Craptasterpiece Theatre~

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago out of sheer boredom. But now that I think of it, it's really good that I keep this blog, and record important events in my life in detail; someday I'll be able to write a decent (and maybe more interesting than self-flattering) memoir and actually be able to recall things that are worth reading.

The two dark circles of sweat that were quickly evaporating from the red, crackling surface of the creaking wheelbarrow stared up at me as I paused to massage my tired back with the hard, wooden handle of my shovel. They were like little eggs, the droplets; sizzling on the nearly superheated red paint that was constantly beat upon and bleached by the relentless sun directly above me. The sweat was everything. And the blood. Both covered me in a kind of protective layer and it was as if I was breathing more sweat than air, like a frog, ventilating the salt through my skin. The soreness penetrated even the muscles in my face. I was tired of squinting and my eyebrows ached.

I loved it.

To complain of cuts and bruises would have been to reverse the polarity of my very nature. The hard work, moving the bricks and dirt, made me feel good, made me feel like I was accomplishing something even though I would spend the fifty dollars' pay in an instant on tuition and overpriced coffee. Which was perfect, because I needed nothing else to exist. My life consisted of this never-ending cycle of finding low-skill manual labor: mowing lawns, moving heavy objects, things that "well-rounded young boys" were supposed to do all the time fifty years ago. It seemed to me as though the universal work ethic had dissolved, but perhaps that's just because I lived in a nice neighborhood.

When I wasn't working I would be out with my introverted friends; companions that had taken years to grow friendly with. We would gaze out a rainy cafe window on a Friday night at a picturesque Kroger parking lot, sipping our poor-quality coffee that we didn't really give a damn about anyway. We wished for nothing more, and nothing less. The Guys and I continually basked in the glory of having our own money to spend on completely useless items. On a specific incident we purchased a chocolate cake in a grocery store and consumed the entire thing on a few napkins at midnight on the justification that no one could stop us. Our lives were beautifully full of the independence we sought after, yet lacking its worries perfectly.