[Sammohini Arc] Not Feeling Numb

It’s past 6 PM and the view of the parking lot was just as stale for Jane as it had been three hours ago. The studio apartment was cluttered with a cheap brown couch that had a broken pull-out bed, shaky desk for a computer, a cheap dining table with three mismatched chairs, and an acoustic guitar collecting dust. She hadn’t been outside all day, other than four times to smoke on the balcony, reading erotica.

She had no work scheduled today or tomorrow.

Before February, that would have been the perfect time to load up on enough alcohol to get wasted throughout the day, then drive out to the Bad Seed for some fun. Didn’t matter the consequences, just as long as she could briefly feel something other than that sort of numb that mutes everything. The early afternoon weather was nice and warm for anyone normal, she mused at one point while thumbing through a particularly filthy section, before setting the smutty cover face down.

She cooked a cheap pizza at around noon.

Jane hadn’t showered, changed out of her rude concert shirt, or put on any make-up when she walked downstairs to collect her mail. No one to wave to at all. The only mail was junk that she threw away in her half-empty garbage can before taking the now-chilled slab of questionable ingredients out of the oven. She cut the pizza twice with a dirty slicer and folded a slice into her mouth as she walked over to the balcony to have another smoke, finishing it before sliding the door open.

The weather was still nice.

She plopped down on the plastic lounge chair she found at the dumpster last month and took a liking to after cleaning it, and opened both clear plastic boxes between the chair and the sliding glass door. The further one had some books she was reading. More of that lewd smut or something more wholesome? She took a biography on the Ketchup Packets and closed the lid. The closer box had a large ashtray sitting atop a smaller box of kitty litter, some lighters, and a pack of smokes.

She grabbed the pack and lit up.

This would be a rather nice day, she thought before digging into the punk rock reports by a particularly cute groupie of the band, except for that gnawing sensation that was eating away like a hunger that just won’t go away. She was itching for a drink or something more. Most days like this would be great. Maybe it was self-awareness that this was just another wasted day, or maybe it was a sense that she could be sending out resumes, or doing something more with her time?

Yesterday was hard.

She subconsciously ruminated over the shitty things that someone had said to her, questioning her abilities on a few areas, before breathing in deeply. It was stupid to keep thinking about all of that. He’s just some jerk.

She wanted to numb those thoughts.

Quotes: None.
Sources: My sobriety experiences.
Inspirations: 80% of this is based on recent events of having a rather nice day inside on the surface, yet having it swell with too much self-awareness. The shitty things said to me yesterday stuck with me through most of today. I had suspicions that this person was like this before, but yesterday was the catalytic moment that will ensure I keep this person at a professional, polite distance.
Related: Somewhere in the Sammohini Arc of “The Story.”
Picture: Generic picture to save time.
Written On: October 9th [1 hour]
Last Edited: No further edits.
My big goal is writing. My most important goal is writing "The Story." All other goals should work toward that central goal. My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame some fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. I'm not better than you and you're not better than me. Let's strive to be better every day.