Poparazzi

After hours of droning TV, I meander outside. My eyes settle on the rope which composes the hammock, suspended between wood posts. I climb in and am cocooned by the net, wondering how such thin thread could securely uphold my body. The strings; narrow but strong. Inhaling serviced my senses and calmed my aggravation. The cool, sweet air belonged to summer and I welcomed the parallel relationship. The fireflies were bright spots in the dense darkness, and they playfully vanquished the void with their illustrious ends. Floating, with looming, black trees as their background, their blinking resembled wildly enthusiastic photographers. Flashing from every angle and with endless repetition, they seemed to capture my moment of solitude. Except, it's not solitude anymore, not with them there. This must be how celebrities feel. Inundated with opinions and judgements on their every move.

***

I am trapped; I can't administer my ruthless thoughts to another, when I should administer them first, to myself.

So. To both audiences:
Stop venting. Shut up. It's the same as complaining. Quit bitching. Because most likely, there's someone out there who deserves to say the same or worse about you. And they have. Where does that leave you? In the same position you put those in, who you are now talking about. Be the anti-catalyst!! Break the cycle.

The buck stops here.

***

It's 11:00. I don't care. I'm eating lunch.