would you rather live in dreams or die

A text read, "How are you doing?"
I haven't spoke to her in years, and there is a million things I wish she would be doing at this hour than texting me, I mean seriously. What's so exciting about my reply.

2 days later

We stood on the corner Newbury avenue hoping for a sign from those minty smoke sticks, but instead only coughs and worries left our system. I brushed my scarf against a tree to alleviate the smell and huddles around a bench so I wouldn't freeze. I wondered things like, "Hey God, is this all I get?" Which is more of an inquiry than a threat, because God and I see eye to eye. I wondered if I really am myself, taking part in activities with a shrug of my eyebrow and mouth as I simultaneously ring fate's door bell.

If I stare at someone long enough, will we translate our lives to one another and become intertwined like the old hair stuck in my brush? Dreams are real, and I'm trying so hard to live my life surreal. At least that's what I heard on the Tele last week. The patterns aren't changing even though the year is. Mr. Jones still pokes fun at my coffee shop job, like it's become a safety blanket he can't shake off. I still spread a fake smile across my face as I walk down the sidewalk, just in case I make someone look up.

Meredith, the ancient dame I always seem to run into still recites poetry to anyone who says hi, like a ticking time bomb waiting for an impulsive stranger to pull the trigger. And no matter how many times I buy a napkin or a towel the sleeve of my shirt seems to have more wiping potential. I wonder if habits are what keeps you steady in the lifestyle you deep down, really hate to live. Where around 5 pm it gets dark, and you stomach pangs remind you of hunger, and you keep on having the same dream, regardless of your clocking in from 4-8 hours each week at the same job you worked at when you were dying for the weekends to come. But they just become X's on your calendar, and you can't help but wonder, 'What am I counting down for?' The premise of every idea you come up with is just a piled of stone on the road, they'll always be there, and won't move.

The prospect of what if's becomes tastier than your tried and true cinnamon toast crunch cereal. and you find the only T.V. show that's interesting lasts but 4 minutes and repeats the joke the same way people repeat, 'This too shall pass,' but you know they're just lifting you up without any support. What would be if you're childhood was never cancelled, and you live off applesauce. Why can't we renew things that should last forever?

These is a little piece I wrote a couple hours ago, it's vv random so you don't have to read of course, but I want to continue it, because I really like the tone.

Hope you enjoyed both saturday and sunday,Casey