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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Top Floor Pleasedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: MusingMinstrel
    ASL Info:    26/Male/Chicago
    Elite Ratio:    4.97 - 744/744/128
    Words: 1194
    Class/Type: Prose/Misc
    Total Views: 795
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 6525



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsTop Floor Pleasedots
    -------------------------------------------


    I've never met anyone who enjoys a hangover. Usually it's not so bad when you don't have to get up early and you have time to let it work itself out. These days its especially unpleasant to wake up with a hungover and attempt to go to class because you don't have time for that all important step. The lights appear too bright even in the darkest winter mornings and your head pounds more than it should when you're learning. I tie on my shoes that seem to be filled with more and more lead these days and head to the Language Arts building for my rhetoric/gender studies class where I'm learning better ways to contradict myself as a man while getting more and more confused by the psyche of female writers. But that's not the important thing.

    I climb the three flights of stairs like a mountain climber before Mt. Everest to get to the room. I used to think of the steps like a metaphor for higher education: like you can't get any higher than this and how it is hard work. I arrive at the top breathless and think that it's cause i lack conditioning...then realize it's because i smoke too much and figure i need to quit. Then I think about what'd be harder and consider only taking first floor classes next semester, but blah blah.

    I check my phone for the calls and messages i'm not missing, but play it off so that people think i'm just checking the time. This is only a half truth. I'm early. I'm always early, but that's because i'm waiting for something. I pass a few moments trying out various wall leaning poses and postures trying to think which one looks the coolest and most natural. Once I decide on a particular pose that causes me the most pain but looks the coolest, I look back at the time on my phone. No messages, and barely anytime passed (I need to learn more poses apparantly). There is my one friend I talk to on a regular basis. Her name is not important, but what she represents is. She is representative of every world weary, pissed off twenty something in the world that you've ever met. The type that has to be right all the time and enjoys her abrasiveness and doesn't want to be perked up. This is what I like about her. She reminds me a lot of me when I was younger which is funny since she is actually older than I. One can only hope that she'll grow out of it. After our lengthy circular discussion of why or why not a belief in God is worth having due to how the existance can't be proved and it's stupid (her side) vs how having faith in anything that keeps you waking up in every morning and gets you out of bed is a good thing regardless of if it makes sense or not (my side), I peak into the window of the class and see the other reason I look forward to this time in particular everyday. There is a girl who has the brightest light of hope in her smile.

    Now, it should be said that although she is quite attractive i'm not necessarily attracted to her. This is no fault of hers, but rather mine for some reason or other. But I do like her. I like the soul she has, or that she has a soul and that spark in her eye that other's have extinguished themself. Maybe too she just contrasts so strongly to Miss Negativity next to me who is still arguing her point as if i'm still listening. Either way, the best part of the day is when she comes out of the room and flashes me her ear-to-ear perfect smile and gives me a hug. She may not know it, but for a brief second I can feel her heartbeat through my chest like she's jump starting a broken down 1985 Chevy that has only rust to keep it together. Everything in the world seems right here, on the top floor of the world which is a stone's throw away from heaven...provided you can't throw very far. She will tell me I look sad and say to knock it off and have a good day. She will smile again and I will smile back knowing one day the luckiest guy in the world will see that smile everyday, not only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I kinda hate him already to be honest (some guys have all the luck). Then she will float away with her feet not touching the floor and off to better places...

    I come back to reality then and catch the tale end of Miss Negativity and do some attentive listening nods here and there. My eyes then shift to the service elevator. I see a sign next to it that says "For Handicap Students and Personal Only". It opens and a cook from the cafeteria comes out with a tray of continental breakfast on it. The squeaky wheels roll past me and i'm dying for some more coffee and asprin because three cups just doesn't cut it anymore. The doors close.

    The doors open. Out walks someone who clearly doesn't work at the college. They have no limp to be noticed. The doors close.

    The doors open again. Out walks someone blessed with both legs. The doors close.

    The doors open once more. Out comes a cut, varsity athlete type and jogs down the hallway.

    This makes me wonder because no one says anything about it. What ailment are they suffering from (if any)? They walk right, seem to have all the desired human parts, why are they taking this service elevator and what the hell is the problem. Then it occurs to me while i'm thinking about the person who is in a wheel chair is waiting three floors down, sweating, because they don't want to be late (one more tardy and they get withdrawn). They should be, and are allowed to use this elevevator, because they suffer from the biggest handicap of all, laziness. Symptoms included lack of ambition, obesity, lack communication between friends, poor job performance, bad grades, depression, and worse yet a life that may amount to nothing. My eyes then shift to a loud noise down the hall as a girl with a cast on her arm struggles to pick up her dropped books from the floor.

    I look back at my phone. Ten minutes until my faith is restored. Through the window she winks and me and gives me a half wave. I smile. I look at my cigarette pack and think that I have enough time to burn a quick one...straight down to the filter and all, but then look at the girl with a broken arm who is now hacking and wheezing because she probably has bad asthma too. I look back at my tasty cigarettes, then back at the girl. The girl has not stopped coughing, this is hell.




    Submitted on 2009-03-18 06:30:59     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      That ten minutes is the worse ten minutes of the life. I know it well, though for me it's not a third floor language arts building, it's a walk home from a one day a week movie class, and a glance across the street. Or sometimes even a late night beer run at the gas station I work at.

    You're right, some guys get all the luck.

    Wishing for more
    ~Brian
    | Posted on 2009-03-21 00:00:00 | by Imadjinn | [ Reply to This ]
      I read every word, and I can only say that my interest was held throughout. You write VERY WELL for sure. Keep it going. Ted.
    | Posted on 2009-03-19 00:00:00 | by edcherry | [ Reply to This ]
      a post!
    yay!

    i dont know if ive read any prose from you before
    i like it!

    i like the stones throw if you cannot throw very far line


    i love that i am not the only person who has people in their world that make everything better without knowing it.
    there is this guy around uni who says hello to me everytime he sees me. and its not just a hello because he has to say hello. its one of those genuine hello how are you its good to see you hellos. and when my days are turning out completely crap and he walks by and says hello i have to smile.
    its not attraction or anything like that.
    its just nice that someone is real and gives a damn... you know?

    i like the contrast between the two girls in this piece. there are those who seem to have the same thing to say every day even though the words are different.

    i like the admission that you hate the soulful girls future boyfriend/husband already even though you are not attracted to her... it seems like such a catch 22 in some ways.

    the smoking is interesting.
    who would have thought that a class on the top floor may have been incentive enough to quit smoking but not quite

    it is quite possible that all i have is rust holding me together just now... perhaps i need to find a set of jumper leads and a source of soul

    i really like your piece
    im glad you posted.
    | Posted on 2009-03-18 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]


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