Just One Of Those Days

It's one of those days when the sun starts to set early and the cold settles in.

I drop the needle on the record that's been spinning over night and grasp an open bottle of wine that hasn't been finished yet.

I light a cigarette and sway alone near the lit Christmas tree.

I spot a ceramic bear ornament with a picture of me when I was a kid on it.

I'm not sure why but I start to cry and drink heavily.

I sober up once "Sweet Painted Lady" by Elton John comes on.

When I close my eyes, I'm transported to that night at the school dance, when Danny Flynn asked me to dance, but I nervously declined.

I see the youthful me, standing along the sidelines of the snowflake themed dance floor.

I'm staring directly at Jim Morris, a high school senior known for taking freshman girls virginity's.

Somehow he looks magical tonight.

I don't usually pay much attention to him, but as he whirls his date through the sea of serious dancers.

I wonder what my night would have been like if I had come here with him.

I see me in his arms, laughing and ignorantly going along with his rouse.

After the dance he would drive me into the woods and play a mix tape with plenty of classic pantie dropping hits.

Instead I stood lifelessly watching, like a sick goldfish in a polluted fish bowl.

The waves crashing against the rocks from the record bring me back to present day.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

I remove it and snap it in half.

The cat slinks into the room stretching its back and front legs.

I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.

For a moment I pretend she's Jim, until the bitch digs her claws into my back.

I let her drop to the floor and collapse to the ground.

My head is positioned on the tree skirt.

"Roy Rogers" by Elton begins.

I look up at the twinkling lights and take a deep breath, before another drag.

I inhale so deep I feel like my lungs are on fire.

As I exhale I erupt into a coughing fit that makes me laugh.

I take the ornament with my picture off the tree and kick it over.

I drop the cigarette and begin tearing the tree apart.

Some of the glass ornaments cut up my hands, but I can't feel it.

I can't feel anything anymore.

I wonder why it wasn't me.

Why he had to go first, but that only pisses me off more.

I continue to destroy any and everything decorated in the room until I lose my balance and fall into the record player.

It begins to skip, and scratch.

I pull my knees into the chest and wipe the tears from my eyes, but somehow they never dry.