A Brick Wall

by Michael White

A Brick Wall

I sit here and stare at a brick wall. Thinking to myself, pounding my head into it would accomplish more. The hours of trying to entertain myself have worn thin. Only so many hockey stats and celebrity gossip can one stomach. Hours of waiting to walk in more than just circles are wearing thin. Going to the Movie Theater and wasting two hours on crap does not seem so bad now. Two hours are a blessing compared to eight. Eight hours that are only repeated tomorrow.

I think that instead of going home today maybe I'll hit the bar around five o'clock. That way when tomorrow comes I can suffer from a hangover yet feel that I'm actually doing something. With my eyes hanging and my brow damp to my chin, there will be evidence that something is at least going on. The day may end up feeling even longer but there will not be sobriety to make me wonder, what the hell am I doing?

I could be that man I dream of. That man who stands up and leaves. Leaving behind the faade of caring and the hope that something will change. Change without reason just dumb luck. I know that not to be true, that one has to inspire and present the change to see that it happens. To be free of consequence and just stand up and leave. Some people have done it. Left and not worried about what would come ahead. Just walk and except the consequence, whether it is under a bridge or in a penthouse. Just take the chance. I am not that person though. I am the majority, the coward. I will continue to stare at that brick wall.

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