Alexander Phillips (is special)
During the Global Pandemonium
(Character from the novel in progress)
I don’t know how I feel about you because when I opened my eyes you hurt like light always hurts and itches and tickles when I open my head, like my hole head, and I realize that I am still here, 11 years old and I am not supposed to be like this always writing and hurting and thinking about way way way too much. That’s what my mom says. I am not supposed to talk to the light or to the dark or to my keyboard I am supposed to talk to people but now it is even harder to talk to people because we are in a global pandemonium and no school and no one is allowed to come over and play and i don’t have any friends anyway. (Hey sorry i didn’t capitalize that i but i can do that here, you know. That’s how journal talk works my therapist says so and also that’s why I don’t have to use punctuation the way punctuation is used by everyone else by the way. Only I am supposed to read this.)
But oh hi morning you are here again and boys like me with big feet who are too tall and talk to much and move around all the time aren’t supposed to write to you but I woke trying to think of something to do and thought why don’t I write to the morning like the therapist told me to???
Usually I don’t like his ideas at all and usually I don’t listen to that therapist with the curly hair and smelly breath and wrinkled shirt and loud clock at all but hey I’m using my capital I now so maybe that’s a good thing. And usually I don’t do what the therapist says and actually I don’t do what anyone says but today I just felt like trying harder.
Do you ever feel that way, morning? Like making a new paragraph on your whole big sky and trying harder to just be better? Actually I try every day sort of but no one sees me trying I just get in trouble mostly and make kids and Mr. Lang the teacher and Mr. Hughs the other teacher and Mrs. Banks the assistant pricipal so ferocious (i love words like ferocious) and sometimes my mom and usually my dad and always my sister and brother get mad or sad or both when i come out of my room so I usually come right back into my room after I (by mistake throw something or yell or swear or do both or all of them) and then I get right down here under my comforter on my keyboard and think about how to get away from all that sound and coming and going and feeling and mess and all that light. You know you are supposed to be good, morning, with your light and all but most of the time i am sorry but I can’t stand you. You make me look at way way way too much (more than everybody else looks at, that’s what my therapist says) and you sting in my eyeballs and you dry up my throat and you make me look away. I always look away.
Maybe I’ll going to sleep again morning.
How bout you shut up now morning and maybe we will talk later.