On a Roof – A Review

I eat when I’m stressed.

Which probably explains the sleeve of Oreos I’m working through while I sit on my roof. I’ve got nothing but a spiral notebook, a pen, and a blanket that’s currently dragging across the slightly wet pavement.

I’m sitting criss-cross applesauce, using my knee to replace my lost clipboard wondering what it is that I’m doing.

From my roof I can see Manhattan. And while I’m watching the sun set behind the buildings, I’m not thinking about it.

Instead I’m replaying the last song you were learning on guitar over and over again in my head.

Instead I’m thinking about how you messed up today.

Instead I’m thinking about how you abandoned me and then blamed me for it.

Instead I’m thinking about what it feels like to lose.

Instead, Well. I’m just not here.

I’m ten feet deep in a headspace that doesn’t have much room for anything except a tape deck looping the same imagined lip service through my head.

The tape is wound tight, like the muscle in my shoulders as I grimace and think about what’s on my plate in the coming weeks. And the empty sleeve of Oreos tells me I’m stressed.

And I don’t like the twisted feeling in my stomach, my throat, my neck, my face. I’m not me anymore. I was for a while. But now I’ve been consumed by remembering the situation I’m in.

For not quite long enough, I was able to deny it. I was winning. And now that I’m losing again, I’m not quite sure where all that ground I made up has gone.

But that’s the thing about made up floor, you forget about it, and then you’re falling.

--

I’ve had some conversations with a friend about how if I hear them listening to specific songs on repeat, it’s a bad sign. They’re not sad songs, just songs deeply tied to emotions. And I think I’m like that, just with places.

For me, this roof, this roof is not a good place for me to be alone. It feels like this is where I go when I fail. When I feel like I missed something. While I’m up there alone often, I’ve only ever been on the roof 3 times with other people and every time it felt like not enough.

For whatever reason, I tied the location with my identity.

Like a song on repeat, I find myself stuck there. Undeserving of escape because I decided that this was a fate I needed. I guess I just want to live in a space punctuated with memories made bad retroactively. Maybe it makes the current bad more manageable, or maybe it just pushes me off whatever edge I was peeking over and sends me into the abyss sooner rather than later. I guess then I at least might get out of it faster.

Maybe it’s just me being an all-or-nothing kind of person. If I’m going to suffer, I might as well do it internally as well as externally.

Or maybe it’s just me, being me. Doing something to get my mind right.

Ultimately, I’ve been doing well. I’ve felt good mentally and I’ve felt like writing and in the process of doing so, I’ve pulled myself upright and decided not to crash land just yet.

Funny how things work like that.

Thanks for reading. Have a nice rest of your week.