95%

I'm not happy. But I have moments. Most of them are happy. Really about 95% of them are. But that 5%, that's where it really gets you. So maybe, I guess, you could say that I am a happy person. 95% of the time. When that other 5% kicks in, we just ignore it. Majority rules.

Lately I haven't wanted to be alone. You're never alone if you have yourself, right? But if I'm lonely, and I don't like myself, then I'm alone, with myself. Which isn't saying much. When I'm alone, I think. And I don't like thinking because it gives me anxiety. I have messed up everything. Well, not everything. But it feels like all of the things I should be doing to get ahead in life, I just can't seem to do. So I panic. And I sit on the floor, or bed, couch, table, truck, and cry. And wonder if all the people who I love who have passed can see me being a pitifull failure and being just as disappointed as my parents, or worse, myself.

So I don't like to think much. I go outside. Mostly late at night. Mostly alone. Mostly without shoes. I find somewhere to sit, a table, bench, curb, box. And I listen to the wind, if there is any. If there isn't, it makes me nervous. So I usually go back inside, or I put music on. I try not to seem too weird to people who see me. But I try to shut my thoughts off. I try to make myself just stop thinking for one second. But that usually doesn't work. So I try to think of a song I like and sing it in my head. But then it gets stuck, and I'm annoyed because now, not only can I not stop thinking, but now I'm singing some stupid song. And I'm probably stuck on the only catchy part I can think of. Oh, now I'm also upset at myself for thinking a song would work, even though it never worked the other 17 times. Such a dumb idea.

I'll watch the trees, and pretend there are birds sleeping among the branches. I think maybe I could climb the tree and sit in the branches like I did when I was a kid. But I'm much bigger now, and the tree is taller than I think it is. I'm sure I'll fail miserably or fall. And if I do make it up, someone might see me and think I'm weird, and I'd wish I had never gotten up in the first place. Why would I do that? I'm an adult, it's childish.

The clouds move through the sky so quickly. I can hardly see the stars because there are so many. And I live in the city, so there is a million street lights. Couldn't see the stars on a clear night anyway. The sky reminds me of midnight road trips. I cupped my hands around my eyes to try and pretend I'm out in the country without the blinding city lights, but I'm not fooling myself. 

I miss my grandmother. Granted, she lived all the way in El Paso, but I miss the feeling of her. Knowing that I could drive all night and see her in the morning, making coffee and breakfast for my Grandpa. I'd say hi two or three times because she wouldn't hear me the first. I'd hug her as tight as her frail body would allow, and she'd laugh her sweet rusty laugh. And I'd visit the bookshelf I loved so much as a kid. I still do.

But for now I sit on my kitchen floor. Dogs inspecting and sniffing me. Wondering why my socks are covered in gravel and grass. Confused that I'm not petting them, even though they have made it very clear that they need to be pet, or at least acknowledged. My eyes are wet, and I can't tell if it's from my heart or the fumes of the Fabuloso coming from the empty mop bucket next to me on the kitchen floor. Too many thoughts in my head. Not enough space. Maybe it's actually 94%.