A cure?

The allure of bachelor living faded some time ago.

But waking up to a dream about a perky young woman in a pink dress, who happened to get drunk due to heartbreak, being raped by four gutter punks and then beheaded, well, that’s not normal. Of course, turning into Detective Stabler from Law & Order and picking up the head and talking to it, soothing it, trying to distract it – much more normal.

If I could write down the details of the dream – in detail, ha! – I’d feel a little bit better. The scene of the crime being an old abandoned train station. One of the attackers had a Mohawk, a really bad one. And he used orange spray paint to leave his mark on everything – including the other attackers before leaving the scene. Even though the other attackers just slept there, on a meat cart looking aluminum carrier.

It didn’t rain that night, but everything was damp. The stars and moon weren’t out, as the city lights and tall building blocked out all signs of outer space. And her sweet, sweet voice. The kind you hear in movies from the best friend who always is the bridesmaid. And accepts that.

Anyway, I stare out the window of my bachelor pad – a place my married friends call paradise for some reason – and wish I could be anywhere else. The bills of a hard-lived life are beginning to catch up again. They always do when I get involved with someone. Why? Because I start spending money on someone who isn’t part of the budget. I wonder where I’ll come up with $280 a month for my student loan bill, which had been deferred for two years now. I break a little less than even every month as it stands, so adding almost 300 bucks on top of that will be crippling. Makes me wish for the days of a roommate who had a thing for 40-minute showers and locking himself in his room. At least he paid the rent on time – most of the time.

There is someone parked in the middle of the street in front of my house. A Ford truck. It takes up most of the lane, forcing those who want to drive past to cut into my yard. I’m not concerned about how this will affect my lawn, but I am pissed off about the inconvenience that it causes the world. Having trouble spelling the word inconvenience reminds me of the “Convenient Convenience Store” in Greenville, North Carolina. I would chuckle every time me and my girl drove by it. She didn’t see the humor in it. She felt it was kind of sad. That made me sad. It was funny. I always think that those are the things that should have told me we were not going to make it. Silly little signs. I’ve a pro at ignoring them. Hence, the aging bachelor pad at 41 years of age.

I wonder too, about friends who have disappeared. One of my best friends, I thought, got mad at me. And now he’s gone. Just a memory on the wall now. Like so many other friends that have just moved on and out. I’m sure one day I’ll look back and laugh at it, but not now. There’s too much pain. Not really from that loss, which sucks, but from the real loss that happened just two weeks prior. A pain too horrid to think about anymore. We planted a tree. That tree will make me sad for years.

Work has become a means to an unsatisfying end. I don’t make enough to enjoy anything. My two splurges are the internet and Netflix on the internet. When did I miss that left turn at Albuquerque?

Writing is supposed to be my escape. My sharp knife. Lately, it’s not been there. It’s not writer’s block. It’s the writer is lazy.

The cloudy blue sky is mesmerizing. I look out the window and just stare in disbelief at the beauty. The sounds of nature – birds chirping and singing, the ocean waves lapping at the shore – they get drowned out by cars and electric saws and people talking. Why do people ruin things?

The mind wanders back and forth. One day she’s nowhere to be found for 23 hours. Then she pops in there to say hello. I try not to remember, but that just makes you think about her. Little things will always remind me of her. I feel guilty that it still happens. I wish it didn’t. The songs don’t hurt anymore. They don’t even sting. Just a dull ache. Kind of like teeth rotting. You just have grin and bear it, without the grinning. If you ever see me, slap me across the back of the head. It’ll hopefully dislodge whatever’s got a grip on my heart. Even if it bleeds.