New Beginnings I - Expository Bullshit

*[Author's Note]*

Be advised that this awful fanfic contains gratuitous introspection and pseudo-psychological nonsense. Please ensure your fanny packs are secured and reinforced to avoid spaghetti leakage before reading. If you look under your seat, you will find a spoon. In the event of SSSS (Sudden Shitty Story Syndrome), this spoon can be used in a myriad of life-saving ways, such as gouging out your eyes to preserve mental well-being, or, if you REALLY work at it, ritual disembowelment to regain your family's lost honor.

 

All hope abandon ye who enter here...

 

 

 

The alarm's going off, looks like It's time for me to get up.

 

"Go fuck yourself, alarm," I mutter as I turn towards the infernal device. The alarm clock, of course, pays no heed to my profanity, so I give it a sharp whack to turn it off. I swear, one of these days I'm gonna chuck that thing out the window, then take a mallet to it, then light it on fire and run it over. Several times.

 

I lay there for a few, sweet moments as I try to coax myself back into the world of the living, cuddling a small pastel blue pegasus in my arms.

 

I ponder the obvious question for the umpteenth time, "Why the hell do I have that again?"

 

"Because you're fucking weird?," I think in reply.

 

"Because it fulfills some kind of base psychological need?"

 

"Because it contrasts with your heavily analytical and cynical tendencies?"

 

"Because she keeps the bad dreams away?..."

 

I stop and think about that last thought. I guess I have been sleeping a lot better since getting her. Cuddling up with her in my arms seems to take all my worries away.

 

I shake my head, in an attempt to get rid of these crazy thoughts. Clearly there's a better, much more complicated answer than that. After all, I'm not a little kid.

 

Oh yeah, I should probably get out of bed.

 

I pull myself out of bed and survey the damage. It's like I'm some sort of performance artist, and this is my abstract masterpiece. Sheets are all over the place, occupying every angle imaginable. At least I don't have to make it every day, being that I'm the only person living here.

 

Before I leave, I place the plushie on top of the sheet-mound, as if she were some kind of Swiss mountainpony. I smile a bit, imagining her in lederhosen, yodeling at the top of Mount Bedspread.

 

There I go again, thinking like a damn child. Sometimes I wonder about myself. Which is something I probably shouldn't do, since things tend to get really weird when I do that.

 

I turn away from the bed and walk off. It's bad enough that I, a twenty-something-year-old male, like a show for little girls. It's even worse that I have a plushie of one of the characters. Worse still, is the fact that I cuddle with her while I sleep.

 

...And it just had to be Rainbow Dash, didn't it? She isn't even my favorite pony, but I couldn't pass up on that opportunity. That must have been really awkward for the employees at that make-your-own suffed animal store.

 

Plus, she's stupidly cute. And cuddly!..

 

God, I'm fucking weird.

 

At least I don't have to explain this to anybody.

 

 

 

I proceed with the morning routine.

 

Same old, same old.

 

Get dressed.

 

Eat breakfast.

 

Brush teeth.

 

Grab class-related things.

 

Lock the door.

 

Take the stairs to the parking lot.

 

Get in car.

 

Drive to class.

 

Same old, same old.

 

Going through the motions.

 

It's like performance art based on the concept of monotony, only I'm the artist and my life is the canvas.

 

Wow, that seems like an overly deep analogy.

Perhaps even... Edgy?

 

Who cares, it's still the same shit I do everyday.

 

Except instead of class, I have work this

morning.

 

And that means driving an hour and a half to the office.

 

Lovely.

 

 

 

The long drive provides ample opportunity for soul-searching.

 

I fucking hate soul-searching.

 

Because it always brings up things I'd rather not think about.

 

Like what I'm doing with my life.

 

Like whether or not my parents are proud of me.

 

Like every mistake I've ever made.

 

That shit's depressing.

 

And then there's the realization that no matter what I do, I'll never get to experience that one thing I want most in the world.

 

Nope, not this shit again. I told myself to stop thinking about that a long time ago. It's such a silly desire anyways.

 

It's unbelievably stupid.

 

It's really fucking weird.

 

And it's not worth wasting my time thinking about it.

 

I'm too busy to think about such childish things. I should be thinking about my classes, or work. I have thousands of more important, more mature things to think about.

 

And yet here I am, thinking about it. Again. Only it's not silly.

 

Or stupid.

 

Or weird.

 

And it hurts.

 

It hurts like nothing else.

 

...But I have an excellent job! One that lets me work while pursuing my education!

 

I out earn most of my friends!

 

I do well in my classes!

 

I have a great sense of humor!

 

People like being around me!

 

My parents are proud of what I've done so far!

 

I even have an apartment all to myself!

 

So why am I feeling sad? I can't see the future, or change the past. So why worry about any of that shit? Seriously, my life is awesome! Fuck this soul-searching bullshit, I'm gonna push forward regardless of any stupid, bizzare fantasies I have!

 

And you know what? I'm gonna make this day super-kickass, regardless of what happens!

 

And that's when a semi-truck turns into my lane and hits me head-on.

 

Figures. That's what I get for trying to be optimistic.