Cracked bottles & old photographs

The dreams inside my head are nothing but fragile 'what ifs' and disappointments.

The bottle on my shelf hovering above the old photographs on my wall decided he'd seen enough.

The fact that I've been asleep here till 1 pm isn't exactly a good thing.

Yet here I am.

Maybe he got tired of watching me sleep my life away. Maybe he got tired of watching me wake up from dreams with a frown slapped on my face and a messy bun that screamed out 'I don't care about anything anymore!'

He was irked by the way the sun would ask me to come out to play and I'd slowly board up the windows.

Day by day.

The bottle fell from the shelf at approximately 1 pm on a Monday afternoon.

Why?

The window wasn't open. My door was closed. There wasn't an earthquake nor did the garage open and inch it off the shelf.

The sound of glass breaking ricocheted through my discombobulated skull.

The pieces laid motionless on the floor. With his last moments of life he muttered under his breath,

"Wake up, and see the sunshine. Let the wind chill your skin. Stop kicking in your dreams and crying when you wake. I'm glad a woke you, it was the least I could do. I'm tired of watching you suffer through dreams."

Just like that, my bottle on the shelf labeled 'Cherry Bawls Guarana' was gone. His head was detached from his body, and his arms were underneath the record player on the other side of the room.

I still can't decide if he fell because he wanted to save me, or if he wanted to save himeslf because he couldn't watch me for another day...

As I picked up the pieces, the old photographs of me were smiling away.

It's been a very long time since I wandered over to the foot of my bed on the other side of the room just to look at old memories. Some of them are of my best friend, some of them are of my old best friend, and some of them are of him.

I looked at one as it looked at me and said, "You haven't put a picture up in almost 8 months. When are you going to do so?" I tried to tell her that I got busy and haven't had the time to make a memory, let alone put one up.

"I've watched you everyday for 2 years come into your room and lay on that bed. Yet you are too busy? Too busy for fun and too busy for memories?"

I apologized and she said she was distraught at the way the wall seemed to be arranged.

I realized the happy girl in the picture was of me.

I was too busy to go out and make something happen because I'm afraid of disappointment. I'm so afraid that I gave up trying because trying isn't the problem, it's the result of trying that leads to failure.

She looked at me one more time and said, "Go out today and make something of yourself. Today. Right now. Call a friend, walk your dog, clean your mess of a room for goodness sakes! But please don't lie to me or yourself when you say you have no time. You need to wake up because dreams are nothing but dreams. Maybe if you'd wake up your dreams wouldn't be all you had to look forward to in life."

Just like that she turned back into the smiling girl on the wall with the long curly gold locks I used to be.

As the bottle and the old photographs sat in my hands I realized not only was I a creepy loser for talking to two inanimate objects... But that they were right.

I needed to get up. Just like the sign says on my ceiling I taped up there years ago. Just like the pictures on the walls say. Just like the bottles on the shelf say.

Get up!

Dreams are nothing but dreams. Until your life is better than a dream, you have to go out and try to make it a little bit better than the day before.

Stop dreaming and get your ass up.

Sometimes your bed is the hardest drug you'll have to quit.

But all you have to do is get up.