I kept staring at the elevator doors thinking about the beginning that never was. Old elevators are like prime numbers. You can never figure out where they will stop or begin, when they will open or close or stay open despite pressing against the buttons with a force to fuse your finger into the cold steel. Elevators hate people. And have an utter disdain for time. Every second less spent in an elevator is a second less out of the chaos of the universe. I hate people too. But I wouldn’t wish for my worst enemy into spending time in an elevator unless he was the guy who invented the damn thing.
As I came out of the elevator into the world of the living, I thought about why I had to walk into the same office every day. Lazy Money — the bane of my adult life that chained me to a mundane routine. The pale gray decor and the rectangular cubicles littered with mementos that screamed out for individuality greeted me with listless humor — as if privy to some cosmic joke.
I didn’t feel like laughing as I walked to my cubicle. I didn’t feel like laughing as I watched the cold minutes pass by. I didn’t feel like laughing listening to the endless banter that wraps around the soft folds of congenial banality. I wasn’t interested in listening to the facetious opinions and arcane ideas that people promulgate to mask their insecurities and fears. Pick any person anywhere on earth at any point of time and the chances are that they are boring. We spend almost all our waking moments as boring people. That’s what we are. It’s convenient for everyone to pretend they aren’t. They struggle and fight and expend energy in the hope that other people won’t realize it. It’s an expenditure of failure that feeds itself with social acceptability.
People generally assume that when a grievous calamity occurs; that the people affected by it snap. Like they are normal one moment and then they transform into something crazy. Like their brains are wired correctly one moment and then an electrical surge short circuits their brain and body. I’ve never been normal. Never tried to be. All my life I’ve been fighting the instinct and intuition that I never really understood. It scared me to let myself be whatever it is that I was innately. And the only thread keeping it all together was fear of losing something that was valuable to others. As long as I was fighting it- my family, my friends — my value for others was something that they were proud of, happy about, content with. It seemed like every day was a baptism through fear and suppression; my brain snapping every other moment like a never ending war-feud with myself. Forces around me annealing the anxieties and sharpening it to the edge of a blade. A blade that destroyed and resurrected itself with every passing day.
Today the blade fell. What should have been a truly horrendous and tumultuous moment was shredded into tiny bits of happenstance.