24 Hours Watching Through The Window: 500 Words a Day – Day 13

I don’t know if I was actually born an introvert or just learned to become one to protect myself from all the meaningless conversations people were having.

Wherever the truth comes from, it never goes out of style.

This prompt “What someone would see if they looked through your window for 24 hours” is a way to see what people are really like when they don’t have to slip into their costume for the day.

One thing I do that might be disgusting and childish that I still love anyway is cupping farts. I don’t know where I picked it up but the moments between the wind blowing into my palm and the fingers uncurling under my nose are some of the most anticipated ones of my day, maybe even my life. You see me as the hand approaches the face, the face of a Labrador riding in the back of a truck.

And obviously there’s masturbation. It’s not fun to talk about because it’s mostly disgusting. And talking about it doesn’t make you ‘brave’ or ‘real’ or ‘edgy’ it just makes you gross. But you’d see some of that, occasionally. Like once a week. Or 4 days straight after 3 weeks off. And you’d mostly see old streaming clips from Cinemax shows that remind me of being a teenager when beating off didn’t leave me feeling pathetic and disconnected.

A lot of yelling at the air around me, mostly in foreign accents. Finger pointed in my face in the mirror, “Shut your whore mouth.”

Routines – stretch then meditate. Meditate then draw. Draw then, wait fucktard, oil pull while drawing otherwise it’s a waste of valuable time. “Every other day is OK.”

Multitasking. They say it can’t be done. They are stupider than me. I can easily brush my teeth while taking a shit. I can make a smoothie with peanut butter while I listen to music. Don’t tell me I can’t you dumb shit.

Computer work. I spend a good few hours on the computers editing and watching Shark Tank on Hulu. Standing desk that I built which I like to tell people I built because I am one of the 6 men in California that has facial hair AND can bevel an edge after a miter saw cut. Laptop right, right angle, desktop left, right angle. Everything right angle. Leftmost legal pad for my right-handed writing exercises, second leftmost notebook for ideas that pop up, third leftmost journal for my daily to-do list, regular journal front and center under keyboard for thoughts that aren’t actionable.

Sometimes music and laying on the floor. Eyes closed and praying to god the music will take me somewhere. Usually records but often streaming when I am reminded how lazy I really am in my heart.

These are all the cool things.

It’s fucking pouring right now. Megadome thunderstorm here in Malaysia. Immediately I’m 6 years old and we’re in the garage watching the rain blast the streets.

Thunder so loud I look down my shirt to check for blood.

I can’t write about rain meaningfully enough. Some things just put you in a place and that’s the deal, just leave them alone.

Rain in the city. Heartbreak. Bicycle. Paperback. Comforter. Face. Lips. Truth. Tears. Bonfire.

I need a coin to unscrew my camera from the tripod head because we’re talking major pro gear. I could bring my own coin but then I would talk to two less people per day.

I don’t wear a lot of clothes in my apartment. And the blinds are always open. But I’m elevated on a hill. When I stretch naked I think about what my balls look like from behind. Then I put on underwear before I do push ups.

Walking down the hallway
Walking down the hallway

I’m walking down the hallway

I’m walking down the hallway

Someone just took my glasses off. I’m not wearing glasses. That was my hand. Put them on the thing. That’s a coffee table. Put them on the coffee table.

The lightning hit a car. That’s significant, right?

Can you see any of this? It’s what I’m thinking as you look through my window. I don’t mind that you’re there. I don’t have much a problem with sharing.

There will be a couple hours where I’m gone, you won’t see anything. Walking downtown to meet some friends or just walking by myself to deal with the ticking bomb in my chest. Take a drive to North Park. Visit friends hopefully. Or when I’m in the gutter you’ll see me on my bed watching TV on my computer because I don’t know how to handle the open chunk of time in the middle of the day. Then I yell at myself to myself because I’ll never get where I want to be by doing this sort of thing!

Hours of internal conflict follow. Stress on my forehead. Silent pep talks. And then back to the standing desk (I built it). Or to the kitchen. Staples there are my vitamix and the smoothies that come from it, eggs with every meal, and turkey lunch meat to join forces with avocado and cheese for afternoon delights. But mostly it’s the Trader Joe’s cheetos that sit in the cupboard that bring me there.

You might see a moment when she sneaks in there under the ribs and does some karate and my knees bend a little because she can come swiftly but I recover quickly and wipe my hand across my nose and move into a different room.

I just try to make it until 8pm to be honest. After 8 I can be home and feel not lonely at all and not pressured to be doing something important. I can just drift into the night and be fine with it. Maybe here I will draw or stretch or watch a movie on the projector screen.

Since it’s 24 hours, there would be 8 hours of low-quality, often interrupted sleep. You’d see me fall asleep on my back with a special pillow for people who have done too much yoga and broken their spine and a soft t-shirt draped over my eyes because it’s cheaper than blackout shades and I cannot rest unless it is dark, very dark.

You can be sleepwalking through it all and then see someone, smile, they smile back and you’re flying.

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