Fragment #33 - Life is a trap

I feel trapped. Sometimes I can’t help this feeling, and I just feel like I’m falling down a black deep hole. Except this time there is no Wonderland at the end of it. No novelty. I’m just trapped in my life, trapped in the choices I’ve made. Again, I just want to run away, to start over, and over again, except that I know I don’t have the strength to do such a thing. No one can. I would like my life to be a novel to be written, with a nice scenario and everything. I’m still a little girl who won’t understand what real life is made of…

I want to take some holidays, a kind of road trip. I could talk someone into in. In Other People’s Life, the one meant to come in holidays with me would be the boyfriend. Would Mike plan anything with me, except a night, an afternoon of sex? After five months of sort of relationship, the fact that I don’t have an answer to this is just painfull. Let’s try this anyway…

hey I’m thinking about some holidays in july, maybe go to paris, or London, dunno. What would you think?
Mike. Send.

I look through my bedroom’s window, light up a cigarette. Claire will hate that, but I don’t care of anything when I’m in this kind of mood. This is when I realize how bad it is: I won’t care to mess up even with the positive things in my life. I just hate everything, hate myself: I want someone else’s life.

I breathe in the cigarette smoke. It calms me down, the gesture, the smell, the nicotine filling up my lungs and blood I guess. Outside, the day isn’t over yet. Spring is actually a very pleasant season, peaceful and sweet in Scotland. I can see some boys of the neighborhood, playing with a ball. This girl, maybe 16, passes them by. She is quite characteristic of the “Glasgow no style”. Some girls are very stylish, and I love the fact you can wear anything without driving disapproval looks on you. Though sometimes disapproval can help… This girl, wearing a bright yellow tank top, a jeans mini skirt, black leggings, yellow flat shoes... She really should think yellow don’t go well with her blond hair, so straightened the hair look thinner than a sheet of paper. She should think too that black make up isn’t the best option, it just look like she went into a fight and got a black eye. Oh gosh, she would need some advice about style.

Criticizing is good. It helps forgetting how miserable I feel about myself. I’m thinking mocha latte now. Let’s see what chemical stuff I have in the kitchen. And let’s get the cigarette over there, it’s not raining yet, I’ll open the windows, she won’t notice.

I open the cupboard, get a sachet of powder, boil the kettle. My cigarette is finished by the time I get my hot mug. I’m on my way back to my bedroom, and ends up face-to-face with Sarah. I didn’t hear her coming back home. She frowns, and then can’t stop from asking me about the cigarette in the flat. I’m not blaming her for this, it became kind of her place too. It’s actually getting better and better, the three of us go on really well, and Sarah told us she will be staying as a French assistant next year. We may need to find a bigger flat for the three of us. This is actually exciting. She looks at me, wondering why I’m looking at her this way. We haven’t been around each other a lot the last years, she doesn’t really know about my daydreaming bad habit. I would like to tell that her being here is actually comforting me. But I can’t break the shell bad mood puts myself into. Maybe she felt it and now she is asking for a cigarette. Yep, let’s share a cigarette sis’…

We come into my bedroom, which became ours. I take two cigarettes, hand it one to her. We light them up, I sit back on my desk chair, she sits on my bed. I have a look at my mobile phone which is still on the table. No answer. Here is starting the long girly wait for the male answer… I’m hating this. I’m thinking, he is not working yet, he can’t be asleep, he should just be answering. Asshole. Sarah sees I’m waiting for something. I tell her. We start talking about men. And life doesn’t feel as crappy as before…