It’s 00:24. He’s well aware that he should be in bed. That seems like such a waste of time. After all, he could be writing a novel, his next best app, a new and brilliant way of increasing engagement on the learning platform he’s come to call his craft.
Sleep? No, not for him.
Speaking of craft, this one time (that happens several times, actually) negative creeping thoughts invade his head and suffocate the creativity that lies within. It’s those times he has no option other than to overcome their arresting malice by reading widely, making swim-lane diagrams that even Gates himself would be envious of (in fact, he should send some to him).
He. Cannot. Stop. Writing. Imagine what would happen if he weren’t writing?! Chaos. More chaos than usual. In fact he don’t need to imagine – the last time he stopped writing he found himself on WhatsApp chatting to an ex and … (well that’s a story for my inside voice).
This afternoon he was enthralled with a documentary about Tesla. Of course Tesla and him would have been the greatest of friends, they seem like they’d have hit it off. Not in a weird way, just friendly like, you know? Much like Tesla’s wonderful ideas he, too, faded by evening, and was soon replaced by the Wikipedia Game. Again.
Then he cried. He cried and cried. Imagine the sheer terror of those folk in Birkenau and Dachau. Imagine the unadulterated lack of compassion of those folk that stood by and watched those atrocities. Imagine South Africa in 1990. Imagine that a young three year old at the time had no concept of the massacre that had come just a few years before, months even and, that in the years to follow, he’d never be able to make right, try as hard as he might, he’d carry a cross he’d never be able to bear and one that no one would believe he’d would carry without having some kind of an agenda.
Suddenly he cannot cry another tear. Call it dehydration if you must. He feels he should be in tears but his heart is just heavy, his throat just hoarse. He spilled Oros on the counter. He was inconsolable.
Take. Your. Fucking. Medication.
And if you don’t, you should be angry at yourself for being a dumb fuck. Take it. It fucken works. Except if it’s after 11PM, in which case leave it ’cause you won’t hear your alarm in the morning. In fact, you wouldn’t hear Jesus moving a rock from in front of a tomb.
Generally, he likes people. He likes people a whole lot. Except when he can’t like anyone, anyone at all. As individuals, he loves each of them, collectively he can’t fathom anyone together though. It’s not that on their own people are crap, it’s more that he lacks the ability for compassion, to care, and even if he did he wouldn’t be able to care enough to truly add value to the life and times of another beautiful person that deserves the best.
Medication? Take it.
UPDATE: He checked himself into the clinic after writing this.
