Happy Sunday Steemians! So, on Thursday's PYPT, I was excited to hear about The Writers' Block fantastic First Chapter Challenge. I've bitten the bullet and decided to post my entry today. I hope you enjoy it!
DAY 1
Dear Reader . . . Journal . . . Diary . . . whatever . . .
I feel like such an idiot writing this. Supposedly it’s going to help. As if! I’m a twenty-seven year old professional, not an angst-ridden teenaged kid. Okay, so maybe I’m a twenty-seven year old who acts like an angst-ridden teenaged kid, but still . . .
Let’s try this again. Dear reader, prepare yourself to be bored to death. I’m just not that interesting.
Truth is, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like myself. Hmm, that makes it sound like I’ve been a bit off-colour for a few weeks, struggling with the usual shit life likes to fling around from time to time. Well, this particular shit has been airborne for almost ten years.
***
I thought this writing bollocks was meant to help, not make things feel worse. I can’t believe they’re making me do this. Okay Cara, don’t complain. Keep writing.
***
The fact is, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not ill. My family and friends aren’t ill. We’re all fairly well balanced . . . ish. You know what I mean. There are no great dark chasms of despair lurking. I have a job. I can afford to waste money on completely random crap on Ebay from time to time. I have friends. I’m not lonely.
And yet, I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I like, what my dreams are. In fact I have no dreams. No ambitions. No real hobbies or drive. And there’s something even worse. I don’t particularly care. Actually, that doesn’t cover it. The word ‘care’ makes it sound like I’ve spent time thinking about things. Worrying about things. I haven’t. ‘I don’t mind’ is actually nearer the mark. An insipid lack of care. A feeling of Blah.
According to the professionals this is a major issue. Frankly, I just don’t get what’s so wrong about it. Sure, I don’t have those mad urges and strong desires that some people have. It doesn’t bother me though.
Take Jess for example - she’s so full of hopes, dreams, fears, and worries that a conversation with her is a bit like trying to ski over the Hebrides. With me, someone has knocked the top off the peaks and used them to fill in the valleys. I’m smooth and safe. It’s the way I like it. And that’s what I’ve been trying to explain to Jess for ages.
***
“Safe? Bullshit. Your life is stultifying.”
“I prefer a safe and easy ride compared to the never-ending emotional rollercoaster you’re on!”
“Easy ride? You’re not getting any kind of ride right now, easy or not - that’s the issue! And this easy, safe thing that you keep going on about is the whole reason for that.”
“What, so you think that guys prefer an emotional fuckwit like you?”
“In a word, yes. And stop being such a bitch, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Thanks for the advice.” I roll my eyes at my friend.
Yes, Jess is my friend, though you’d never believe it based on this conversation. In fact, she’s my oldest friend, which is why I have no worries about being rude to her. She’s not going anywhere. Her being my oldest, most trusted friend is also the reason I’ve decided to tell her about my – erm – dry spell.
“Look,” Jess continues, stealing a handful of M&Ms from my bowl, having decimated her own stash ten minutes ago, “blokes like women who have something to say for themselves. Women who have dreams they can share in and demands they can help to fill. If you’re too easy-going, there’s no hunt in it. No way they can demonstrate their manly prowess, their hunter gatherer skills.”
“So you’re saying men prefer drama-queens to someone laid-back?”
“Laid-back is fine. Cara, I say this with love but you’re not laid-back. You’re dull. You have nothing to share, nothing to offer because you don’t know what you want.”
“Yeah . . . but . . . not in a needy, mixed up way.”
“No, you’re even worse than that! At least needy and mixed up means that you know there’s something out of place. You’ve become a complete nothing.”
Jess stops talking and just watches my face. I say nothing. I don’t really know what to say. I’m waiting for what’s next. I know it won’t be an apology. That’s not her style.
She sighs. “Okay, Cara. You’ve just proved me right. Anyone else would have slapped me, thrown M&Ms at me, cried, screamed . . . anything but stare at me without saying a word!”
“What do you want me to say?” I ask. I’m not angry. Or shocked. I’m just me. Easy-going. Dull. Apparently.
Jess heaves herself off of the sofa and stretches. “I’m off.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Off where? I thought we were going to watch a film. I thought you were going to give me some advice. I need you.”
“No you don’t. What you need you need is a life.” She pauses and scratches her nose, a sure sign that she’s upset. “Get a life Cara, before you turn around and you realise that you’ve completely wasted your chance.” She gathers up her bag and her jacket. “I’m here for you when you get yourself out of this rut. Until then, don’t bother calling.” She walks out, closing the door softly behind her.
And, dear reader, believe it or not, I still felt nothing. Absolutely nada. Zilch. I just sat there staring at the back of the door for a full ten minutes. I’d like to report that I was in anguish, that my heart was breaking, that I was holding back the tears and desperately trying not to scream mad obscenities.
I wasn’t. I just sat gazing blankly at the array of coats and scarves hanging from their pegs. I only moved when I realised that I needed to pee.
***
I might not have reacted immediately, but that was the conversation that led to it all unraveling. To me unraveling. To having to keep this stupid, idiotic journal in the first place. That was the night I dreamt of the waves for the first time. And it just bloody keeps on coming back, night after night.
I’m standing on a hill above the shoreline, three children and their parents strolling on the beach below. I see a giant wave climbing to a peak and I know that it is going to come crashing down. I know that I’m going to have to turn and run and save myself. And yet I just stand there, enjoying the sense of peace and absolute stillness before it breaks. I should scream, shout out, give them some warning and a chance to escape. But I don’t.
It crashes around us. I turn and struggle to climb higher, the sound of the roaring surf in my ears, and a deep sense of loss and sorrow settling on my heart. Then I wake up. My face is wet with tears again.
I hope you enjoyed it!
Catch you all tomorrow,
Eveningart x
