Sundays

Panda gets the refrigerator and the microwave confused. It's like we live on another planet where microwaves make things cold instead of hot and we drink luke warm faucet water out of wine glasses.

Sometimes it works. Our life like one big dirty drain, still it looks clean.

I want to pass the years with everlasting naps because i feel terrible. Laying on the floor of my room I shout through the walls to my roommate, my eyes closed super tight. I want to explain to someone how it feels.

I say to him that I hate thinking about the places Ive lived in the past. I hate thinking about the people Ive known in the past and now dont know. Im not sure if this is the reason I feel terrible, still this is what I say.

Panda pauses for a long time before telling me what he hates. He hates that we didnt get to be a part of everything thats happened to the human race. We missed all of it, he says. This doesnt make me feel any better. And the moment feels surreal and altogether irrelevant. He doesnt get what Im saying and I dont get what hes saying.

I shrug it off. It doesnt matter because we both really do mean well.

I roll over and go back to sleep. Trying to soak in the sounds of the cartoon thats on in the living room. Constant background noise.