blood

Man. I need to piss. This isn’t the normal, everyday wake up at 8 in the morning and the bladder needs to be emptied kind of pee either. This is the you’ve been driving for six hours straight needing to relieve yourself but you don’t want to stop the momentum of a great drive kind of piss.

But you can feel just how cold it is on the other side of your blankets. Five piled high. The thought of turning on the heat at night makes your cringe. So you just add more blankets the deeper winter gets.

This conversation has been had many times. Folks don’t understand what it’s like to not be able to turn on the heat. “What do you mean it’s 44 degrees inside your house?” They always say, with the degree mark fluctuating between 44 and 55. Well, you say usually with a long sigh, much like Homer Simpson’s brain trying to explain the correlation between a $20 bill and having peanuts to eat, when one is poor, one has to make decisions like this. Should one keep eating and paying debt down or should one be comfortable when waking up in the morning. Because let’s be serious, that’s the only time it really matters.

And right now, it matters. The pee isn’t going to wait much longer. So, throw the blankets aside and run to the bathroom, which is always five degrees cooler since it has tiled floors and gets absolutely none of the morning sun.

Sweet relief as the urine flows into the bowl. Fingers so cold that shrinkage makes it take just a little bit less time.

Done. Flush. Jump back in bed. Shiver. Try to get back to sleep. Some days, it’s easy. Others not so much.

A few hours later, sleep or no sleep, it becomes necessary to get out of bed. Either due to work commitments or just the overall want to not be so God damn lazy today. Rise and shine, ya bastard.

Put on some dirty clothes. Ones that may have been worn the past two days, depending on what time of the week it is. Brush the teeth. Trying to stop the eventual death of the smile is important. Stumble into the hallway, look at the thermostat, it usually will be rising by this time of the day. Walk to the windows and open up the blinds. Let the sun light in. Good thing about the beach, the sun beats down on you, even in the winter. Heating up the house. Even on cold days it gets to 70 inside naturally.

Turn on the computer. Decide whether to even attempt to write in the morning. If so, sit down, type. Usually aimlessly. Words just appearing with little or no thought involved. It’s therapeutic and anguishing at the same time. There’s a story in there somewhere. It’s about heartbreak and redemption. Or heartbreak and death. Or heartbreak and things. Yeah, it’s about that.

On a day off, spend a lot of time convincing one’s self not to drink. Lately, it’s been easier than it used to be. Mostly because of the balance in my bank account. Hopefully that’s not the real reason, but optimism is not a strong suit.

If that victory is won, outside usually beckons. Some kind of new adventure must be had. Every single day. If not, the soul starts to itch. The mind starts to gelatinize.

If that victory is not won, inside rules. The stereo gets turned on. Shitty speakers don’t let the music live correctly, but there isn’t any way to replace them. Beers go down like hookers used to on 42nd Street before Rudy Guiliani cleaned up the big city. The words flow a bit easier onto the written page now. Journals get entries. The past sometimes makes an appearance. She usually goes away now when I ask her to. It’s a nice compromise we have. I don’t let go of her, and she goes away when asked. What else could one ask?

When the words are forced, it just becomes a countdown to the pre-set limit. That’s a cop out. There are times when the wall needs to be smashed into. Ignored. The forehead needs to be bloodied. That’s the goal, right there. To never stop until the time is right. And to be there, I have to figure out what it means to know the time is right. And to know that, I have to write. More. Even when it sucks. And it usually does suck. Beat myself up about it until it no longer hurts. Show other people and watch them wince. Heck, take a class and watch uneducated fuckers rip it apart for not having structure or a proper flow.

Then go to the bar and try to meet someone. Even though you never do.