In my fantasy, I’m climbing the barricades. I’m not sure why I’m climbing the barricades. It’s been a long time since I’ve believed in anything strongly enough to do that sort of thing.
Maybe I’m climbing the barricades because I got tired of playing with my phone.
I’m waving a flag, but what flag could I possibly be waving? The flag of doing my best to pay my bills? The flag of 9 to 5 employment?
I’m surrounded on all sides by real fighters–warriors truly engaged in the battle. Unlike me, they’re not here to march down the alley in slow motion, trying hard to be Beyonce in her Lemonade video. They actually want to change things. They’re not here looking for a shiver of excitement, for a reminder that life doesn’t have to be safe and boring.
Me? I think the truth is I want to belong somewhere.
But speaking of the excitement, where is it? Where is the smoke? Where are the tear gas cannisters? I don’t see any bombs or bricks getting thrown.
For that matter, I don’t see anyone to fight. The street I’m wandering down is suddenly very empty. No creepy authorities dressed in black. I look around, feeling lost. Nobody to get angry at, to shout at. And why should there be?
It turns out, the person I’m protesting is myself.