Photograph by J. Tyler Blue
Five after Six
Winter, 2006
J. Tyler Blue
I am waiting and nothing interests me. I have in me the knowledge that this does not matter, that me thinking about this, or thinking about not thinking about this will not make her call me or not call me. What I do or don't do, think or not think, believe or not believe, hope or not hope will have no impact on the actions carried out by others who can not see me, hear me, or even in the slightest have any idea of what I am doing (or not doing).
I am waiting and nothing interests me.
Which to say that I am interested in a great many things but none of those things are at hand at present. At present I am at work, at a desk, in a 'cubicle' surrounded by things which do not interest me and a few things that do. My phone. Ii pick it up. I put it down. I change settings. I put it back down. I move it from my left to my right, I spin it on my desk and still it does not ring. I check my email. I read old emails. I click on "Inbox" and no new messages arrive. I click again and still no new messages. I sigh and think bitterly about the noise people are making a few cubes down. Laughing! At a time like this! They are completely devoid of thought and manners. They have no concept of the level of my boredom and their laughing only serves to prove how bored and alone I am.
It wasn't really bitter. Well, maybe slightly. I take pictures with my new camera. So what? Who am I to show them too? I delete the pictures, they were not interesting anyway. My shoe. My desk. My face. My hand. My keyboard. My hand on my keyboard. Me giving the camera the finger. Me mouthing "fuck you" to the camera. Me looking at my phone. Me looking at my email. Me looking at nothing. These pictures amuse me for only a few moments. I notice the imperfections of my skin, my nose, my chin, my finger. I delete the evidence. My finger returns to perfection. My phone still remains silent despite this return to perfection.
I announce to myself that I no longer care about my phone or my email yet I refuse to move from my desk. People are leaving. Less than six people remain here in the land of dilbert and I am one of those people. Why? I am here because I want to prove I do not care about my phone or my email. I have things to do. Work things. Things like installing this software over here or checking those configs over there or modifying this file. Important things. Interesting things. Oh yes, very interesting. So fucking interesting I have decided to leave them for tomorrow so I will have important and interesting things to do tomorrow. I know too well the sting of boredom.
I am no longer waiting. it makes nothing happen faster and more often. I am tired of nothing. instead I will embrace the future. Silently and without effort. To the uninitiated this will appear like waiting. I am still spinning my phone but I make no note of it not ringing. I make only the note of how I do not make note of it not ringing. In this way I embrace the future and remove myself from waiting.
What does it matter? I have left over Chinese food at home. I can go to the gym. I can pretend to be happy and well adjusted. I can pretend she likes me. I can pretend I am a good friend and that many people will want to call me but their have lost their phones or their computers were smashed in by a raving lunatic for a roommate. It could happen. I don't know. I have things to do. I can't pretend any longer, it makes me tired.
So what if she calls? Will I see her? Hold her hand? Tell her she looks good? Give an easy smile on this cold Baltimore night? Take pictures and laugh with her? Make witty comments? No one cares.
I am a victim of my own raging mind. Where nothing lives I create lives filled with beauty and coffee (because beauty and coffee must go together always) and whispers and trips to art museums and concerts and love notes left in packed lunches. And where there is something I ignore it, pretend that it is nothing, nothing close to me, nothing that knows me, nothing that can touch me. Because?
Because I am crazy. Because despite the pain of waiting with hope and excitement when nothing happens, I'd rather do this than wait with the agony, the overwhelming agony and crushingly desperate gasping of rage, and horror of waiting for an expectant phone call from a lover who no longer loves, a friend who no longer shares.
Maybe this time will be different.
I spin the phone. Spin the phone. Spin the phone. The phone. The phone. Phone. Phone. Fucking phone. Spin the fucking phone. Take a picture of the fucking spinning phone. Hoo Ray! Eh. I am bored. I am waiting and nothing interests me.
Nothing.
Nothing is different. I am still spinning.
J. Tyler Blue is an editor at Write This and the author of The Baltimore Years. He has new work forthcoming in Juked. His previous publications include Five After Six at Dicey Brown, The Space Between at Identity Theory, Sewing Machine at Dicey Brown, My Valentines at Write This, Nothing at Write This, Charles Street Romance at 3 AM Magazine, Notes on Stillness at Write This, Fucking Alice at Write This, and Morning at Dicey Brown. J. Tyler Blue has a passion for cooking and coffee. He is a lost romantic seeking the right woman to find her way to Baltimore. The question is, will he recognize her, and take her into his arms, when she finally arrives.
J. Tyler Blue
I am waiting and nothing interests me. I have in me the knowledge that this does not matter, that me thinking about this, or thinking about not thinking about this will not make her call me or not call me. What I do or don't do, think or not think, believe or not believe, hope or not hope will have no impact on the actions carried out by others who can not see me, hear me, or even in the slightest have any idea of what I am doing (or not doing).
I am waiting and nothing interests me.
Which to say that I am interested in a great many things but none of those things are at hand at present. At present I am at work, at a desk, in a 'cubicle' surrounded by things which do not interest me and a few things that do. My phone. Ii pick it up. I put it down. I change settings. I put it back down. I move it from my left to my right, I spin it on my desk and still it does not ring. I check my email. I read old emails. I click on "Inbox" and no new messages arrive. I click again and still no new messages. I sigh and think bitterly about the noise people are making a few cubes down. Laughing! At a time like this! They are completely devoid of thought and manners. They have no concept of the level of my boredom and their laughing only serves to prove how bored and alone I am.
It wasn't really bitter. Well, maybe slightly. I take pictures with my new camera. So what? Who am I to show them too? I delete the pictures, they were not interesting anyway. My shoe. My desk. My face. My hand. My keyboard. My hand on my keyboard. Me giving the camera the finger. Me mouthing "fuck you" to the camera. Me looking at my phone. Me looking at my email. Me looking at nothing. These pictures amuse me for only a few moments. I notice the imperfections of my skin, my nose, my chin, my finger. I delete the evidence. My finger returns to perfection. My phone still remains silent despite this return to perfection.
I announce to myself that I no longer care about my phone or my email yet I refuse to move from my desk. People are leaving. Less than six people remain here in the land of dilbert and I am one of those people. Why? I am here because I want to prove I do not care about my phone or my email. I have things to do. Work things. Things like installing this software over here or checking those configs over there or modifying this file. Important things. Interesting things. Oh yes, very interesting. So fucking interesting I have decided to leave them for tomorrow so I will have important and interesting things to do tomorrow. I know too well the sting of boredom.
I am no longer waiting. it makes nothing happen faster and more often. I am tired of nothing. instead I will embrace the future. Silently and without effort. To the uninitiated this will appear like waiting. I am still spinning my phone but I make no note of it not ringing. I make only the note of how I do not make note of it not ringing. In this way I embrace the future and remove myself from waiting.
What does it matter? I have left over Chinese food at home. I can go to the gym. I can pretend to be happy and well adjusted. I can pretend she likes me. I can pretend I am a good friend and that many people will want to call me but their have lost their phones or their computers were smashed in by a raving lunatic for a roommate. It could happen. I don't know. I have things to do. I can't pretend any longer, it makes me tired.
So what if she calls? Will I see her? Hold her hand? Tell her she looks good? Give an easy smile on this cold Baltimore night? Take pictures and laugh with her? Make witty comments? No one cares.
I am a victim of my own raging mind. Where nothing lives I create lives filled with beauty and coffee (because beauty and coffee must go together always) and whispers and trips to art museums and concerts and love notes left in packed lunches. And where there is something I ignore it, pretend that it is nothing, nothing close to me, nothing that knows me, nothing that can touch me. Because?
Because I am crazy. Because despite the pain of waiting with hope and excitement when nothing happens, I'd rather do this than wait with the agony, the overwhelming agony and crushingly desperate gasping of rage, and horror of waiting for an expectant phone call from a lover who no longer loves, a friend who no longer shares.
Maybe this time will be different.
I spin the phone. Spin the phone. Spin the phone. The phone. The phone. Phone. Phone. Fucking phone. Spin the fucking phone. Take a picture of the fucking spinning phone. Hoo Ray! Eh. I am bored. I am waiting and nothing interests me.
Nothing.
Nothing is different. I am still spinning.
J. Tyler Blue is an editor at Write This and the author of The Baltimore Years. He has new work forthcoming in Juked. His previous publications include Five After Six at Dicey Brown, The Space Between at Identity Theory, Sewing Machine at Dicey Brown, My Valentines at Write This, Nothing at Write This, Charles Street Romance at 3 AM Magazine, Notes on Stillness at Write This, Fucking Alice at Write This, and Morning at Dicey Brown. J. Tyler Blue has a passion for cooking and coffee. He is a lost romantic seeking the right woman to find her way to Baltimore. The question is, will he recognize her, and take her into his arms, when she finally arrives.