Playing the Fields

life can be expressed through a wonderful play of words

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Creative Dysfunction

Posted by kalaro28 on August 31, 2006

How do you say you are miserable creatively? Am a writer. This should be a snitch. Yet, I can’t seem to categorize anything imaginatively. Let’s take a stab at it.  She squinted as she opened her eyes. She tried closing her eyes again, then opening it again after a few seconds.  

Shit. She survived last night’s drama. One more blink. I should be dead. I should be dead. 

She then hears a snore, so she rolls her eyes and shifts her glance to her side and sees this pretty boy sleeping wearing nothing but the stink of alcohol. She starts to shiver, but realizes she was wearing her still zipped up jeans and tank top.Struggling to get up, she trips over another warm body.

 I remember now.  She hadn’t sleep with the pretty boy, they played strip poker and stupid drunk pretty boy was a first timer. He lost. The other warm body was an acquaintance who saw her drunk along the bar’s alley, and asked her for more rounds at her place. Drunken girl of course obliged.  

She started to pick up the scattered playing cards and empty bottles of… wait… Tequila, Wine, Beer, Gin and… what’s this other one? Well… she picked them all up. She got the broom and started sweeping the cigarette ash and butts that seemed to look like her room’s carpet already.  She went to the bathroom, slashed both her wrists, walked around the room with her blood dripping all over the place.  THE END. 

Hahaha! Kidding. I just can’t seem to write properly these past few days. A writer who can’t write. A lover who can’t be loved. Wow.

Truthfully though, I just couldn’t go on playing the field anymore. It was like the world stopped playing with me and it gave me a hard, cold slap called the truth. I was used to playing invincible, no fears, as if no shit can destroy the great, great me – and now, my kryptonite overtook me. I am shivering and all crumbly inside.Everytime I wake up, I close my eyes again and wish I didn’t survive the night before. But I feel guilty and I kneel down to pray and ask God for forgiveness for wishing to die, and then I thank Him for the wonderful day He has given me. A new day, new opportunities.Deep inside still, a part of me wants to die and stop hoping and looking forward to the next day and the day after that, and the week after next and the month after this. I just want to disappear and cease to feel. Maybe that is different from actually dying, but whatever it is you can call it. I just want to stop feeling all the pain and confusion. Right. About. NOW.

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