Ben Bonkoske

A little can do a lot. A little reorganization can go a long way. A little proper communication can go even further. Where am I going? Away! AWAY. I don’t want to see everyone I knew from high school when I am a happy failure in my own self-dignified way. It’s overrated. I don’t necessarily crave new acquaintances either, because let’s face it, they all have their problems they might over explain. I’m the same. I found a little hole in the wall where a stray lightbulb and smooth jazz hides me away from the very complicated, scary, inconceivable daylight from outside. Like a child opening its eyes for the first time after a birth squeeze, I might be coming out of a somber quiet depression. Hopefully, but unlikely. I’m more convinced it is hypomania ready to slay me by tomorrow this time. If I put in half the hours I did today tomorrow, it’d be a good day. That’s untrue and I’ll explain why. If someone has one good day, they will expect the next to be just as fulfilling, however, it’ll take the same amount of productivity to reach the same level of affirmation, so if I’m half as productive tomorrow, I will be half as happy as I am today, and that is why I am crazy. I build dream upon dream and burnout like a burnout. Who cares, you want to know why I am actually doing something with my life? Because I have gone the distance in between my last mistake and today. It pains me to think how far ahead of myself I would be if I hadn’t made my most recent mistake, and the one before that all the way back to my birth, or worse, showing up to school stoned when I was class president. Everybody knew my defamed name. They probably still won’t forget how unmemorable I really am. Parent’s from my home town didn’t like me because I didn’t have that much money, when in reality it is because I was a trouble maker anyway. I’m listening to music that for the first time doesn’t make me feel like life is one empty shallow unexplained explanation for itself. I’m happy enough to not hate everyone for once. I might benefit from a sensory deprivation tank. Here I am, locked away in a nuclear bunker happy as a clam. I am going to be who I am. What I believed. A romantic misfit ready to be deceived. I think I have surpassed two weeks without compulsive mastbehavior. For that, and every other refrain, God is taking care of me. Today, I was ready to say, “Hope is outdated.” And in religious fashion, all of my disbelief evaporated. It really got very old feeling like I always had to explain myself. I almost believed it, but deep down it was like an old relationship. I still don’t know what is going to happen, but like that time I once walked off into the horizon without much to my name, it worked out somehow. I think it is amazing how little money we actually need – a preliminary curse? I haven’t grown a day older, I’m still in love with what’s her name.