The Little Things

Sometimes it’s the stupid little things you know. The stupid little things that no one actually notices, the ones that are hardly categorizable, that sometimes make or break something, or worse, someone. I wish this can go to prove an epic punch line, but it’s really an in-your-face thing.Premises of their own, stuff you might read off of a bumper sticker or a friend says on the phone in the middle of some entirely unrelated subject, and you make fun of it or let it slide, then it goes to eat at you, chipping at every last piece. You could leave an episode of some show you like to load as an incentive as you drudge through that maths sheet that seems to have a black hole in it, and halfway through it you look up to check on it and see that it has failed. You could actually stop caring for what someone might be thinking long enough to fool yourself, then something flies at you that sticks somehow, and you wonder if you ever actually stopped giving a damn. The little things. It’s never the big words, or the paramount slogans. It’s that little “When” that turns into an “Are” and later into a nod. It’s the insertion of your name somewhere in an argument, as if somehow your name has turned into an adjective for that thing that pisses them off so much. It’s those little patterns you might make in your head for something when a little thing falls out of alignment, and that little recessive OCD gene in everyone of us comes back and shifts into gear because that hot shower you take before you sleep is actually what makes you fall asleep in the first place. It’s the dead that are stuck in your “Reconnect” tab up on the right on facebook. It’s that song you keep projecting your stuff unto and listening to it, over and over again, almost in guilty pleasure, because no one gets it but you. And oh, how you revel in it. The suspense of it all, how it’s so close to a slam dunk, yet no one else can hear the swoosh but you.

And you know what’s the biggest turn off about it? They never actually go away.

They’re always there, because unlike what most people think, you’re not supposed to let go of crap. Sometimes, it's the one thing that keeps you grounded. Just when you think you want to be the one and only experimental lab rat and have a memory wipe-out process like the one in “Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind”, somehow you know that it just has to stay there, because it’s holding hands with your sanity, and if one goes, well, the other one will not let it go that easily.

And it has absolutely no relation between how strong someone might be, or how genetically predisposed to being a tough ass they are. The little things get to you, they jumpstart the degenerative aspect of you et voila. Borderline or not baby you’re going down. You’re not getting up this time either, and it has nothing to do with docking an acuate Frisbee or an expired cupid’s arrow because, well, Karma doesn’t work that way.

You’re not supposed to get it, this is just like my guilty-pleasure songs. You’ll never get it. It is designed so you never will. It’s one of the little things, my little things, that are entirely my own. You do not belong in my head, and I’m pretty sure if you ever find a way in my antibodies will slaughter you.

It’s that, the knowledge of those mini ninjas and huns living in my head, along with the knowledge that at any day of the week if things get too much I have the ability to sniff a little more gas than my lungs would welcome and it’s asta lavista dimension.

The little things. That song. This mug of coffee.

It’s always the little things.