sunday, october 6 - finding the love you deserve, with others
Closing their journal, Kingston sighed as their eyes immediately fell back onto the burned cup of noodles, its singed bottom scowling back at them in detest. Most of the lights have been kept off, now including the kitchen, meaning that the apartment is solely illuminated by the warm yellow of their banker lamp at the side of their desk, its low power only brightening a small vicinity around them. It was cold in New York, and Kingston decided that if they were going to spend an egregious amount of money on their heating bill, they could cut costs when it came to their other appliances.
Dropping their pencil in an old mason jar riddled with ink splotches, Kingston pushed their chair away from the desk and forced themselves to get up, swaying on their feet for a few seconds before knocking their knees against their bed, letting their body fall onto the semi-soft material with a quiet thump. It was getting too late even for their standards, and they wondered if they could force themselves to fall asleep before their 8 o-clock alarm.
Tomorrow wasn’t their first day of work—they have been at this publishing agency for about two weeks now, so their co-workers had garnered an impression of them already. But should they risk avoiding punctuality, staining their impression so early? How stable was their current reputation?
Sighing, they shut their eyes, pulling their knees to their chest and hugging them aggressively, cursing themselves to sleep for just a few hours and enough to function their body, tomorrow.
However their track record for previous nights have been treacherous, and Kingston had long ago accepted that consistent, restful sleep was a concept unbeknown to them.
Aggressively puffing out a breath, Kingston pulled out their phone.
It took a few seconds before a response.
They snickered, sighing gently at the message. Princess had always been the only person to truly make Kingston laugh. Many people missed that note, throwing around jabs and humors that either fell flat or fell on their nerve, offending more than it ever could humor. It was partially Kingston’s fault; most people were simply unfunny in their eyes, and part of that could be eased if Kingston broadened and lightened their sense of humor. But, instead, cynical comedy was the only humorous region Kingston acknowledged, and Princess had been able to produce it ever since she had spoken her first word, when Kingston was six and Princess was one, and their mother was sitting just out of ear-sight. Now, Princess just calls their humor edgy and weird and Kingston snickers at that as well.
Kingston could immediately imagine their sisters’ eyes rolling at this.
Their white mug was still spinning under the warm white light of their kitchen microwave, and Kingston wondered if they should go grocery shopping soon. Their company provides company meals, so if they ordered a bigger meal, they could just eat it for lunch and dinner. Figuring out those logistics over spending money on groceries that they would potentially let spoil sounded like the better solution, and the one that did not require them to stay outside of their apartment longer.
It was all so odd, contemplating those logistics, getting frustrated over lack of sleep, caring so much about their first impression two weeks later—when did these things begin to matter? When did life becoming fine-tuning every aspect of your body and character, so you act presentable, rather than just be it? Was it like this when they were a teenager? Even when they were struggling to decipher their identity in their youth, it didn’t feel like this; back then, it was a fight, now, it’s a tussle, and Kingston never feels like they’re winning.
The screaming beep of their microwave yanked Kingston out of their internal monologue, making them jolt up from their lean against the counter and rush to pull open the microwave door, praying that the milk didn’t spill over. Thankfully, the continents remained in the cup, and Kingston immediately lifted the hot beverage to their lips and took a sip, sputtering and pulling back when it burnt their tongue. They created some distance, stared at the white liquid, and then started to blow on it, not even allowing themselves to be annoyed at their incompetence.
Falling back onto their bed, they pulled out their phone once again and opened their messages to Princess.
Chuckling, they took another sip of their drink, hoping it would slowly help lull them to sleep.
kingston's journal entry--october 6th: https://www.tumblr.com/kingstonofthekingdom/771260371812106240/sunday-october-6th?source=share
