, tonight, I really feel under the weather and out of my element. I backtrack through the past few hours in a vain effort of trying to determine what could have brought upon me this feeling of hollowness.
It could be the thunderstorm. The erratic weather. The downpour, uncertain and fickle-minded. One moment, as harsh as a storm, the next, as gentle as a trickling stream, and then completely gone without warning. Only to lash out again when you least expect it. Maybe its the blinding lightning flashes and the deafening cracks of thunder that go with the rain. I was never a rain-person. This kind of weather leaves me harboring a certain sense of defeat.
It could be the mix of the new cigarette and the new coffee blend I tried. Turns out you can be as adventurous as you want/can on a Friday night, just not with your caffeine and nicotine fixes. Taking drags of an unfamiliar brand of lights, ordering a 20-oz. cup of coffee, with four shots of espresso, “On the rocks, sir?” “On the rocks. And add these three packets of sugar. That sure looks bitter.” During certain moments tonight, there’s a slowly burning stick of paper and herbs in one hand, a cup of dark-colored liquid in another. A puff, then a sip. Both were smooth and easy. But together, their effect in my system, well I can only speculate.
Or it could be the lack of our correspondence today. When was the last time we waited for six hours before replying to each other? I can’t even remember. For some time, I’d forget about my hanging message to you, knowing that you’ll reply in 30 minutes. Two hours, tops. But today, we both stalled and paused, making me ask myself, have we spread ourselves too thin, too fast? I would admit, at times it felt like we were talking about the same old stuff, your same old oculars during Thursdays, my same old night-outs on Fridays. But that gave us comfort that it’s still the same old you on any given day of the week. And it’s the same old me at any given time of the day.
Maybe it’s the endless cycle I go through. The seeking and finding. The waiting and getting. The wanting and having. The keeping and losing. Maybe it’s this, which then makes me sick of the same old me at any given minute of any given hour, and the same old you on your every text, or the same old people around me at any given moment.
I don’t think looking for the root of this disorienting feeling is healthy, either. It’s just that this feeling is highly unfamiliar. It is beyond the spectrum of my (imaginary) feelings-chart on my bedroom wall. This is not, and this has never been, how I normally feel during Friday nights.
Or maybe, just maybe, this is not just any given Friday night.