A rant, the form of an essay, in the form of a rant

Janice sighed with mournful, deflating softness as she peered distractedly at the tiny screen of her mobile phone. With fatigued eyelids and a weeping looseness about her face, she dispassionately swept her eyes across the bundle of digital text within the small electronic frame designated for cellular-to-cellular 'chat'. She felt drawn and defeated, though she wasn't physically tired: she was simply tired of the patterns that possessed her interactions with the opposite sex, as if timed to the hands of the clock, 'like clockwork'.

The screen gave perky, illuminated note of conclusion rendered by an immediate romantic partner. This gentleman's words were laced with excitement, enthusiasm and inquiry of the current circumstance of her life, only there was an emptiness about them. Janice knew, from first read, that this man had not read her previous text; he'd laid eyes upon the words and embraced the familiarity of the cultural mechanism of text-message conversation of course, but he had not actually absorbed the meaning within her words; the context of the text. His response over-enthused about foregone conclusions, drew faulty links, made fraudulent claims with excitable punctuation and smiley faces. It attempted feebly, distractedly, to reference her previous message, but the looseness and coldness about the language made plain that he was writing from another, preoccupied place beyond his cognizant awareness of her words. It was as though he was speaking side-mouthed into a dark chasm, a vacant vessel, speaking vaguely into some deep nothingness. It was as though he didn't have a clue, yet was self-drawn enough to pretend he did so as to keep the mechanisms of communication well-oiled and moving.

A heaviness lit upon Janice's being; a weariness upon her soul. She had felt this confused resignation before, many times, when a man ceases to acknowledge her words and instead opens her up and hurls his abstract indifference into her being, penetrating her interiority with vacant sentiment and distracted reasonings. It was at times like this that the emptiness of the words she confronted was then mirrored by the emptiness she felt confronting them: devoid of meaning, raw, baseless. Empty words for an empty vessel. She was a conduit for empty sentiment.

Why this pattern persisted, Janice could not say. She could not reason with such circumstance. All she knew was this was yet another man who ceased to see her as a being with thoughts and ideas, instead referencing her as a container for absent words; and within this caesura of meaning she drew her own foregone conclusion, echoing the emptiness, hollowing out the space which once held another human being's essence within the fullness of her mind.