Song: "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day
Feeling: Tired
Description: So this entry is about the feeling of "tired" or "tiredness' (how ever you may say it). The song, "Wake Me Up When September Ends" is by the awesome and amazing band, Green Day. Again I am not sure what the band wanted to say with this song, but from what I've heard and the opinion of others I think it's about the feeling wanting to wake up when all the bad stuff is over. Again I can be wrong, but that's what I think and that's what the story is about. A guy who is tired of his problems and just wants to "wake up when they're all over"
Well on another topic I really love the song, which is one of my favorites by this band, and the band, which is one of my favorite bands. Just wanted to say that, and the fact that Green Day is awesome. :)
Story:
The sun
was drowning in the horizon, its last rays of light melting off the shadows as
the sky began to turn a dark shade of indigo.
I
stalked through the cold city streets, my breath coming out in puffs from my
mouth. I felt tired. The whole city seemed tired. The traffic around me
seemed slow and slurred, the cars forcing their exhausted tanks to keep on
going for one more meter as their sleep dazed drivers sipped coffee which had
long lost effect on them. The buildings seemed to slouch, as if they no longer
could take their concrete weight, and the streets seemed to drone on and on. If
there even is a city that never sleeps, this one is not it.
I
am tired of the stress, of the pain, and the huge burden that seems to have
chosen my shoulders to plop itself on. I’m tired of having to go through
another day pretending, of having to smile even though I don’t want to, I’m
tired of sleepless nights spent drowning in guilt and remorse. I’m tired of the
lying and facing the world. I want to lie down somewhere and just go to sleep.
Even the sidewalk underneath me looks soft right now.
The
street lights are beginning to ingnite themselves and even those seem a little
dim. Sighing I stare glumilly down at the sidewalk.
“Hey,
Kid!” A mans voice snaps me out of my drone. I look up to see Marv. He’s
wlaking towards me in quick strides which land heavily and loudly on the
pavement. His voice is booming, and up close you can see his eyes are awake and
dancing. Leave it to him to have energies right now. But then again Marv is
never tired. At least I’ve never seen him tired. He’s always awake strumming at
his guitar until his fingers bleed, his eyes on the notes.
Marv
is my guitar teacher. He’s been so since I was 10. He likes Nirvana and The
Smiths. He wears graphic t-shirts with pictures of bands on them under a
leather jacket. And recently he’s also been the person on whom I lean on. The
person on whom I tend to be taking out all my stress on, and the person who
doesn’t snap back at me when I do. He doesn't get annoyed as most people do, and I know I would be very annoyed if some 15 year old boy ranted at me about his life. No, he just sits there patiently and when I’m
done he hands me my guitar and orders me to sit down and play a song again
because no matter in what mood you’re in you have to practice and get the notes
right. That’s his philosophy. The guy is around 50, with graying brown hair
that always looks a little tussled and grey eyes that never seem to look tired.
Despite the fact that he stayed up all night writing out a song or playing Mozart on a guitar.
He
has caught up to me now. I look down. I didn’t go to lessons today. He’s
probably going to be mad about that. If Marv is one thing, he’s a tough guy. He
can berate me for an hour for hitting one wrong chord. But I felt tired.
“Kid,”
He says my name. Well that’s not my name. My name is actually Alexander, but he
has completely ignored that and given me the nickname ‘kid’. So in his presence
I am ‘kid’, nothing else.
“Oh
hey Marv,” I say. He studies me over his grey eyes breaking me down.
“Hey,
kid” He says back. “Just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were alright,
you didn’t come today.” He says it more as a fact but I can tell there is some
disappointment in there.
“I
know,” I respond. He gives me a look, arching his eye brows and I can almost
hear a snide comment coming. But he says nothing. He only looks at me,
expecting another answer. Expecting the reason as to why this cold September
day at 4 o’cklock I failed to show up for guitar lessons. An answer as to why I
probably kept him waiting with the music sheets out and metronome ticking and
the coffee steaming. So I do. I tell him the truth. “I was tired.” I say.
He
looks me over again and I know he understands. I know he gets what I mean by
‘tired’, because in his 50 or more years of wisdom Marv has seen tired to the
extremes. He’s seen the tired that can’t be washed down by another cup of
coffee, or a cold splash of water. The tired that stays imprinted in your mind.
The tired that some people have hanging like a ghost over their shoulders,
always there but never seen. And he’s probably seen my kind of tired which is
why he asks: “So what are you going to do now, kid?”
The
question is simple enough. It’s the answer that’s complex and it’s my mind that
doesn’t want to work through it just yet.
Fact
is I don’t really know. I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t really want to
do anything, not right now, not when this rain is falling down, drenching me
down, not when I can barely keep my head straight, not when all I want is some
warm safe place ot curl up in and block out the world. So that’s what I tell
him.
“I
don’t know Marv,” I say. The last traces of daylight have tucked themselves in
for the night and I find myself sighing. A sigh that comes out of my lungs and
heart a sigh that wants to take my troubled mind with it. A sigh that says
nothing more but the very words coming from my lips this instant, “Just... Wake
me up when September ends.”1
1: That's a quote from the song which is why it is in italics.
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