Smoke break (a quick little bit of catharsis )

A man takes a smoke break from his mind

The smoke blew into the 3 am night sky, nothing but the distant sound of the air conditioners in other people's apartments along the street, he slid the lighter back into his pocket and leaned out the window, just about ready to give up again. It should be easier, it should be easier for him to simply will himself into doing the things he knew he had to do no matter how tired he got, but of course nothing is ever that easy.

 He took another hit of his cigarette, letting the smoke glide away along with his tired breath.

 Most people don't ever stop working really, they start going to school early and from there on out they all have something to do all the time, with breaks of course, but those always come with an expiration date, something that makes them more meaningful and enjoyable, and after that it's back to work or sleep. To him it seemed so easy for people to do dull things they hated doing, to force themselves to wake up every day, clean and dress themselves to go out and do menial tasks with their eyes stuck to the clock, awaiting the time when it'll be appropriate to go back home.

 But why couldn't he do all these things, like keeping up with a routine or to keep working towards something? Was it just good old fashioned laziness? Was it because he stopped working for so long that the atrophy made him lose the willpower he needed to stay as focused and as productive at least as the the laziest of his peers?

 He took another hit, almost deciding to make it his last, almost wishing he had never even started in the first place.

 He didn't know for sure, and honestly it didn't even matter how he got there, no matter how much time he wasted thinking about it. What mattered to him was how to get out, no one else seemed to have the answer, so he just tried aimlessly to get his strength back, always a little project going on that he didn't ever get to finish, always something he wanted to do, something he was supposed to do that he never did. It all made it seem as though he wasn't doing anything at all, but a man that frustrated, that tired and that angry at himself couldn't possibly be doing nothing. So what was he doing?

 He had tried so hard and so many times, he would pour his heart and soul into something yet barely get anywhere with it, just stop in the middle of it and give up because he just couldn't find the will to keep going, and worst of all he got depressed over it, as if it wasn't even his own fault somehow, or maybe because it was. People tend to be more content when there's someone else to blame, there's a great degree of comfort in it, it deals with the anger without tiring you, it never tires people to put the blame of it all on something out of their control, to push away the urge to analyze everything you've ever done to figure out how things turned out this way.
 
 He took another hit, this time trying to remember why he started in the first place. was it a rebellion thing? Was he just bored or curious? He couldn't even remember it anymore.

 "Everyone makes mistakes", at some point in his life that was his most comforting though, if everyone else also made mistakes, how could it be so bad if he did? But using the same thoughts and the same phrases to comfort yourself tends to turn them into thoughts and phrases you don't even believe in anymore, so you have to find other thoughts and phrases to find comfort in. always turning yourself just a little bit more bitter and a little bit more cynical with each and every one you stop believing in, and he hadn't been able to believe in anything for a very long time.

 He took another puff of his cigarette, sliding his fingers along the edges and flicking away the only habit he had been able to maintain for years. That was the end of his break