Have you ever experience that skin-itching moment when you look at any scenery that is so peaceful, so unmoving, yet so unbearable? As if it does not belong to you, but to everything but you. It's almost as if it is screaming right back at you, "You don't belong here", "You don't deserve this", "You disgust all of us".
Tranquil Scenery by <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/lorddoomhammer">LordDoomhammer</a> on DeviantArt.
Tranquil Scenery by LordDoomhammer on DeviantArt.
Discontented as I was, I ran up to my laptop and sprayed the lense cleaner liquid on top of its back. I had no other cleaning liquid for such machinery, thus the glasses cleaning liquid was put to use. I then used the microfibre cloth, which was also for glasses, to clean any dust loitering on my laptop, outside and in. As I was pushing the start button, the machine started to wake itself up, but I could care less. I immediately turned the screen black again, just so I can see which unfortunate dust particles I have left behind on my minimal cleaning expedition. Having been pleased with the outcome of my almost spotless laptop (because I cannot get to the dust particles which are in between the forward slits on my stupidly designed laptop), I turned the screen on again and immediately rushed to a blogging site to jot all of this down.
Just 5 minutes ago, I was submerging myself against the wooden barricade which separated me from my window glasses, visually drawn to whatever's outside my small, tall-ceiling, livingroom-adjoining bedroom. As I was looking outside, pain rushed in right into my cerebral cortex, and maybe one or two droplets of tears shedded from my visual orbs. It was pure disgust. Having been robbed of peace, calmness, and tranquility all my life, reading a book and having tea on clean floors, accompanied by breezy autumn winds was a bit too much for me. It was all a bit too unbearable.
I might die soon, or rather, relinquish my rights to establish an existence on earth any time now. This is all too much for me to bear. Knowing that I could have lived a life that was this... fine, yet didn't, for some uncontrollable reasons. After all, what ever can a child do to support itself and grants itself the life it wanted? Nothing, but to give up its childhood and turn into a working machine, an adult, some may say.
I am now, that aforementioned working machine, but I am also living the dream little me would have wanted to live. But something does not add up. After all, I am not living my dream. I am living little me's dream. She wanted things, and she couldn't get them. I don't want things, and I can get anything. At this point, I can just burst out laughing because of the irony of this dilemma in which I am the sufferer. As it turns out, I have been trying so hard to live the life that someone else wanted and not the life I wanted.
Sadly, I don't want to live any life.