Toads/Frogs, and the Purpose of My Life

    You see, I found this frog. Big deal, you’re thinking. But don’t think that. It was a good frog. I’m not saying it wasn’t a toad, because I know bugger all about amphibians you see, so it, IT could have been a toad for all I knew, but you’re missing the point. The Point, is that I found it, and what happened after.
    Me and this…this…Amphibian, if you will. Me and this amphibian, we had a little wager going. I should go back a little. Maybe back to the fact that I was drunk.
  Yes. I was a little drunk. Brendan had had a party. Brendan and his damned parties. He likes the alcohol, does Brendan. Me? I don’t like it so much. Or rather, it doesn’t like me. I’m not graceful at the best of times, this evening my inadequacy had been particularly triumphant.
  I’m a shy girl, by nature. Though you might not have thought so, to see me playing strip ‘Twister’ to a looping track of ‘Copa cabana’. It comes back in shards, sharp, like the happenings of a broken mirror world, a different girl. The watery remnants of a Saturday night that float back to you, rotten and unwholesome on a Sunday afternoon, and stab at you spitefully on a Monday morning as the piercing looks of acquaintances stingingly plant themselves onto your skin.  How dirty one girl can feel.
    Daytime, despondency and stagnancy can simmer beneath the surface. A smile can cover the tracks of despair. At night, the rules change. There are no secrets, there is only melodrama, and attention is the name of the game. I don’t know when we first decided that adulthood was the world of the soap opera. Maybe it sprung from natural curiosity, like wearing bras when you had nothing to support. It was play acting, and the best actress won.
    Dramatic exits are, and always have been, my forte. Its what on earth you are meant to do next that has always baffled me. I lay myself down in the street, the cold concrete reassuringly draining the heat from my face and the pain from my heart. I don’t even know if the pain is artificial or not. The line between agony and severe boredom has blurred and I wonder which is worse.  That’s when I see her. This frog. Looking at me.
    I am startled for a second. I look at her, and she looks back at me. Now maybe it is my naturally competitive nature. Maybe it is the glint in the eye of the Amphibian. Maybe it is some messed up plan of the universe. Whatever. But I stare at the Amphibian, and she stares at me……and I don’t want to be the first to break it. Because for a moment, there is just me, and this amphibian. And nothing else. The night stretches out endlessly in front of us, and there is peace in me.
      I am not crazy. But I believe I know this frog, and I could recognize her now. I could pick her out from an infinite number of frogs, as easy as I could pick my Mother out from and infinite number of mothers.
    This frog knows nothing but to survive, and I envy her. To sleep and to feed. A simple contentment of a simple desire. Simply to be. I felt the pity in her stare, and it caused the shame to filter into mine. I shivered at how artificial I had become. 
    In the morning, that’s where they found me. Face down on the concrete, my goose-bumped legs etched with gravel markings. My pride dented and my self respect as illusive as the stars.
    I’ll creep through the week, embarrassed and damaged. I’ll suffer the whispers and the sly-eyed giggles. I’ll long for the weekend where I’ll do it all again, only worse now, because I’m drinking to forget. Forget how shallow my life has become.
      But I’ll remember her. The amphibian. And every now and then I’ll gasp in awe at a natural beauty. A sudden down pour of rain when you haven’t a coat. A deep red flooding the sky one autumn morning. An unexpected smile from an unexpected person, who somehow knew your name.  And I’ll pause for a moment. I’ll take a sharp breath and I’ll smile.
      Then I’ll get the drinks in.