Them Blues

With each day that draws to a close, humans seen through microscopes are a useless species. If you take a good look, a close look at what we have become, you’ll find it just the same. We invent things that have great value attached to them, almost precious should they become lost one day. It’s sickening when you let your mind dwell on it for too long. For me though, that dwelling has turned from sickening, into soul crushing. Take a ride on the local transit system, and you’ll find an example within the time it takes to reach the next stop. Look at all the lost beings shuffling around aimlessly with their heads shoved into an electronic toy. What do you see if you look just a little bit further below that device? Welcome to them blues…

Each morning, I wake. I shower, grab a set of clothes, my wallet, cell, and headphones. I make sure my door is locked before leaving. I walk to the bus stop just down the road while listening to music, and I wait a few minutes for the bus to show. It’s twenty minutes into the city on a good day, thirty with more passengers getting on. I get to my stop, cross the main road, and wait once more for the next bus to take me to the next city over for work. This ones usually filled with local community college students. I’m the first stop after we cross the river with a nice scenic view into the city. Work is only a block over, good for the exercise I guess. I clock in at 7:15 each morning to begin my day. It can be long, sometimes mentally draining, but overall, I enjoy what I do each day. I punch out at 4:45 each evening, walking back to the bus stop one block over, and wait for the bus to take me back across the river. I get off at the covered waiting area, and for the next ten to twenty minutes, I let my mind go blank while I wait for the bus that’ll take me back out of the city. I get back to my apartment each night around 6:00, letting the next two or three hours slip by until I pass out. I rarely sleep well, if ever anymore. Before I know it, my routine starts once again as my alarm goes off.

My office space is filled with tables surrounding my chair. It’s neat, organized. Things have been placed such that I can easily find them without much thought to distract me from my work. The same can be said for my apartment, empty feeling. Just like my office, everything can be packed away into a car, ready to be moved in a single trip. You’ll find no photos of family or friends at my desk. None to even be tucked away should a client need to meet with me. My apartment is almost as bare on the walls, save for a single framed poem, with a photo of my daughter tucked inside. For an outsider standing in my shoes, seeing things through my eyes as I make my way through a day, you’d think I’d have completely shut down from the world around me. In many ways, you’d be accurate in that account.

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