Sleeping under suns.
My life is perfectly time looped. I wake up, I go to work, I eat, I sleep, Rinse and repeat. At 22 I'm supposed to feel like the universe is expanding right in front of my eyes, but instead It feels like it's shrinking. Everyone else has moved on, drifting away like dying satellites, leaving only Quinn to tether me to reality. My parents think this is what safety looks like. A quiet city, a steady job, a dull life. They don't understand that you can drown in safety. I can't help but feel like I was made for more than another planner and pen.
The only parts of my day that I actually control are the quiet rituals in front of my large black vanity. My father got as a way to buy my love in the 11th grade. It wasn't exhausting it was time replacing. I find comfort in the meticulous steps.
The oils, the serums, the moisturizer that kept my hair soft as spider silk. Tonight I stare at my reflection running a comb through my micro bangs for a trim. They frame a face carried by my father's side of the family a golden glow that spoke heritage and vibrancy of my repressed roots into my dreary life.
Opening my closet to a rush that saturated hues of winery. Plum, olive,raspberry,and a side of black caviar flood my sense of style and my shoes had a height requirement of at least an inch and a half with a few flats and converse as an exception.
This is my sense of control on a life that feels planned out for me. If I'm gonna walk this path I'm gonna be a strange sculpture if I can.
If I'm on time I'm still rushing to grab bags with pins adorning the side. Blowing on wet dark nail lacquer. Jingling the rest of my Jewelry on and fluffing my bangs if it's the last thing I do before I walk out that bland abode.
The next morning didn't surprise me if anything I was already up before my alarm. Dragging my self to the next shift still hiding behind my dark bombshell perfume and burgundy lip. I was a bitch to my spread sheets and post-it notes. I basically called left a voicemail and logged every time I did that for 8 hours. Trying to sell an I.T. service that most people didn't even understand why they needed in 1996. Nevertheless the halogen lights were the only thing with a spark.
Recently the busy silence of the city was easy to carry. Six months ago I strolled into the first of many shiny new neon lit CD shop. I had that feeling of this being a short lived—fleeting attempt to hold on to something real in a world that felt somewhat temporary now. Now that I could track how much time I had waisted waiting for things to come to me rather than chasing them. I was going to start with metal and work my way around the shops when I could. So far I've been to about 6 shops and all providing different genera's and some over lapping. None the less the top 10 hits at the front of the store in shiny hard cases, and the forgotten at the bottom of the bargain bin or tucked between the rack and the wall. I almost always looked for the ones that were hiding.
This became my outlet besides vanity this fulfilled me more than anything else had. I really loved music from each instrument to the artist way of mixing voices and sounds to create a cohesive atmosphere. That's what I wanted inside a chaos with a calm that would start off my day with a whisper and the chorus of my life come crashing in with heavy drums of my beating heart. I wanted excitement and peace all wrapped into one and music was the at times for me.
For half a year my weekly routine revolved around flipping through plastic jewel cases, hunting for rare alternative albums and organizing my collection by colors of spines. I assumed a hoard of plastic discs would do me no favors other than an easy listen,but I was quietly repairing my self well as quiet as System of a Down can be. I was building a fortress out of base lines and lyrics. Preparing my soul for a chapter I didn't even know was coming.
That brings me to now a new shop where I had never stoped. It was actually around the corner on 8th and Blerry st I went to see if they were even open and even though the lights were off I felt a small piece of disappointment grow over me. Looking back to be fair 6am is early to be open for most musically inclined places in this city. "Micro's records" who is micro or are the records micro I was usually into just the CD places but vinyl places I never even thought to check for random neat music.
