Another day in the books. I reflect on the day as I drive home after school. Bullshit drama and impersonal interaction. Gotta love high school. I do okay, people like me and I am not on the bottom of the totem pole. They like me because I make them. Although I am not diagnosed, I know that I have Machiavellism, also called being a High Mach. Psychological condition marked by a desire for manipulation, a skill for turning situations to my advantage, and a disregard for others unless there is something in it for me.
People often see what they want to see and love hearing what will please them; I show them and tell them what they want to see. Do not make the make the mistake of thinking that I do this so that people will be my friend and like me. I don't give a flying rip for friendship. Power, influence, and safety is what I want. People find TV characters with this trait as powerful and invincible to the whims of fate. In real life, High Machs conceal our skills, silently looking out for ourselves first and last.
As I coast home in my car, i catalog actions, comments, and appearances of those i come in contact with. As the radio switches from music to adds, i change the channel. I don't want to get home. Not because of the people or that i have homework, but because i will have to sleep. My mind is going to jump tonight; I can feel it.
Taking the gravel switchback to my house with a gun of the engine, I charge up the slope and direct myself onto the driveway. Cool autumn air and the sounds of machinery from the nearby farms great me as I take my junk out of the car. My dog, a poodle-maltese mix, scampers off the deck and frantically sniffs my legs to see if any other dogs have come in contact with me today. That is probably his greatest concern in life, and sounds a lot better than trying to find a college.
Four hours later, I am in bed. I repeat the same process every night. read the same short story, have a glass of water in the same spot, blankets and quilt arranged exactly the same as last. Room set at sixty-five, windows cracked. As my mind drifts off, a short bit of verse comes to mind. 556Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnGCRDYzvhg
I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
The last line always sounds different, as if i transition from speaking, to hearing.
Whoever says to me, as I wake up in this world, they are faithful. Every morning, as soon as i open my eyes, i hear the same verse in my mind's ear.
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
Always there in the morning. As I look up, the pastel greens, oranges, and blues of the sky stretch out from horizon to horizon. Behind me is the wall, black and featureless, no end in sight from top to bottom or the left to the right. I look away from the wall, and the exotically dangerous garden jungle that is my home greets my eyes.556Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8UqqELOdpx
