A/N: Second installment of the riveting series.  Yeah, right.  Bear with me, I’m making this up as I go along.  I don’t know how things will resolve themselves either.  Suggestions?  Comments?  All much appreciated. 

Look at me, sitting here again in the food court, writing.  Why am I here if it depresses me?  Maybe that’s why I’m so unhappy – I spend far too much time here.  Will I stop coming?  No.  Why change the established order of things?  I can hear you now.  “You bloody idiot!  You whining fool!  You, you…  You author of your own misery!  You complain and yet you don’t do anything!”  Quite right, I don’t.  And hasn’t that always been my major flaw, the obvious cause of my downfall as I hurtle towards the ground, breaking down as I pass through the Earth’s atmosphere?  Yes, it has.  This is what people will want to know as they stare at the wreckage, wondering what the hell went wrong.  Then they’ll sift through the debris and find these pages – my black box, if you will – and all will be made clear.  They’ll know all that I know, and they might even find some answers that I don’t have.  I’m like the pilot asking “Oh God, why is the engine malfunctioning?”  They’ll know.

Now, that’s not to say that I’m suicidal, not at all.  I don’t want to kill myself.  I talk of hurtling towards the ground, of wreckage, but that’s not the “physical me” so much as the “spiritual me”.  Does that make sense?  And it’s not voluntary.  I never wanted this to happen, and I certainly don’t want it to end in my death. I believe I’m still salvageable, in the end.  All I need is some time off from life to build up my reserves of energy and strength and passion and all that.  I’m too young to retire; I just need two weeks off with pay.  And I’m still hoping that my boss will realize this and be benevolent enough to force me to take this vacation.  “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything, you need this, just relax.  When you come back, everything will be fine.”  As it is, I’m sort of taking a holiday without permission, without even calling in sick.  I’m skipping classes, I’m neglecting my homework, and I stay in rather than go out.  I’d neglect my job but then it would get obvious.  That’s the thing, I hide this ever-increasing disengagement from those closest to me, and it keeps me from getting some kind of help.  I don’t want to let anyone down.  My mom once told me that her philosophy is “set high expectations, and your kids will soar to meet them.”  Seems harsh now, but I used to be able to live up to that with little effort.  It appears that my wings have gotten tired, so to speak.  I don’t want her to see my flagging strength.  Hmm…  I guess my indifference hasn’t gotten to that, hasn’t touched it yet.  Ah, but I can hear the disappointment in her voice already.  It makes me cringe.  It’s the thought of the reaction of all my loved ones that keeps me from doing anything drastic.  Well, relatively drastic.  For example, staying in bed for days, or giving in to the urge to vent my frustration by kicking in windows downtown and overturning racks of merchandise in stores, or not completing assignments, just to name a few.  God forbid I should ever be left on my own; I’d self-destruct in the blink of an eye.  You know, as opposed to the few dozens blinks it’s taking now. 

God, but I’m so tired.  I’m just worn-out from trying to cope with these crazy thoughts, these crazy feelings.  I wish something would happen.  I’m in this sort of uncertain state and I can’t foresee an ending.  And we all know that I won’t be doing anything to hasten the process.  Nor will there be any struggling to get back on track before derailing completely or any blowing of the horn to warn people as to what’s about to happen.  I fully and truly am the author of my own misery.