As I was slamming the car door shut with a surge of restlessness and finality, I noticed that the lights were on and my keys were still jangling mockingly from the ignition. I thought to myself, "Fuck it," and slumped away. Sure, my battery might die, but it's my careless nature and my endearing spurts of Alzheimer-esque forgetfulness that got me into this situation, and there's not much else I'm willing to do about it.
Pacing angrily in semi-circles like an utter imbecile, I thought back to Thursday night. I begged myself to find a scapegoat that would again justify my warped agenda. However, the only source I could manage to scrounge up was the idiot who locked the keys in the Blazer. If only those keys were in a pocket or a purse or simply anywhere but the ignition.
If only I stayed in the moment. Had I been impervious to delinquent feelings of hope, crimson fury, anxiety, skyrocketing aspiration, this would not have happened. Perhaps, then, I could finally get a decent night's sleep.
The light will eventually go off, whether or not I have to sufficate the electrical current feeding its glow. The oversized nuisance of a nightlight will die and I will then be able to successfully pull the blanket over my head. I will wrestle myself; time is the only thing that will assuage this burning, and all I can do is sleep on it.