Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Indoors - Outdoors

My hands slowly touched the typewriter keys like a blind person would touch the page of a braille book. The bedside bright lamp distracted my view from the white sheet placed in front of me, white everything was white. It was a Friday night and there I was locked in my room with a beige typer and a cup of coffee. I was certain that people out there were having fun. I could hear them. People my age, getting drinks at pubs, tacky dance moves and more booze. Sometimes I'd wish I was one of them, but despite the momentary feeling of happiness it would bring, I knew I would get bored and sick of all that fun which basically consisted of boys, parties, drinks and dull conversations. I'd rarely go clubbing and when I did I simply got drunk and analysed people; how the smiled, flirted, screamed and satisfied all their carnal desires. I felt sorry for teenagers. I didn't like them. They seemed so pretentious and happy even though that was a generalizing thought of mine.