The Seventh

Two Kinds of Light

I wish I knew what it meant. I had taken it knowing that it means something, but I’ve really just been sitting here and thinking and realising that I don’t know.

It’s still there, somewhere. Maybe if I looked at it long enough, I’d know.

Or maybe I really do, and have merely forgotten.

Or maybe it just means what it meant. Two Kinds of Light.

Mine, and Someone Else’s

****

Well, that was a cheat.

The lawyer part of me, birthed through mutations caused by radiation emitted from a lawyer brother, put on his glasses, straightened his tie and will now proceed to present my defence:

 “My client here had just concluded the final moments of his monthly period of pretentious assiduousness, which he had constantly referred to as his Closing Period. He had, through intensive amount of mental regurgitation, exhausted most of his limited Words. And since he had been a victim of Utter Stupidity since the moment of his birth, his current mental state would mean that he is now Utterly Idiotic, and would normally not be of the state to write in, if not for the fact that he had signed a personal contract with Himself to ensure the consistent updating of his Project 52; failure to comply would mean that he would eat boogers for lunch. I believe, your Honours, that he should therefore be forgiven for this half-assed attempt at a Project 52 post - only that he shouldn’t, because it’s not even worth an image for Project 52 in the first place, and he had really just desperately went out of the office in the night to take something that he hoped he could remotely turn into something half-assedly interesting. This man is a cheat, and should therefore eat the boogers. Thank you.”

That went well.

At any rate, I would have to apologise, and this is more in particular to my partner in plight, who had updated within the week nonetheless, in spite of her crazy week at work. No excuses from me, aside from what my lawyer self had stated.

I wonder how boogers taste like.

****

It was a Moment. A split-second in Forever.

I was in the darkness, sitting down. The chair was hard and uncomfortable. A reminder of reality, that I was sitting in a metaphorical darkness, that the enclosing shadows were mentally projected and functioned as a representation of something, while the growing numbness of the buttocks is the prompt that I should be sitting straighter up.

I was questioned, and I answered truthfully.

The Moment went and gone. I sat up straight, to liberate my buttocks. The darkness dissipated.

Then I realised I hadn’t cared. For a single thing.

Or maybe I did. Because, in the depths of everything, I was really angry.

That, too, dissipated. Because I couldn’t care enough to be angry.

My care was really someplace else. And till now, it’s there. Devoted, entirely. There.

And I guess I can be worried.