I've got a cold. I stole some of my roommate's vitamin C Halls cough drops - the ones now with tiny words of "encouragement." Just before my body broke into a heaving coughing episode, I popped the cool orange drop into my mouth and flattened out its wrapper. Did I feel encouraged? No. I felt a silly baffoon. Mocked. Maybe it's the placement of the words on the wrapper, or the way they are worded. Of course, I know I'm making myself the victim here. This little detail doesn't matter within a larger picture. I got to thinking about words, though (which I think about all the time). I've become skeptical of them as of late. It has a lot to do with my personal challenge of steering away from my own sentimental, flowery writing. And my ridiculous poetry that's so hopeful, its own hope becomes a little deafening - or too encouraging, in turn, meaningless - like the Halls wrappers. I don't want to become a Halls wrapper advocate and/or a sad mutterwhisperer writer of words.
"They fill me with sad mental vignettes featuring the saddest sickest
sadsters smiling weakly at the wrappers crinkling in their flu-addled