40.

I muster out a "Yeah. Cool", and mope away. I drag my broom behind me, and slump down into my dungeon. I do an excellent Charlie Brown impersonation. Sad and dejected now, I fear my high might be dying. I still have no idea what time it is. I sweep and clean the basement and then I weep. I don't even know when the last time I had sex was. I don't even know when the last time I was loved was.

That's a lie,actually. Because 5 months and never are the answers respectively. Well, that might be too generous to my own sense of depressed delusion.

Oh God, my mood really is killing my high. Colors morph back to dull dark tones. Sounds turn down to lame static. My self esteem and pride wither back into the steaming pile of shit they were before. Oh woe is me. I'm so damn pathetic. I'm such a whinny baby. I'm tired and broken and all I ever do is complain about it and desperately try to escape in chemistry and pain. The floor now stands swept and bare except this newly formed mountain of filth in front of me. I stand alone with my few meager possessions and I breath in the stale dank air. Time washes over me. Tick, tock. I feel ten thousand emotions a minute. My pendulum swings so fast it's shape starts to bend and break. It swings faster every second, the crushing wind curving it's metal shape further. I sway about, embracing the impending crash. Faster, faster. Tick, tock, tick, tock. I'm so sad and angry and scared all at the same time, all the damn time. I dig my fingers into my flesh and brace myself. My mind is buried deep in my subconscious while my body's buried deep beneath the earth inside this concrete mausoleum. The cacophony suits my temperament. Enough is enough is enough. Time to grow up and shut the fuck up. Things are better and it's time to stop feeling so damn sorry for myself all the time. Times have been bad, but they could have been worse. Come on, stop being such a fucking turd. No more to and fro, no more back and forth. Let's get on with our life. I scream this all inside my head and once it's done, I repeat it. I repeat it over and over again each time a little slower and a little more genuine. I taste the salt of my tears and feel the pain of my nails dug into my flesh and I am reborn. Perhaps, not quite so dramatic or extravagant, but an epiphany is had. I honestly believe myself and I stop crying. Everybody has got to start somewhere. I jump into the massive hill of swept dirt and my feet come pounding down like thunder. The earthquake of my feet creates slow spreading clouds of dust. I stomp and stomp and level it all. I raze my mountain and then raise my flag, announcing to myself that I have conquered me. I kick the remaining remnants and as I do, I feel the pendulum snap. And that's it, no more metronome leading me back and forth between melancholy and macabre.