Olivia wakes up to a thunderstorm. The rain hits her air conditioner and makes a steadily annoying noise. She has gotten used to it over the years, but sometimes it is unbearable. She imagines it is some kind of beat and sits there at times writing words to it. It makes the noise less annoying and actually beneficial. She chuckles internally at how she has managed to do a lot with so little in her life. With all the annoyances in general. Big or small. How her ability to adapt to situations, seems to just be an almost ingrained genetic trait.
Her eyes look young, but brain is always alert, learning, and imaginative beyond her years. At times, she finds herself observing people more than engaging. She blames psychology. Now has ventured off into neuroscience as well, always trying to seemingly connect the dots people may not find. Most People can no longer critically think though she finds. Olivia feels lost in conversations, oftentimes afraid to share a controversial opinion.. Once in a while, she’ll encounter someone else who has read similar things though, has passion, and can engage in a conversation. But it is honestly rare. She finds herself creating characters out of all these engagements, changing the names of course, but always trying to find some kind of benefit; even if the engagement was negative.
She spent most of her day writing an outline for a story, then discovering it was pointless. So had grown used to the academic setting. It had started to condition her to treat her won writing in more of a structured way though, which went against certain natural creative abilities she possessed. This finally led to the realization she could no longer plan anything out to a T in general. Like a savage, she had to let her mind wander, be free, and just focus on maintaining passion. A difficult task when it seems the world is always trying to peel the walls back. Difficult to find a positive energy out of her life story she tries so hard to forget half of the plot to. Not out of her own regrets mostly, but other people regretting their inability eventually to actually show empathy towards the right people. Oftentimes, people are misled Olivia observes, like a herd of sheep led by the most outgoing dog. The loudest seem to prevail, but not always the loudest should be given the encouragement she feels. Sometimes the person hiding in the corner, only talking to one person, needs it the most but usually goes unnoticed.
She starts to feel edgy. This urge to call Jackie right at that moment and meet up again. It was so much fun. There is honestly, nothing she would rather be doing at that moment but trying to learn everything about her, but Olivia refrains. She pets the cat for a moment of comfort, then retreats out alone in her typical fashion. Figuratively and literally.
She never leaves the house without matching from head to toe. Sort of this OCD thing she always had as a child as well. I guess no one called it out enough to change the behavior, but then again how is it a bad thing? She thinks. Ha ha. People take notice once in a while, then she feels the nice energy coming her way absorbs it like a chameleon. Then back to Hermitville; her apartment again. Especially if it is winter.
She donates to literacy at the store, even though she has hardly anything herself. Sort of not caring anymore about materialistic things in certain situations. Always trying to find a way to take nothing from anything and give nothing to anything that is misleading. To her, that is the ultimate goal in life. To be able to reach the point where you desire nothing from anyone, take nothing from anyone, and be grounded entirely in as strange as it sounds; the self. If you cannot live with yourself, you cannot truly live. She thinks of this saying quite often. Has no idea where it came from, whether it be out of her own mind or something she read. Either way, it doesn’t bother her to have “credit” like some do. Everything is sort of an inspiration derived from another inspiration. Except in cases of straight imitation and depending on the context, it could be argued that person has a lack of creativity. Which can happen. Olivia was always mesmerized by Hollywood imitation, repetition, and fads in general. Not mesmerized as in buying into it, but rather amazed by how many people buy into the destructive: live fast and die young lifestyle. How some have become so ego fueled, they live in completely self perpetuated destructive cycle, and chip at everyone who actually cares with the blinders on. Such a shame, all the talent wasted on trying to stay “ahead,” no matter what the cost. Even if it seems to cost them their existence.
She often dreams of being as wealthy as those in Beverly Hills but her smile quickly fades. Imagining starving children in Venezuela seems to strike a chord. Too much suffering in the world, and not enough hope. She thinks. She can’t imagine the guilt that would come with immense wealth. Most people would jump at the chance to spoil themselves, but she would rather have animals and people around she could help. She would find a way to help others and still maintain some kind of profit margin in order to sustain it. Unfortunately, it seems most stash their money away, invest it in stocks, die without spending it, or spend it selfishly at all times. It just doesn’t make sense, she thinks. Why create a storm when you could create a rainbow?
She thought of her hometown. A man who owned a shoe factory that her Great Grandmother once worked for was quite kind to his workers. Olivia’s Great Grandmother had a mundane duty of inserting insoles into shoes. It didn’t pay much obviously, but the owner offered financing to his workers for homes. He basically built up an entire neighborhood around the plant for cheap and offered houses for an affordable price. The community had each others backs and was beautiful. The archway dedicated to him still stands. Olivia finds herself walking under it often, then looking up in awe. Still looks like it is made out of the best quality, and carved by some of the most talented of workers. She thinks Most have no idea what it really means, or probably even take notice though. Sometimes the best things are hidden in plain sight.
Her eyes are drawn to the magic kit again and away from deep thoughts. It was just sitting under the coffee table, collecting some dust. She still hadn’t fathomed the possibility she might be different. Convinced a lack of sleep at that time, caused some kind of psychosis. Blamed it directly on what she researched.
She pours a glass of wine. Finishes it rather quickly. It has been a while. She grabs the magic kit eventually.
“Geez. Just a piece of plastic from China probably. Just some toy. Some childhood token, messing with my insomniac, psychosis, infected, mind. Thanks.” She chuckles.
She puts the cards out on the table. Each one, one by one this time. Eventually they have to be placed upon the chairs as well. All fifty two of them. We’re going to see if I am crazy. She says under her breath as if some unknown presence is there with her. Perhaps hoping there is some force therewith her. Partially tired of not having any excitement in life. She says with an exhausted sigh:
“If I am not crazy turn this Ace into an eight, please just show me if I have to be locked up behind a gate.” Then let’s out a chuckle as usual. But the chuckle didn’t last too long. She turned it over and it was now an eight. She was surrounded by a deck missing an Ace and having an extra eight. She frantically took pictures with her phone, in hopes of showing Jackie tomorrow and confirming perhaps; maybe she is losing her mind from a lack of sleep. She drinks another glass of wine to take the edge off and dozes off, hoping to not have a nightmare about magic.