Dial Tone.
freedom.
The telephone rings, and it's haunting. It's ringing in your ears, and just lingering there, like the feeling of a pinch on the arm, the taste of lipstick, or the stare of a stranger. And it just stays. Like it's supposed to be there.
Like the smell of cigarettes on your ashing finger.
Like the pain that your heart feels every time you hear her name and his name together.
The phone rings, and you just let it. You hit silence. You ignore it. Because you don't want to hear it.
Because you don't need to hear it.
Because this world is too taxing.
Because people are selfish.
Because you're tired. You're tired of talking, you're tired of listening, you're tired of trying. You're exhausted from this whole "being social" song and dance.
So you don't pick it up. And every time it goes to voicemail, you hear everyone's excuses for calling. You hear their reasons, their complaints, their goddamn exuberance for whatever it is that's going on in their lives. You hear it, and you groan. You groan because you can't handle it.
You groan because it's not your life.
You groan because if it was your life, the person listening to you would be in your position right now.
Your voicemail has stacked up message after message after message and soon, you're happy. Soon, they stop piling up like stacks of envelopes in the news room.
Like bill upon bill upon bill.
Like bullshit that you hear people saying behind your back.
It stops building, this mountainous pile of verbal hearsay and metaphorical trash. The bitching, the bragging, the apologies and the random things that made people think of you. Like the black cat with the white spot they saw walking on the street today. Like that song on the radio. Like that new machine at the gym.
Like that girl with the stupid fucking dress, and the stupid fucking heels, that reminded your best friend's girlfriend of some girl you used to fuck.
And as you distance yourself from this world of ringing telephones and pointless conversations, you feel yourself getting smarter. Stronger. More books being read, more stories to become involved in, bigger issues to worry about than the petty problems of your co-worker who met some guy at the coffee shop and he didn't like her as much as he lead on with his alluring smile and friendly eyes. And you turn that line into a a line in a novel.
And as the phone rings more with the worried calls from family members, you disconnect your phone lines. You sell your computer and buy a type writer instead. You write the great American novel. You cut down on the casual, social drinking, because there's nothing to be social about. No causal small talk to make. You destroy your cell phone. Your social networking sites are deactivated. You work out, and you finally get in shape. You take a leave of absence from your job. You make gourmet meals for dinner dates for one.
There's nothing holding you back from doing what you want now.
You are your own person.
You've created your own reality.
Maybe some day, you'll get back into the social scene. And everyone will ask, where were you? Where did you go? Why didn't you answer my x amount of calls here? And you'll shrug it off and come up with some silly excuse. Some half-witted remark that your old self would have come up with.
And the creativity will disappear.
And you'll sink back into your old routine.
And life will continue on as is.
But you'll remember what it was like to be alone. To be the most important person in your life. To do what you wanted to do when you wanted to do it. To make yourself happy, and not have to worry about paying the bills or meeting someone someone somewhere or being a disappointment to a family member or close friend. Your life revolved around you and only you. And you were the happiest you had ever been.
So maybe the people you cut out would call you selfish. Say that you're not worth their time if they're not worth yours. And you'll shrug it off. Because it really won't matter in the long run.
But right now, you pick up the phone. You answer it, and you hear a familiar voice on the other line, with the same familiar problems.
The same bitching, moaning, complaining.
The same bragging, boasting, explaining.
The same mindless talking, the same mindless conversations about absolutely nothing important.
And as you drum your fingers on the kitchen counter in your apartment, you think of how one day, some day, some day very soon, you're going to just let that telephone ring. And ring. And ring, until it stops. Until your ears aren't haunted by the sound anymore.
Like the smell of cigarettes on your ashing finger.
Like the pain that your heart feels every time you hear her name and his name together.
The phone rings, and you just let it. You hit silence. You ignore it. Because you don't want to hear it.
Because you don't need to hear it.
Because this world is too taxing.
Because people are selfish.
Because you're tired. You're tired of talking, you're tired of listening, you're tired of trying. You're exhausted from this whole "being social" song and dance.
So you don't pick it up. And every time it goes to voicemail, you hear everyone's excuses for calling. You hear their reasons, their complaints, their goddamn exuberance for whatever it is that's going on in their lives. You hear it, and you groan. You groan because you can't handle it.
You groan because it's not your life.
You groan because if it was your life, the person listening to you would be in your position right now.
Your voicemail has stacked up message after message after message and soon, you're happy. Soon, they stop piling up like stacks of envelopes in the news room.
Like bill upon bill upon bill.
Like bullshit that you hear people saying behind your back.
It stops building, this mountainous pile of verbal hearsay and metaphorical trash. The bitching, the bragging, the apologies and the random things that made people think of you. Like the black cat with the white spot they saw walking on the street today. Like that song on the radio. Like that new machine at the gym.
Like that girl with the stupid fucking dress, and the stupid fucking heels, that reminded your best friend's girlfriend of some girl you used to fuck.
And as you distance yourself from this world of ringing telephones and pointless conversations, you feel yourself getting smarter. Stronger. More books being read, more stories to become involved in, bigger issues to worry about than the petty problems of your co-worker who met some guy at the coffee shop and he didn't like her as much as he lead on with his alluring smile and friendly eyes. And you turn that line into a a line in a novel.
And as the phone rings more with the worried calls from family members, you disconnect your phone lines. You sell your computer and buy a type writer instead. You write the great American novel. You cut down on the casual, social drinking, because there's nothing to be social about. No causal small talk to make. You destroy your cell phone. Your social networking sites are deactivated. You work out, and you finally get in shape. You take a leave of absence from your job. You make gourmet meals for dinner dates for one.
There's nothing holding you back from doing what you want now.
You are your own person.
You've created your own reality.
Maybe some day, you'll get back into the social scene. And everyone will ask, where were you? Where did you go? Why didn't you answer my x amount of calls here? And you'll shrug it off and come up with some silly excuse. Some half-witted remark that your old self would have come up with.
And the creativity will disappear.
And you'll sink back into your old routine.
And life will continue on as is.
But you'll remember what it was like to be alone. To be the most important person in your life. To do what you wanted to do when you wanted to do it. To make yourself happy, and not have to worry about paying the bills or meeting someone someone somewhere or being a disappointment to a family member or close friend. Your life revolved around you and only you. And you were the happiest you had ever been.
So maybe the people you cut out would call you selfish. Say that you're not worth their time if they're not worth yours. And you'll shrug it off. Because it really won't matter in the long run.
But right now, you pick up the phone. You answer it, and you hear a familiar voice on the other line, with the same familiar problems.
The same bitching, moaning, complaining.
The same bragging, boasting, explaining.
The same mindless talking, the same mindless conversations about absolutely nothing important.
And as you drum your fingers on the kitchen counter in your apartment, you think of how one day, some day, some day very soon, you're going to just let that telephone ring. And ring. And ring, until it stops. Until your ears aren't haunted by the sound anymore.