The view from my flat is a metaphor for my life.
I moved in three years ago. The agent promised a breathtaking panoramic sweep across Bristol’s skyline with beautiful sunrises and romantic sunsets until, out of nowhere, a week before I moved in a grotty wall emerged attached to three other grotty walls forming a grotty tower block of cheap grotty apartments. There was nothing I could do; I had no money left to find another place. I was stuck between concrete. If it wasn’t for that brick wall I’d have rising suns at my disposal, but I don’t. Instead there’s dripping mould and leaking pipes and that right there, is my life: a potential for something beautiful behind an obtrusive and ugly wall that will never go away.
I’m trying hard to remember that life is beautiful or worth living or that it’s what you make of it or some other dumb-ass automated slogan people vomit out at each other. Despite my obvious cynicism I am trying hard to attach some sort of meaning to my life and I’m failing disasterously. Yesterday, I ventured outside for the first time this week. I bought myself a notebook and a pen and a highlighter. With these tools I sat down at my desk, added a large mug of coffee to the equation, and carefully wrote the title: MY CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WORLD. After an hour of painting my nails neon yellow then wiping it off then painting it on again, I realized my contributions add up to just about nothing. If I died the world that bustles beyond the brick wall wouldn’t mind. The world wouldn’t care. The world doesn’t even know me.
I took a good look at myself in the mirror this morning and attempted a self-motivating “hey you’re not such a bad guy – you can still turn your life around, you’re only twenty-four.” Then I realized I was talking to myself and felt worse. What’s next? I’ll probably start seeing ghosts or think people on television are communicating the secrets of the universe to me. And as if everything isn’t bad enough; the one speck of light in my dark depressing days, the last Christmas bulb flickering on a bare tree in January – that speck has disappeared out of my life forever. The girl with icy blue hair. I haven’t seen the girl with the icy blue hair for four months now. One day I’m prentending to read an intellecual book in a coffee shop, accidentally spilling my coffee, having the conversation of my life with the most beautiful girl in the entire world and the next day I’m falling asleep on my laptop, drool seeping into the keyboard, wondering if it’s okay to have another Mars bar ice-cream for dinner.
To add to the list of why I’m such a goddamn failure, I haven’t been keeping up with my “must have at least have three conversations a day” rule. My conversation with the blue haired girl was the last real (as in not across two computer screens) conversation I had. I just don’t see the point of forcing myself on others anymore, striking up some small talk they’ll only forget about. It’s a stupid rule anyway, a pathetic attempt at a normal social life but who’d actually want a conversation with me? What in the world would I have to say to anyone? I might as well just live my life in mute. I’m so fucking sick of hearing myself whine. I sound like a male Bridget Jones but with no sex and heavier thighs. Besides, I recently figured out that television is a lot more interesting when you mute it.
In a sleepless haze of boredom and misery I’ve been spending these past few days on google maps deciding which bridges are suitable to jump off of. I’d like to avoid rocks, crowds and cars, which pretty much cancels out all of the bridges around Bristol. Then I had a strange moment this morning where I stared at my limp wrist, flopping it about, insepecting it like a slab of meat in the butchers. I thought about how it would feel to slice it but as my eyes drew imaginary red lines I felt this nauseating wave of guilt. What has my poor wrist ever done to me? It didn’t choose to be attached to this lonely good for just about nothing idiot. It shouldn’t have to be cut or sliced into. It’s an innocent wrist! It could have been a Jude Law wrist or a Franz Kafka wrist and instead it’s my wrist and it can’t do anything about it.
And I can’t do anything about that fucking wall.
Comments
skinner_jennifer | July 20, 2010 - 13:36
Please, please,please,
Is this real, or just a made up story?
If its real just get some bright curtains up to
cover up the wall. Think!
You have your hands and fingers to beable to type
this story, you have your legs and feet to walk
anywhere you like, you have a voice to express how
you feel. Imagine if you were deaf dumb and blind.
I hope you don't take affence at what I have
written but hey life ain't so bad, when it comes
down to it.
Ofcourse if it was made up, then it was a sad story,
but one that is rectifiable.
Hope you find happiness in Bristol. Its where I was
born and lived a good part of my life. Try going up
on the downs. Up Park street, up Blackboy Hill, its
great up there. But please don't go jumping off cliffs, or bridges. Lifes to precious.
maggyvaneijk | July 20, 2010 - 14:05
Jennifer, as much as I appreciate your concern perhaps take a look at my other stories. I tend to post a lot of different (fictional!) short character pieces. I wrote something about a woman filming a pornographic movie and that sure isn't me either!
But thanks for taking the time to read it.
mattburns | July 20, 2010 - 14:49
Ooh ooh, please tell me the blue haired girl is Gina!
Well written as always (well, I say that but I've only read a few).
It's depressing but mainly because it's so common. I just want to slap James and tell him to cheer up (like that would work).
Ultimately I blame capitalism. A media network hell-bent on raising a nation afraid of itself. Generations of children brought up to believe all strangers are evil and adults scared to help each other. An absurd collective stupidity. I love people. Such a curiosity.
Anyway, James, writing down your contributions to the world is a great idea. You're trying to do things for others before yourself. I have a similar list, it's a great way to live. You just have to think of it slightly differently. In 100 years, no-one is going to care you ever existed. If you think that's depressing, then you're looking at it wrong. If no-one is going to remember anything you do in 100 years then there's no need to be scared of anything. You are free.
OK, I'm rambling advice to a fictional character. Who's crazy now James?
skinner_jennifer | July 20, 2010 - 14:56
Phew! I am so glad you commented back to me and told
me it was (fictional) I was getting really worried I
might of said the wrong thing.
I will look out for some more of your work.
Jenny
P.S. By the way is maggyvaneijk a polish name, just
wondered.
maggyvaneijk | July 20, 2010 - 15:48
Don't worry Jenny :) And my name is Dutch.
Matt you and your ramblings are awesome, thanks for livening up my morning!
tcook | July 21, 2010 - 16:28
This is our Facebook and Twitter pick of the day.
Join us on Facebook at ABCtales.com
Join us on Twitter @tcookabctales
skinner_jennifer | July 21, 2010 - 16:55
Hi Jenny here, if anybody is reading this, I feel
such an idiot. (Oh the shame) I am new to this game.
I will never take it seriously again.
maggyvaneijk | July 21, 2010 - 17:11
@ Blighters rock - thanks for your comment, completely agree with you.
@ Skinner_jennifer - don't worry about it!
Cavalcaderl | July 21, 2010 - 17:20
new skinner_jennifer
I am exactly in thought
the same as you,the author writes
perfect,twist I have to work out
real or in poems.I am sentitive mum.
Are you sensitive to.But earn't the cherry!
julie and twitter pick of the week.Make him
feel happy.
julie x
Cavalcaderl | July 21, 2010 - 17:25
newmaggyvanejk
Well done! with a cherry!
and chosen twitter pick of
the day.By our Editor t.cook
AbcTales.com I enjoyed the interesting
story.But for me I am sensitive,so quite
a bit,I to believed.But that's a good Author
make the reader feel if it's true.
julie x
skinner_jennifer | July 21, 2010 - 17:27
Hi Julie
Yes I am very sensitive infact to much for my own
good. I just like to see people happy. I don't
cope very well with saddness.
Jenny.
maggyvaneijk | July 21, 2010 - 17:28
thanks Julie!
MistakenMagic | July 25, 2010 - 16:18
Love that opening line, Maggy - it just pulls you right in and sets the mood for the whole piece. Well done on the cherry and facebook/twitter pick!
Magic xxx
darkoe2lh2k | July 26, 2010 - 07:12
totally relate to this story
RachelPatricia | June 1, 2011 - 19:26
Hi Maggy, I know this is almost a year late, but I've just started going through some of your earlier stuff and just had to comment on this, it's incredible. I already know I'm going to enjoy every other thing I read of yours so I'll just leave this one comment and try to keep it as short and sweet as possible. You're such an amazing writer, one who somehow manages to make poetry read as eliquently as prose, and prose as delicately as poetry. In all, I think you're ace. You're unique and inspiring and I honestly feel priviledged to read the work of someone who is going to be a household name in future years. You definitely have a suscriber here, a fan, a groupie - whatever you want to call me - and I truly wish you well in your rise to the top and can't wait to see what the next few years bring out of you. I commented on your goodreads link in the forum earlier and mentioned I had a 'top five' -you're definitely in there for me. Can't get enough of your writing and am now going to read the rest - from on very happy Abctaler, thank you so much for posting all of these :)
All the best,
Rachel xx
maggyvaneijk | June 1, 2011 - 22:15
Rachel, you are far too kind. Thank you so much, this is one of the nicest comments I've ever received. I'm going to go to bed with a big fat smile on my face.
All the best to you too!
Maggy
RachelPatricia | June 2, 2011 - 13:14
And so you should! ;oD
Always glad to put a smile on the face of someone who thoroughly deserves it, and also glad you didn't think it was too over-the-top - I'm naturally a very over-the-top person anyway and just can't help it at times. Just couldn't rest until I'd told you - please get a book out soon! I want one on my shelf - a signed one, if poss ;o) haha
Take care,
Rachel xx