Stupid People

“She sat there, waiting. It had only been nine minutes but it had felt 30; where was he? He said he

would be here, he really had. It was practically his job. Actually, there was no “practically” about it –

it was definitely his job.

His job was to help. To help and to comfort, that was what they had said. So where was he? She had

started out fine this morning, but now her enforced freedom was beginning to alarm her even more.

It had been such a struggle to get even this far, so where was he?

As she looked around the room she smiled nervously at the emptiness, happy to be left alone. For

once nobody stood watching. For the moment she could breathe, but that moment would soon be

over. Why would he not just hurry up already? How long would she have left of this bliss? How long

until somebody came and interrupted? She’d learnt by now that nothing stays good forever, and soon

the people would come, and then it would all turn downhill from there.

It wasn’t that she exactly disliked people, many would even say that she seemed the “life of the

party,” it was just that she couldn’t deal with their prowling eyes. It would be just like last time: they

would sit there, watching her, judging her.

“What’s she even doing here,” they would mumble among themselves.

“She’s absolutely fine. It’s all in her head.”

I suppose they’re right really, that’s exactly what the problem is. It’s all in

my head. It’s trying to

escape into my real life, but it doesn’t exist, not really. It’s just a difference that I can’t seem to

explain. That nobody can explain. They’ll try, they really will, but they’ll fail, and then they’ll give up.

Just like they did last time. I suppose as long as I care about her, somebody does. Even if that person

is simply myself. Referring to myself in third person… if that makes sense…? I do that a lot you know. I

guess it’s just one of those differences that I can’t quite explain.

I’m never really sure why I do it, but I guess it’s just because I’m simply another character. Another

person I just pretend to be. If you knew the real me you’d run and hide, but instead you insist on

talking to me. Insist on stopping me in the street and congratulating me on that last interview. Why

can’t you all just leave me alone? It’s my stories you should all care about, not my life story.

I’m nothing special; honestly, I just wish you’d believe me when I say that. I’m no different to you. So

what if I like to write, you like fishing, it doesn’t mean I want to be tortured by yet another story of

“that” fishing trip. I wasn’t even there, I don’t even care. If I’m perfectly honest I don’t really give a

damn about anything that happens in your silly life. Real life is boring, therefore you bore me.

But anyway, I’ve got to get back to my work. I have no idea why I even bothered to speak to you

anyway.

“Just as Edwina had managed to relax herself she jumped anxiously to her feet. She could hear

noises: footsteps; doors opening, shutting; chatter. She knew it would only be a matter of time before

they found her. They always did find her.

“Edwina Pellow.”

She nodded politely over at the nurse as she called her name. “I wonder” she thought silently to

herself, “I wonder what it would be like to look just as perfect as her.”

As she walked towards the consulting room a sudden flush of anger hit her. How dare she treat

herself like this? Maybe you are just as beautiful as her. Maybe you are and you don't even realise.

Realize? Realize what? Just look at her. She's perfect; 5ft 5, blonde and just stunning, and you're, well

you're just you. Don't even bother even thinking about those self-help books. They're for other

people, not you. There's really not any help for you at all.

“Sit over there Edwina,” the doctor instructed coolly.

“It's Eddy..”

“What?”

“I said... well... most people call me Eddy.”

“Well Eddy we'll talk about that later. What I really want you to talk about now is why you're here.”

That was the question she hated the most; why was she here? Because others had told her to come,

because she just let others push her around? Why was she here?

“I don't know.”

As she looked across at him she could tell that he was already losing his patience. That was the

problem, people wanted to know now, and they wanted to know for sure. Why leave anything to

chance? Why just not just let her talk for a bit, and then he would see, but no, he wanted to know

now.

“I... I got told to come,” she hesitated for just a second before continuing. “I got told to come, and

talk about my mood.”

“...And why was that.”

“Because...” All her reasoning had gone now. Why had they told her to come again?

“No reason at all, sir... I just... I just felt I should, with the others telling me to.”

She sat in the silence for only a couple of seconds longer before deciding that she should leave. There

was no point with this anymore. Why had there ever been a point to start with?

“I am sane,” she said to herself as she walked away.

“Where do you think you're going,” the doctor began aggressively. “We still have a lot to talk

about...”

“I just don't really want to talk anymore,” she answered calmly as she shut the door behind her. A

small smirk crossed her face as she smiled at her assertiveness.

“I just don't want to talk anymore.” She repeated mentally.

“Try and lock me in a box now,” she thought.

“Tell me how I feel now.”

As she walked through the reception she couldn't help noticing that for the first time in her life

nobody was actually looking at her, nobody was even taking any notice of anyone other than

themselves and their own drama-filled lives. It wasn't that she hadn't known this before, but it all

seemed much more vivid and real now, like she had just awoken from some strange kind of dream.

Walking down Pipe Street seemed completely different. It wasn't the first, and it probably would not

be the last time she had walked down here but it suddenly felt all to surreal. Everything suddenly

seemed to jump out at her. The lights reflecting off the puddles caught her off guard, startling her

with their brightness. Cars sped by, knocking the air from her lungs, so fast in-fact that they nearly

knocked her down altogether. Why had she she even bothered coming out today. Why had she even

considered that today was going to be a special, new day. It was just like every other day – possibly

worse.

She would have to phone the doctor as soon as she got in. She would have to ring and apologize.

Why should she have to though? That doctor had been an over-paid, arrogant twat, she thought to

herself angrily. Like he would even care that she had left, but still, she would have to explain.”

I've always wondered what would happen if I just left. I suppose it would really depend on what I had

left, but still. Say I had left college, left home earlier – who would I be now? I'd be different right?

Less messed up? That's how it always seems to work. Parents mess everything up. If they're there

there overprotective and argumentative, and if they're not they're absent and pointless. Parent's are

possibly the biggest scapegoats... I mean, if I'm honest nothings really their fault, but yes, I shall still

blame them, just as everybody else will blame theirs.

I know you'll probably be thinking that I'm writing a book about myself, that Edwina's actually based

off me, but I'm not, and we're nothing alike. Think what you want, but if I'm honest I've been told

that I have to write this drivel, and if I'm going to be

completely honest I really wish that Marty would

leave me to write what I want, and not just ask me to write what will sell. Marty's my agent, my

editor and my worst nightmare. He thinks he knows it all but he doesn't. He doesn't know a thing

really, he just sits watching over me. My little devil on my shoulder, influencing and ruining my ideas

and my work. He should know better by now.

I really wish that none of this had ever even started. I wish I could be like all the stupid people I see in

the world. I'll tell you a secret, stupid people might have the piss taken out of them for being dumb,

but really they're the ones who have it sorted. Have you ever actually seen a stupid person who is

sad? They're too stupid even to understand sadness, so therefore they're happy. They have to get on

with their ridiculously repetitive and boring job, day in, day out but still they're content with what

they have. They don't know they could do better. They don't know what they could be missing out

on. I just wish I could be like them, happy and content with nothingness... instead I'm me. A

misanthropist perfectionist. Do you know how hard it is to be me? To have to deal with watching all

the failure in the world? I don't even know why I'm bothering to even contemplate this, it's pointless.

I will never be like them. I'm too clever.

But still, it might as well be a disease, to me it is. People never let you forget that you're clever.

Everything you do “you could have done better” or “we all knew you could do it.” I wish that I'd be

dumb and stupid from birth, then that could be me. No more whiny phone calls off Marty

complaining about how he didn't “quite understand” my concept, and no more dealings with the

block. I would be left with my 9-5 retail job in some mainstream supermarket, or my 9-3 part time

cleaning job, and I would be happy. I can't do that now though, everybody knows that if intelligent

and clever people don't use their brains then they go crazy. They know they can do better, and that's

where I'd be if I gave up now. Constant self-hatred at my lack of success: “you could have done

better” would follow me around forever.

That's why you're wrong about me and Edwina. She's completely stupid, and I'm completely the

opposite. I now you're probably thinking “but you said stupid people are always happy,” well that's

what makes her different. Even I don't fully understand how she understands sadness but still. We're

completely different. It's maddening really how she can hate her job so much when it's the only thing

I really desire. I hate her so much, I wish she could just understand how lucky she is.

“As she woke up Edwina flinched at the realisation that she would yet again have to actually do this.

That she would have to smile, and nod, and laugh politely at the pigs who would just moan and

whine at her. She had begun to grow used to it, but she still couldn't understand. Why blame her?

She was clearly not in charge. She was simply their to try and help. As stereotypical and repetitive as

it sounded she just couldn't stop herself from wondering where society's standards had gone.”

To be continued