God is dead...

It’s tough to make a good impression with a 15-year-old shirt.

Sure it’s comfortable. Sure it still fits right.

But, it’s a little faded. Has some holes in it. Is frayed around the edges.

And those are the things people notice. Not that you’re happy wearing it. Completely.

I don’t give a damn about it, except I want a new job. And wardrobe matters. Not that I’d wear my favorite shirts on interviews. I do wear them out and about sometimes. And to work sometimes. And supposedly that’s when you make your mark. When you catch the eye of someone.

Bah.

Knowing full well that I had to get up early today – writing, packing, eating and all packed into a short time before hitting the road for the hour-long ride to work – I still stayed up all night watching Alien movies.

It had been gnawing at me since I went and watched Prometheus. How were the movies linked.

And, at the part in Alien when they arrive on the planet, there is the ship that crashed in Prometheus. And later, there’s the big dude.

But it’s supposed to be on another planet entirely? And it ended the same way there too?

Ridley Scott just saying God is Dead?

Fuck if I know. But damn those were some good movies.

Popcorn eaters for sure.

Wish he made more of ‘em. On a constant conveyor belt.

But that ain’t gonna happen.

Just like I’m never getting out of debt. Working as a journalist, at least.

The frumpy girl at work said hello to me yesterday.

I was kind of surprised by it. She’d ignored me for weeks. Even when I said “Hello” twice.

It’s probably only because we made eye contact. Outside. In the parking lot. I was standing about, just trying to find something to do – I’d finished my “8 hours” of work in 3. The sun was out – it was just 5:45 p.m. – and I had time to kill. So I was breathing some fresh air and getting some Vitamin D.

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked.

“Doing what?” he responded.

“That.”

He looked at his feet. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Huh?” he finally said.

“Ugh,” she moaned, turning her back and walking away with a stomp.

He stared at his feet some more. It was going to be a long day.

Eating pasta sometimes isn’t fun.

The strange woman walked by his house again today.

She wears a pink mumu and talks to herself and awful lot. Her tiny white sneakers don’t look like they could ever support the hulking mass above them, but somehow they always do.

She walks her little dog – a yappy and quiet ugly pug – most days as well.

He feels sorry for the dog. She yells at it all the time.

“Keep up you little shit!”

“Damn it, take a pee!”

“I’m going to kick you, you bastard!”

“Stop it!”

“Don’t pee there!”

“Pee damn you!”

He used to watch this every day. When living here was still new. The beach something that called his name and provided some kind of solace to the shit storm that had become his life. Writing about it had calmed his mind. It wasn’t cured, something else was going to have to do that. Most likely time, but hopefully not.

“Eat shit McCormick!” the teenager yelled at his boss. “I don’t need you or this job!”

But instead of throwing off his uniform and storming out, the kid went back to work.

The apathy of a generation perfectly shown. If only Mitch Albom would write about it.

Oh yeah, he did.

“Have you ever fallen in love with a complete stranger?” he asked.

“No, how can you fall in love with someone you don’t know?” she responded tersely.

“Easy,” he said. “You can be standing on a corner, watching people walk by when you notice someone. So beautiful. So perfect. And you fall in love right there. She could be a young college student or a pre-retirement business suit. But it happens.

“You make up an entire history for that woman as she walks past you. Her hopes. Her dreams. Her feelings about you if you just stopped her with a word. But you never do. It would ruin the dream. It would end the love.”

“So, you fall in love with women all the time?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “All the time? No. But often enough. It’s part of living life. No?”

“I’d rather think you fall in love once,” she said.

“So, if you only fall in love once, what happens when the other person doesn’t love you back?”

“You can’t love without being loved back,” she responded.

“That’s silly.”

“Why?”

“Because if that was the case, most of us would never love.”

“That’s a horrible way of looking at things,” she said, turning her back.

“I don’t think so.”