Oatmeal

Today's Creative Writing Freewrite (11.05am):

I wonder, am I supposed to feel totally lost? I feel like oatmeal that is too hot to eat, and the idiot that made it didn't add enough water or milk leaving it bubbly and dry. It's an ugly thing: dry, overcooked oatmeal. Unwanted but forced anyway because no one likes to waste food. And even if it is eaten, the bowl will sit on the counter because that crusty, semi-burned oat crap on the sides is such a pain to clean up. I fell really, really-I don't even know. Is it sad? I don't think so, there's no tears to send falling, not angry-I haven't been angry in awhile. The girl thing? God, I hope not. I would like to be happy with my morning coffee, the chocolate soy milk I'll buy for lunch. Everything is a jumble and I don't know why I do anything. Why did I wear this shirt today? I'm not sure I like it-I wore it anyway. I'm so stupid sometimes. I would like a cigar. That would be nice. Maybe I'm jealous-maybe I'm insecure. Maybe today I don't care-and quite possibly that's the worst of all. I do care-who am I convincing? Mad World. I've heard that everybody has these days. Everybody. Then why does it seem that I have them so much more? And even as I ask, I feel that familiar answer crawling up the back of my neck. I'm fighting it. Why? Almost as if I want to sit in the shadows for awhile. But I don't. Really-I don't. Because of those words, "I love you. I want you. Sit with me awhile, let me love you." They ring in my ears and give me goosebumps. Fear is paralyzing, and I can't move my feet. Afraid to lose what I treasure most, terror showing me visions of ships sailing away leaving me to reach out and grab onto nothing. Where does it all come from? I'm not sure. Later, I'll wake up to find my treasure still here, still around me, still loving me. Someone left the oatmeal in too long.